The Magic of Books

I love it and hate it when you finish a book you love. I always re-read the last page, then I close it and read the synopsis, then i hold it for a few minutes, with both hands. And of course, I try to keep it in sight for a couple of days - on my dresser or desk, or somewhere of the likes where the characters can´t escape. It seems so unfair to hide it away on the shelf after you have gone through so much with the people. And then it also seems so disrespectful to just start a new book right away, so then you are left in this wasteland. That is the worst.

I often wonder what makes a good book - for me, I think just relating to the characters, I suppose. Though there are many ¨good¨ books that I don´t really care about, and then many probably not quality books that I have loved. I don´t think that symbolism and foreshadowing is the answer. I hung out with this guy , ¨The Magnet Maker,¨a few times earlier this year who is loves to write. I think must have asked approximately 867 million questions regarding his writing (all this questioning was probably good, since we had absolutely nothing in common beyond the fact that we both drank coffee). I think writers come from such a different plane than myself. I would love to be able to write, and think on and off about taking a creative writing course. And then sometimes I think, on the rare occasion that I keep a journal, I should attempt to find my voice within those pages. But so far, I always just find it easier to talk to myself. Life will go on, I suppose.

But maybe one day, when I have my personal library (which will certainly have a ladder that slides along the dark mahogny shelves, an immense open paned window with one large, cushy chair facing it, and a desk off to the right), it will be at that time that I will become a famous writer. Or at least write.