Why does anyone love anything?
Think about it: why do you love the things you love? Try to answer that question in a clear and logical way.
It’s hard, right? But just because you can’t write a detailed list about why you love what you love doesn’t mean the love is any less real.
Take my love of paper books for example. I love those print monsters. I have quite a collection of them, and every time I pack up and move somewhere new I have to carry them around. Any of you who have had to pack and carry boxes full of books know how deceivingly heavy they are. My collection is strictly based on personal value. I’ve gotten rid of books I never read or didn’t like. There’s no use in keeping things that don’t add to your life — especially when you have to literally carry them around. So the print bricks I carry made the cut, they are those I actually care for.
But that’s love, right? It makes us do silly, silly things.
And this love is strictly for paper books. I make that distinction because as much as I have entertained the thought of getting on board with e-books, I just can’t. E-books are the worst. E-books make me want to throttle something. (In the end, I’m a non-violent guy).
There’s a reason I love paper books, and really, it’s quite simple: they weigh more.
Not talking about all the ink and paper and glue. I mean the metaphysical weight, the intangible heft that bounces around in spirit form.
When I hold these print sandwiches, I think about the journey it took to get to me: the writer who sliced off part of her soul and put it on the page; the editor who told the writer how often she was bad at her craft and fixed it; the publisher who found the whole venture profitable, and said, Sure, why not, let’s make some money; and the printer and shipper who eventually got the book to me. This block of mass was created by a whole lot of people who cared a lot about their craft. That’s one story.
Full post at Though Catalog