How I dream of you sprawled on your comfy couch, the fire in your hearth blazing, your glass of wine/tea/coconut water at your side, a colorful crocheted blanket rumpled in your lap, your cat/dog/ferret snoring softly by your side, my latest novel opened, propped up on your knees, as much left to read as has been read. How you pause to take a sip of your desired drink to prolong the wondrous experience of reading, because you want the story to go on forever. How you think to yourself, this book is sooooo good, I’m going to write an Amazon review when I’m done, even though you know Amazon is Evil Incarnate, you justify yourself by knowing that you purchased the novel from the publisher/independent bookstore/alternative-groovy-bookselling-website; how you promise yourself you’re going to buy every other one of my novels, the whole backlist—shoot, buy them for your friends while you’re at it—because you are so moved by my words, and you know how hard it is for a lowly author to get noticed in this world, especially one that seems to straddle genres as I do, just like they did in the old days of publishing, before authors were expected to brand themselves like cows and then stick to their brand, before they were judged on their social media platform instead of their words, before they were forced to spend their nights searching the internet for possible (gasp!) piracy of their work, but instead were encouraged to enter into that mystical place of creation, that place where the alchemy of disparate thoughts magically arranges itself into a tale rife with meaning and metaphor, a tale with the power to change the world, when an author’s work was considered sacred, their salesmen-like qualities not given a second thought.
Dear Reader, it is you who I strive to please, you who I work tirelessly for, you who makes me wake in the middle of the night with the perfect ending for my current project. And yet, you are, if the surveys are to be believed, a dying breed. You have been waylaid by the flashiness of stupid animal videos, something called Candy Land, and the ever tempting updates on your social media sites. And yet I am told—horror of horrors!—that even your attention span is lessening, that the fast pace of your life, the insipid sound bytes constantly barraging you are wearing even you, dear Reader, down.
But I refuse to believe these naysayers! You understand the power of story and are relentless in your defense of reading as an acceptable, no, superior pastime. You have books piled by your bedside waiting to be read, your e-reader is chock full of to-be-read novels as well; you collect bookmarks because they make you happy; spend Saturday nights at your local bookstore, lunch breaks in the hush of your local public library; and, best of all, you recommend books to your friends, even start a book group so you and your like-minded reader friends can discuss the works of your favorite authors. And you are not, as some believe, one trick ponies! You do not read only one kind of book, but, from time to time, challenge yourself to new reading delights.
And best of all, dear reader, (I am almost to shy to say this) you are a fan of my books, for which I am eternally grateful. To show my appreciation, I will continue to fill your bookshelves with novels, your imaginations with page-turning stories, and your minds with delicious sentences to mull over. I’m also doing a book give-away with this blog entry, so make your comments known. Declare your love for reading!
Your faithful servant,