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Telling Tales and Whispering Secrets 

A bit of speculative fiction alongside the current human condition



A daily blog of Short Stories - Essay - Writer's Musings

Waxing Analog | The Sense of Books



When your hands fold around covers, the pages fanning before you, the book speaks… without


words. Your senses liven as it is a thing in itself. You see time passed impressed upon the pages and


cover, or shiny new objects. You hear old crisp pages that crackle while new pages whir. You feel the


weight, and maybe a creased spine. You inhale the iconic scent of ink and paper. In defense of the


object, the physical book holds secrets that enrich the world within.




As we enter the old bookshop, the air silently buzzes with time. Whether books smell of fresh ink or


worn paper, one's olfactory has the longest memory. Candles are made to recreate this particular


alluring scent. Combing the shelves, an index finger grazes worn covers, creased spines proving


someone has been there before you. Thumbing through aged pages, the book chatters while the


reader's eye seeks words gathering groups for meaning. In this warm wood filled shop, books can


endure, rest and await their new home, for there is no hurry.



A tome selected for further discovery. Turning pages, you spy clues as to the book's provenance.


Visual reflections are embedded its experience. The bleeding brown ring on the cover is permanent


proudly showing a reader's use as coaster.



Markings and commentary respond to the work scribbling and scribing along the edges of text.


More in-depth thoughts at the end of each chapter include dates. Blowing life into the pages, they


separate illuminating another's reflections, as experience has been meticulously noted. The inside


front cover telling the object was a gift, the date showing that the book was new at the time. The


name of the receiver, iconic of the era. Houston, we have a name. We now know who first imprinted


their residue on the well-worn read.



Drawings and musings demonstrate play. Readers have spent time with the book and may well


have traveled with it. Or perhaps the hardback was toted to the doctor's waiting room, with best


intentions, too distracted to dive into words. Thermometers and the Rx symbol peppers the page


along with interconnected geometric pencil marks meandering at a chapter's beginning.


Interruption documented. A moment in time recorded.



Miscellaneous objects nested in between pages create a dialogue with the thing itself as well as


subsequent readers. A short grocery shopping list has found home expressing regionality as a


couple of the words are particular to place, maters being one. A newspaper obituary clipping tells of


a moment in time honoring a soul that will remain in the reader's memories and heart. Once sighted


by another, that soul comes alive in the experience, as witnessed, as acknowledged. The last name is


the same as the inside cover. A flower expresses feeling-presence. Its life immortalized as the


delicate petals were so carefully arranged, keeping the obituary company.



To me, there is a sense within things, a residue as a form of way-showing. Each individual that


comes in contact with an object leaves something behind. It may be recognized by our physical


senses or it may be more intuitive. I consider that the more one uses, possesses, interacts with the


thing, the more residue remains adhering like a form of electroplating. When earning my BFA in


photography, I explored the idea of an object marked by the soul's involvement. The first body of


work, titled Raconteur, I weaved together imagery of objects with their peoples quilting their


experience, telling a tale. My second examination, Modal Existence, interpreted the concept via


photogravures and a metal folio book and case I created for the copper plates for which I used to


print the photogravures.



Close your eyes and imagine as you hold a book that has experienced foretime. Engage your senses.


Call in your intuition. What surfaces from your crystal wands, your fingertips?





Walking into the brightly lit bookstore. Unexperienced books shine. The small shop's wooden floor


creaks as your eyes lift to meet the signage above you. Trajectory, the latest from one of your


favorite authors. The process of scanning the shelves is akin to a treasure hunt where you know you


will find the gold, if it hasn't sold out that is. X marks the spot! Flipping the book from its nest, it


only opens a smidge as its spine is standing certain.



Feeling the texture of paper, your fingertips pinch creating a cascade of passing pages. You are


careful not to get a paper cut. The sound repeats as you fan the pages before your eyes for a


preview. The newness of the read brings a special kind of anticipation.



You align with the buzz of fellow readers in the same position. Vibrations resonate as ethereal


connections are made. As interdependent, you add to the whole of it letting your way-of-being free


to be read by another. Astral communing.



Folded into your arm huddled next to your body, this one copy is yours. Standing in line, another


acknowledges your selection. A lively conversation about the series ensues. You both speculate


about the now warmed book in your hand, what it may hold inside. The cashier calls for you and


touches your book already imprinting another experience while the chatterer goes back to the stacks


to procure their very own copy.




Some readers surround their personal space with analog books. The reasons for collecting, a unique


combination that generates a magnetic elixir. The personal resonance of the object attracts. Knowing


the letters, words, poetry, story within, make sit a keeper. The idea of what the book symbolizes to


the reader draws the tome to the shelf. Emotional connections to the tale bind one to the physical


book. Perhaps it's the aesthetic of a wall of books, limited editions or gold-leaf titles over rich


colorful leather shining as iconography for a reader.



Bookshelves contain what is temporary, just as we are. As books are mostly made of natural


materials, they have a shelf life. Whether made of wood, bamboo or another substance, one's books


are living a life, just as they are.




Holding a device reading tale after tale, the digital book is housed within a compact virtual


bookshelf. These stories are temporary as well, for formats consistently evolve. Technology is in a


flow state. One might say that the sensory experience is not as rich. Some say that their eyes cannot


accept the backlighting for long. For me, as much ebbs and flows on the planet, so may qualities of


digital. It contains its own qualities as the thing itself.



The sensory experience of a book as an object can enrich your conscious state, subconscious as well


as memories while reading. Perhaps upon conclusion of your book, you will recall more details,


sense the story in various ways, connect with the previous keeper as a friend and develop a


memory of the reading experience itself.  



There's space for both formats. As the past, present, and future are not in competition, one is neither


better nor worse. They just are and it just is. We choose.


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