Books have weight. Boy, does that ever come into sharp focus when you have to move a few thousand of them…
It’s been a while since I’ve read a manifesto from the latest fanboy burning their books in favour of a new Kindle or Kobo, and ceremoniously (or unceremoniously) sledgehammering their bookshelves down off their walls. We’ve seemed to hit some sort of equilibrium, or perhaps an uneasy truce. In any case, it doesn’t seem that the Kindle is going to strike the coup de grace against books anytime soon.
I’ve always been skeptical of the ebook revolution. 10,000 books in the palm of your hand is hard to resist, I’ll give you that. Until you actually get it in your palm. I’ve never much liked electronic readers. I’ve borrowed my son’s Kobo a few times to try it out, and I’ve got both the Kobo and the Kindle apps on my iPad. I do like the portability, and if this was back in my heavy travelling days, I’d be drawn to the fact that I wouldn’t have to carry 8-10 books in my backpack, stocked up like a literary camel between far-flung English bookshop oases. On the other hand, I’ve never worried about someone sitting on my paperback if I put it down to do up my sons’ skates…
For me, the delivery system (that is to say, a book versus an electronic device) affects the reading, which in turn affects the enjoyment. I don’t get as immersed in ebooks for some reason. Perhaps part of that is the fact that I have it balanced in my left hand with my right hand hovering and swiping every few seconds like a trapped hummingbird bouncing off glass. It’s not what you’d call… relaxing.
Recently, I’ve been moving literally a lifetime of books – thousands of books of all descriptions. Contemporary novels, spy classics, firsthand accounts from WWI and WWII, coffee table books, encyclopedias, history books, science books, art books, biographies, text books from the 50s and 60s, Far Side comics. Some are fairly valuable. Some are falling apart and have no value at all. At least not monetary. Every book was loved though, to some extent, either on its own merits or as part of a collection.
Moving all these books on a Kobo would be much easier, for sure. But where would the emotional connection be? Where would be the tactile, the smell of the pages, the muffled clap when you close it? All of these things would be gone.
Books and reading are different. Lovers of reading, perhaps, can happily while away the hours with a Kobo in hand. But for lovers of books, the sensation and experience is much different. I know that puts me at risk of sounding like a Luddite, but I’m not saying that ebooks are evil. Far from it. They have their place. I remember wasting hours in university scanning back to all the books I skimmed as research for an essay, trying to find that one passage that, at the time, I didn’t realize was perfect. Now, I would just enter a few keywords and boom, within seconds I’d be able to locate it.
eBooks may have their place, but not in my heart. Writing is (usually) about emotions, and books I think are perfect containers for writing because it helps that emotional connection in a way that bits and bytes will never achieve. It kills me to part with the ones I have to part with, and yet it kills me to store the ones I just can’t let go. Flipping through, sorting, boxing — every single book tears free another fresh emotion.
Lo verily, I will never feel that way about an ebook.
My life and work would not be possible without computers, without the Digital Age. It’s not an all-or-nothing proposition, though. Cars are great, but they don’t have to deny you the simple pleasure of walking through the woods. You can appreciate the ease of use of digital tools (or even read a blog), and at the end of the day, still sink back and enjoy the wonderful corporeal feeling of a good book opening in your hand.
I have a feeling more than a few of you know exactly what I mean.
[Addendum to Original Post]
I should have mentioned that although I already had the idea for this post, it was certainly coloured by Tom Chandler’s recent experience with a book (and the death thereof). eBooks will never die — until the electricity goes out.
PS – I stumbled upon this quite serendipitously during the writing of this post. Made me laugh.
Anyone still here?
As I mentioned in my last post, I’m currently editing what I have so far, and locking it away in a separate file marked “Your Eyes Only” — which will mean anyone’s eyes but mine. It is time to get some feedback. I’m realizing that I’m a little rudderless right now, and the reason I’m rudderless is because I’m not sure I’m going in the right direction, and that I won’t know if I’m going in the right direction until I get a 10,000-foot view of the thing, but I can’t do that myself because I’m stuck on this boat, right here in the action (i.e. “too close to the work” to use the technical term) so I need someone else’s — or several other people’s — perspective.
So yes, I am going to send it out. Problem is, the last section of the book isn’t even written in first draft yet. That’s because I’m not quite sure how to resolve the conflict. I’ve already written the last 10 paragraphs or so — I know what to say after the resolution — but my plot ideas seem to be mostly falling apart.
In any case, it might be fine if people read the (essentially polished) first half of the book — I think getting some input will help the process of nailing the ending down.
More updates to come shortly.
It’s an age-old question for writers, and one to which I know the answer in my day job. I can’t really describe it — I just know it’s done, much like you know when an episode of The Simpsons is done, or a piece of toast.
