A Book In the Hands

Over a year ago, I illustrated a book called Please Don’t Tickle the Tiger, a collection of children’s poems written by a friend of mine. He decided self-publish it as an e-book. This opened the way for all of my following e-publishing adventures. It was interesting to see my work glowing on a kindle screen. There was a certain sense of accomplishment.

            But that didn’t compare to the bursting-chest, proud-parent, giddy feeling I got two weeks ago when I held the first PRINT edition of Please Don’t Tickle the Tiger in my hands.

            It’s real.

            I can run my fingers along the edges.

            I can smell it.

            I can turn the pages and hear them rustle.

I am not anti-e-book. I think it’s a fantastic opportunity that offers a level playing field to authors who used to have no hope. I think it may even lead to some positive changes in the whole publishing industry. E-books are very affordable (especially if you find freebies), near-effortless to store and transport, and require no dusting.

            But they are also very…electronic.

            They are smooth, swift, and silent. They belong to the world of Internet and computers, a mental realm of instant communication that makes no physical contact. E-books are still stories—there’s nothing “artificial” about them in that way. I’m excited about stories being shared, no matter what the medium.

            But e-books CANNOT replace physical, print books. If the future is destined to be one of all-electronic media, as some people theorize, then mankind will have lost something very precious. E-books and print books are not each other’s enemies. They are simply different creatures. One, I dare say, has more lasting charms.

            I have not yet sat down and read an e-book straight through for pleasure. I have too many print books beckoning.

A person can have a relationship with a print book.

Reading one uses all of your senses except taste—unless you’re one of those people who lick their fingers to turn the pages. Print books have geography. You can leave a bookmark in it to track the progress of your quest. You can hold it open to one place while flipping through another, defying time and space. Print books can become mementos, holding your handwritten notes (or those of someone before you), a letter, receipt, or some other piece of life tucked between the pages, the stain of a squished bug from that beautiful day you read out in the yard, or maybe even ripples from your tears.

            Yes, having a print book is like having a relationship. You’ve got to take care of it to keep it in good condition, and it can be clumsy, heavy, and prone to mishaps. But when the electricity goes out, the battery of your kindle drains away, and all you have left to read by is a flickering candle…guess who’ll still be there for you.

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Walking It Off, Walking It In

One of several life-habits I wish everyone would develop is taking a daily walk. Over a mile, if possible. Artists and writers, whose occupations usually require them to sit still for long periods of time, could especially benefit from this habit. Walking is not only good for your body, but for your mind, soul, and spirit as well. It can be a very necessary time of clearing out the clutter in your head, sorting the important stuff, and finding new things. It’s also a good time to talk to God…or to be quiet and in awe of Him.

            There are three main routes I walk during the week: The Forest Loop, Iris Hill, and Coalman Road. Each has unique beauty.

            The Forest Loop is on the ninety acres of woods next to our property, which my grandfather owns. It’s wild land, reaching up bushes and brambles, and reaching down grasping limbs, to reclaim the paths we work to maintain. Rows of trees, deep shadows, tents of leaves, trickling streams, and still water. The seasons turn: bright green spring, lush summer, scented autumn, and stark, bony winter. Sometimes I walk in the rain and have a discussion with God while my boots slurp and squish. Sometimes I walk in glittering sunlight that sketches every branch and patch of moss in gold, and new story ideas bounce in my mind.

            Iris Hill is also on my grandfather’s ninety acres. I recently gave it that name (it was formerly known as The Big Hill, Killer Hill, etc.) after I found an abundance of those elegant purple flowers growing up it. The steep climb can leave you gasping for air, but the view from the top distracts you from the discomfort. Iris Hill offers a panorama of Mount Hood and the rolling foothill country we live in. I’ve gone up there on cold, windy days when the bare alders clacked against each other, and I was full of wonderings and questions for God. I’ve gone up on bright days when the land glowed and problems seemed far away. I’ve gone up on a day when snow sparkled living white in the sun, under a blazing blue sky, and there on Iris Hill I had to lift my voice and sing the Revelation Song: Worthy is the/Lamb who was slain/Holy, holy is He/Sing a new song/To Him who sits on/Heaven’s mercy seat…*

            Coalman Road is the stretch of pavement we live on: a long, meandering country road. It’s at its best on a crisp sunny day. Majestic trees, wide fields (one in particular where I imagine an epic battle being fought, sword-swinging attackers charging out of the woods), the crunch of gravel on the “sidewalks”, horses, llamas, and the occasional barking dog watching you pass. Walking Coalman Road, I begin thinking about my family and neighbors. As I pass the houses, I rarely see the people, but I know they’re there. I know that I’m walking by dozens of lives, dozens of hearts, dozens of stories being played out so near me. I sense Jesus on Coalman Road. I can almost feel His heart beating, His eyes looking with love and longing for the people who are so precious to him. Every breath of wind, every twittering bird, every rustle in the grassy fields…it’s Him.

            I hope that wherever God takes me in this life, I’ll find somewhere to walk. I walk off the fears and tension and depression, and walk in God’s peace and grace and inspiration. I walk off my whining and excuses, and walk in the truth of His Word. Oh, sometimes it’s so good just to be quiet! Sometimes the silence says so much, I can’t even describe it. I just know it’s Jesus.

            If you are by any chance feeling an urge to go out and do a bit of walking yourself, all I can say is, GET GOING!

[*Note: song lyrics by Phillips, Craig & Dean]