My Confession

I have a vested interest in ebooks. I make money, albeit a small amount, by selling them. I want to promote ebooks and convert people into buying ebooks because the more people who buy them, the more money I can potentially make, thus fulfilling my dream to take over the world and enslave the masses make a living as a full-time writer.

But I also have a bunch of books left in my eternal too-be-read pile; ones I bought before getting my Kindle (I swear, baby, I swear!) One of these is a hardcover edition of Dan Simmons’ Black Hills. So one night I picked it up and sat down to read.

Here’s my confession: I soon found myself caressing that mound of cool, smooth pages beneath my fingers. I’d forgotten that tactile sensation – so smooth, so substantial, so satisfying. I felt naughty, like I was being unfaithful to the new technology, to the ebook revolution, to my Kindle…

I’m sorry, baby. I try to be faithful to you. You’ve been good to me, instantly showing me the meaning of words I didn’t know before. You remember where I left off without the need of inserting a square of toilet paper between the pages. You complete me, you really do, in the way that only an ereader can.

But sometimes…sometimes I admit I may stray. Sometimes the lust for the heft and feel of a flesh and blood physical book may just overwhelm me. I could’ve kept this secret from you, but I love you too much. I could’ve visited my contraband to-be-read pile on the down-low, but then I’d fear your suspicious glances. “Is that ink on your collar?” you’d ask me. “Do I smell musty pages on your fingers?”

No. I love you too much for that. Those books – those paper and glue books…I just read those. But it’s you baby – you my dear ereader – I love you.