But this novel thing — it’s different. I started polishing the first two scenes — again. I like it, yet I’m obsessed with getting it absolutely right. Maybe it’s a confidence thing, and once I have a few of these under my belt, I’ll naturally know when it’s done too. But until then, I think I need some feedback. No, scratch that. I’m ready for feedback.
So I started a new file today:
Novel Draft2l Final 130414.doc
I polished the first two scenes, then cut and paste them into this document. Which I won’t read again until someone else does.
Total words: 6,952. I’ve restarted the counter on the right to reflect this. Looks pathetically short after all this time. But how do you measure the progress of a novel? Word count? Time spent? Day required to generate that time spent?
In the end, I think there is a start date and an end date. Everything in between is Schrodinger’s Cat scratching to get out. (Or not scratching to get out. Depending.)
Either way, I’m officially calling this day the first day of the Final Stretch. The question I’m pondering now is, do I let people read it before I have the whole novel copy and pasted into that file?
Has it come to this? Monthly updates? lol.
I started from the beginning again recently. Put another hour and a half in this morning. Crafting. Trimming. Polishing. I like this book. I like the intricacies (I think I’m) weaving into the story. There is a lot more give and take between the two main characters than I thought there was at first, a lot of subtle undertones. Is it enough? I’m not sure about that… Others will tell me, I hope. That’s one thing that I’m still working on — unlike my day job writing, I’m still not 90% sure whether this is “good” or not. It’s humbling (in a good way) to have to rely upon others’ viewpoints to get me through this.
But as I say, I like it. That’s a start, I suppose.
Here’s what the temperature was when I put the kids on the bus on Monday. For all you US readers out there, -36 Celsius is just about -36 Fahrenheit — the “sweet spot” where they meet up is actually -40. Either way, it’s cold.
More importantly in terms of this blog, I’ve also been frozen writing-wise. I’ve put myself in a bit of a corner. I’ve put a deadline on this draft, though I know the book isn’t ready yet to send out to people. I could have something finished by January 31 — and I will have something finished. But what it won’t be is a ready-to-read Draft 2. So of course, to combat the problem when I realized this, what I did was push it behind the tin of tea in the corner of the counter and forget about it for a week. I hear this is quite normal for writers, especially those who only drink tea on occasion and therefore won’t be constantly reminded by the sight of the manuscript every time they make a cuppa.
Had some chai tonight, saw the poor thing just sitting there, and decided to do some work on it. Was inspired too by going to a Canada Reads event here tonight, where Jane Urquhart and Richard Wagamese (click the image to enlarge), both up for the next Canada Reads book of the year, did a reading and answered some questions. They are from Northwestern Ontario originally, though both moved away a long time ago when they were kids. I wonder if they consider themselves to be Northwestern Ontario writers? Likely not, though they obviously have an affinity to the area since they both have used the region in their books. That would have been a good question to ask during the Q&A.
So Draft 2 — still in the works, and likely will be into February. But when my deadline whooshes by me next week, it won’t be a total loss. I’ve put more time into the book this month than I have for a while.
Here’s to more.
I have not been a fan of The Great Gatsby translations to the big screen. The closest, I think, was the Robert Redford and Mia Farrow one in the 70s. It was a product of its time, which is to say it was overly dramatic. I loved Sam Waterston as Nick Carraway though — he nailed it.
So when I heard there was a new one coming out, I was excited, but cautiously so — especially when they announced it would be in 3D. Leonardo DiCaprio seemed like a reasonable choice as Gatsby. Tobey Maguire, well, I could see that perhaps he’d do a good job. (I still see Waterston in my head…)
After seeing the trailer though, I’m getting prepared for a letdown. It seems highly stylized, even mashed up with the music they are playing. It’s decidedly not Jazz Age, but then using the music of today certainly gives you a better sense of what they felt in 1925, when that music was new and fresh and electrifying, instead of old and 1920′s-ish like it feels now. Musically different, but maybe emotionally a better reflection of the time.
DiCaprio seems way too sure of himself as the title character. In the book, Gatsby is always questioning himself. Yes, he’s driven, yes, he knows what he wants. But you can tell he’s outside his element, still “faking it ’til you make it” long after he buys the mansion. At every turn, he’s looking to Carraway for affirmation at every little detail. In the trailers here though, you’d think he might be reprising the role of Howard Hughes, cocky and in control.
I’ll go watch it, of course. I’m hoping that the marketing department has glitzed it up more than it’s worth.
Got some solid time in today on my own novel. Should have Part 3 complete by tomorrow. Then on to Part 4.
Word count keeps going down… and that’s a good thing at this point.