Ramble: Books and E-Books

I own seventeen e-books. (And how do you spell and punctuate that word?!)

On principle, I disapprove of e-books. The fact that my copy of the book will go away when the technology goes away, the fact that I can't bring them to the used bookstore, the fact that I can't lend them or only lend them so many times, the fact that some books could go to a pure e-book publication and that when those books go out of copyright they could be flat-out lost forever. All that is bad.

But I downloaded the Kindle reader for Mac and for my phone, and bought a cheap out-of-copyright e-book to play with them with. And then I bought another e-book at a moderately discounted price. And then I bought one at the ridiculous (given the extremely low per-unit cost for e-books) full price.

And now, a few months later, I have seventeen of the things. Three technical, two how-to, one self-help, one reference, five novels, three biographical nonfiction, two "other nonfiction."

So I disapprove of them, but I have seventeen, and I'm reading more than I was before, and reading relatively new books (which I rarely did before), and authors are making more money from me than before, because I used to mostly buy used books. So, well, maybe it's not such a bad thing. Except financially, for me. Well, and for my local bookstore. Eep.

My original plan, as much as it could be detected mixed in with my denial that I was buying e-books at all, was to restrict my electronic buying only to those books that I don't want to own permanently in paper form anyway. There are a lot of these. The shelves are full, and while I never actually want to get rid of any book, most books must go, promptly after I've read them. Or if they stay, something else must go. Turning my head left and right, I see two stacks, representing about fifteen books, that are destined for the used bookstore. And that's just what hasn't been boxed yet.

Come to think of it, fifteen is almost the count of what I've read for the 100+ Reading Challenge. So given that some of my 100+ books were electronic, and assuming that I actually drag myself to the used bookstore, I'm more than keeping up with one book in, one book out. Yay me!

Um. Where was I? Oh, yes. The e-book versus paper judgement has failed three times, which is a rather high rate. I bought Betsy Lerner's Forest For The Trees (one of the "other nonfiction", about writing, though there's plenty of biographical stuff in there too) in e-book form, and I liked it so much that now I want it permanently.

I should have learned my lesson, but, no, I just downloaded and finished her Food and Loathing, and while I'm letting my impressions settle out before I rush to spend more money, I think I'll want a paper copy of that one, too. I think that my recent post about writing while grumpy/cranky/angry reminded me of Betsy Lerner and sent me looking for her latest book--while Forest For The Trees wasn't all that grumpy, her blog often is, and so is Food and Loathing, and I love her writing, grumpy or non. It makes me wonder if, like it or not, I should grab a keyboard when I'm gnashing my teeth and see what comes out.

And I'm in the middle of Dominique Browning's Slow Love, and judging from my fondness for two of her other books (Paths of Desire and Around the House and in the Garden) I'm also going to want that in paper form. (As a side note, I find myself wondering if I should email to the author that her website makes it impossible to link to a single specific book. Would she care?)

So, really, I have no grounds for claiming surprise in the last two cases. Frankly, I just wanted the books and I wanted them now, so I downloaded them.  I tell myself that I'm supporting the author. And the publisher--I have no problem supporting publishers either, I'm just more excited about supporting the authors. And by buying the things a second time on paper, I can even ease my guilt about the local bookstore, because I can order them there. So, really, everybody but my pocket wins. That'll have to be good enough.

Roundup: Kindle review from All I Am - A Redhead.

Image: By Andreas Praefcke. Wikimedia Commons.

Beginning: Coffee Break

Again, breaking the block with "post something!" This has even less plot than usual--it's the beginning of a possibly surreal story, and I don't know the ending yet.

"What? What? What do you want?" demanded the waitress behind the counter, all Alice in Wonderland in blond hair and blue dress.

Henry halted, then resumed, his approach to the cash register. Er. "...coffee?"

"There's no decaf. None at all. We are out of decaf."

Maybe a smile would help. He tried one. "Okay."

It didn't. Help, that is. Alice advanced on mug and coffee, over-filled the one with the other, and deposited the dripping result in front of him. "One nineteen."

Henry put two singles down at a safe distance from the spreading puddle, and watched as they vanished into her pocket. She was at the other end of the restaurant, facing the window, before he recovered himself enough to murmur, "Keep the change," and lean over the mug for a safety slurp before picking it up.

Two more sips as he scanned the available resources. He finally ventured, "Sugar?"

She flapped a hand toward the counter, without turning.

"No, see, that's Sweet'N Low, and..." He broke off as she turned to shove her way through the swinging door to the kitchen. He watched the flapping door settle, and finally tore open one of the pink packets. He was reaching for a stirrer when she appeared on the other side of the window.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

The state of blogging discussion (Rant Rant Ranty Rant)

Just a link to a rant on the other blog.

Image: By Hannibal Poenaru. Wikimedia Commons.

Vignette: Lunchtime Doubly So

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank goodness you're there. I was about to go to the police!"

"Hi, Mom."

"'Hi, Mom'? Is that all you have to say?"

"About what?"

"You weren't at the restaurant--I looked everywhere. I just got back home!"

"Just now?"

"Yes, of course just now. I almost went to the police station, but I decided first I'd go home and call. I thought you were dead."

