Thoughts on a rainy Monday

There are many invisible paths of writers. When we're not writing, we're cultivating the earth; building experience, emotion, language. When we're not writing or editing, we're thinking, reading, exploring. When I'm not writing, I'm in hibernation, in the fat of winter thoughts.

Today, I read on P&W:

Meanwhile, after nearly a decade of decreasing print books sales in the United States, it appears that print may be making a comeback. A recent report from Nielsen BookScan reveals that sales of physical books in the United States have increased from 559 million in 2014 to 571 million in 2015. (Quartz)

That's so exciting! Books are rad. People are finding their way back to the printed (or e-printed?) page. Totally rocks my Monday socks, which were feeling a little boggy-soggy.

I've been thinking a lot about how and why I published my first chapbook through Amazon and how I feel about having only an electric copy available. With prose, the electronic format is fairly satisfying, but I don't think I care for it as a format for poetry. It is too cold. I think the tactile nature of books is an integral part of the experience. Am I being too stodgy? Perhaps. This is an emotional reaction, not a logical one- but what's more pertinent to poetry than emotion besides craft?