What marks our journey

Books ARE sacred. But they are sacred in the old ways. They are like the personal gods who lived with you. Who kept our fires lit. Who sang us birdsong. Who walked beside us. Who marked a path through dark woods.

We revere them and sacrifice for them. They become a part of who we are. But more importantly we live our lives with them.

Pristine and untouched books are the saddest idea. An aesthetic that’s as grotesque as prominently displaying random colorful dead birds.

Books are some part of another person’s life. A dream they conceived into reality. A dream we do a disservice by holding the intention of pretty shelves to show cultured we are.

A book should be well loved. Cared for. But at the end of the day they must also be read. And lived with.

There is an eternal debate in book circles not unlike the one in programming circles.

In programming circles, it’s tabs vs spaces. And believe me when I say that this debate can lose you friends and colleagues.

In book circles, it’s bookmarks vs dog ear. And it occupies the same emotional space as tabs vs spaces.

I’m sure every passion has at least one such debate/war.

I tried to use bookmarks. I love a good bookmark. It has color and artistry. And when a book has a book ribbon, I will use that.

But, the majority of my books are dog eared. I could say that I have cats and to cats a bookmark is a lovely toy to grab in your teeth and go tearing down the hall with. While that’s true, it’s not the whole story.

It’s convenient. And I keep my books and reread them. I live with my books and can’t imagine a room that’s complete without a wall length shelve system covered in books. When I reread a book, I will find myself stopping at the same pages I did the first time. I’ll have a burst of tactile memories of why I stopped there and what I was feeling.

And how can that not be beautiful. Bookmarks can only ever say this is who I was when I bought it. It can never mark the journey of a life. It can’t keep me on the path through the woods. It can’t live with me and tell my journey to those who come after me.

Writing tropes I could do without reading again

The only way to protect someone is to give them the freedom to choose. You must give them all the information and trust that their decision will be the right one for them.

You hope that the decision will coincide with yours. But it might not. And that’s ok. It has to be ok.

Taking away someone’s choice by providing narrow or no information is manipulation.

Ignorance is not safety.

It sucks. We want to protect the ones we love. But treating them like a child because it hurts you to take the neccesary steps. Because you think you know better… Takes away their agency. Doing so is a betrayal of their trust.

Iron Kissed by Patricia Briggs is a hard read. *spoiler alert* *trigger warning*

Iron Kissed by Patricia Briggs is a hard read.
*spoiler alert*

I’d forgotten the rape in Iron Kissed. I think I blocked it out. I fills me up with rage. Makes me want to find whoever would do this and remove them from the world. I know it’s a novel, but I also know it happens. And that, often, the victim feels like it is their fault. That our so called justice system makes them out to be complicit in their own attack. It fills me with cold rage. I understand Adam’s reaction and the frustration at not being able to do anything to help his love. He was too late. And now that he’s here he doesn’t know how to make it better. Everything he is, every contact, every skill cannot make it better. And you can’t kill someone twice.

Our world is broken that this occurs in it. Doubly so that those who commit these atrocities are allowed to walk free. To keep breathing.