"What happened to your cell?"

"I don't carry that thing, it's just for emergencies."

"It's about a ten minute drive, right?"

"What difference does it make how long a drive it is? I was so worried, I'm lucky I didn't have a wreck!"

"How long were you at the restaurant?"

"Oh, now you're interested? It must have been half an hour, almost. I was so upset the owner had to offer me a cup of tea and a place to sit down while I settled my nerves. They had to vacuum around me! It was very rude of you, inconveniencing all those people."

"Tell me, what time is it now?"

"It's five minutes to two and, mind, you, I was so worried I haven't even eaten yet. I could have fainted from low blood sugar! The bartender thought that you behaved very badly."

"Five minutes to two. You checked that on your watch? It's working?"

"What? Yes, of course, what are you going on about? And the hostess agreed with him."

"So that means you got there sometime after one."

"And? So?"

"We were supposed to meet there at noon. I waited forty-five minutes."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Is everything all about you?"

Image: By Jon Sullivan. Wikimedia Commons. And Jon Sullivan's website is at PDPhoto.org.

Link: Rambling. And cheese. No, not really.

Just a pointer to a post on the other blog, where I ramble about... well, where I ramble.

Theater Image: By Smatprt. Wikimedia Commons.

Rambling: Bad Peony Timing

So. Gardening. This blog once had garden content. Then the garden filled up. Then winter came. Then NaNoWriMo came. Then I started the 100-fiction-words-a-day resolve, which is still in effect as a goal. And there wasn't a lot of gardening, in my writing or in real life.

But the days are getting longer, and this weekend was deceptively springlike. And, most important, I may have access to some fresh gardening space soon.

Bwahaha.

So it's time to start the spring gardening dance. Seed catalogs. Websites. Peonies. At this moment, particularly peonies. And, yes, I realize that it would have been much better to have thought of this in the fall.

I used to garden in the San Francisco Bay Area. Bay Area weather doesn't support peonies--there isn't enough winter chill. All the same, many of the garden centers sell the things, presenting me every year with those gorgeous pictures on glossy boxes of peony roots. Every gardener knows that there are plenty of things sold in garden centers that are highly unlikely to do anything at all in the garden, but that's usually about skill. And skill improves every year, so each spring the gardener buys a new batch of plants, and most die, but some unexpectedly live, or even bloom, and so everybody's happy.

But when the garden centers sell something that simply won't bloom unless you live a few thousand feet up a mountain or dump a truckful of ice on it every few days through the winter, that seems to be an unfair stacking of the deck. I planted and lost a couple of peonies before reading about them and learning that they were a doomed pursuit. Then I ignored what I read and planted some more. But nothing ever bloomed.

So when I moved to a Southern Oregon garden that not only supported peonies, but had one already blooming, I was excited. I planned to plant many more.  But we had new paths made and new beds built, and in all that tromping around, peony roots seemed somehow too fragile to insert and too hard to keep track of. So we installed roses for me and irises for Himself, and space filled up.

And then one fall I had a spark of peony determination, one that wouldn't wait for catalogs and mail-order, and I planted six of what they were selling at the hardware store. And then we revamped the irrigation system, and then we did remodeling, and people did their very best not to walk on the flower beds, but planting more seemed like a mistake. And then, two or maybe three years later, those peonies bloomed, and they were lovely, but they were still what they were selling at the hardware store. They weren't gasp-and-fall-down peonies. And the garden was full.

Anyway. Enough history. Now I may have another chance to plant the really glorious peonies, the ones that transcend the hardware store. Except... it's spring. And I should have planted them in the fall.

Hmph.

The quick thing to do would be to search local nurseries and buy any potted peonies that I can find. The sensible thing to do would be to accept reality, prepare a luxurious bed, perhaps plant a few annuals to keep myself entertained, and order roots for perfect, glorious, transcendent peonies, to be received and planted in the fall.

What, I wonder, are the odds that I'm going to do the sensible thing?

First Pink Peony Image: By Epibase. Wikimedia Commons.
Second Pink Peony Image: By Epibase. Wikimedia Commons.
White Peony Image: By Usien. Wikimedia Commons.
Striped Peony Image: By LapisLauzli Tomorrow. Wikimedia Commons.

Rambling: Rambling

So, as I've mentioned on the other blog, I haven't been doing much writing this past couple of weeks. And it's not just writing that isn't happening; my brain's usual production of silly daydream stories has been drastically reduced as well. In fact, even my dreams aren't offering much in the way of plot. But I have been doing a lot of reading. Unlike last year, this year I'm keeping up with the 100+ reading challenge, and I can imagine exceeding it. Maybe.

This made me wonder if my mind is unidirectional, either absorbing or producing, and not both. But what causes the direction to flip? Seasonal change? The end of the holidays? The tragic resumption of work at the end of the holidays? Seasonal Affective Disorder? What's the deal?

I also (whispering) read a novel that didn't involve a murder.  Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, a nice low-key story with no crime to speak of. Is it possible that aliens borrowed my brain and didn't get the fluff and fold process quite right before returning it? I read The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, too, but that one does involve a murder, even if it is sold with the regular novels at the non-mystery end of the bookstore.

Puzzlement.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.