Tag: Old books
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Bibliophilia: Nature’s Craftsmen
This is the first book I intend to share as part of this series chronicling my love for books as works of art. There are far greater specimens, I am certain. I do not possess any that are museum quality. Some I bought simply for their beauty, but most are in my collection because…
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Marginalia
One small thing I sometimes miss about real paper books is the ability to scribble in the margin. I’ve done this rarely with fiction books, although I have copied out beautiful quotes, especially when I was younger and still had hopes of achieving lovely handwriting through practice. With history, though, and other books I wanted…
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Bibliophilia
We have been discussing what to do with books for some time. We have less than I once owned, and more than he had when I moved into his house. Which means it is more than we want to move (again) but less than we’d like to have at our fingertips if we’re researching something. …
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Curmudgeon’s Corner: Stick-in-the-Mud
written by Sanford Begley I’m a Stick-in-the-mud. I have to admit it, because it is true. I don’t usually think of myself as one. Not that I think I’m with it or anything, just that none of us like to think we can’t keep up with the times. Some days you get it rubbed in…
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Broad Reading
I’ve talked on the blog and elsewhere many times about the importance of reading if you plan to become a good writer. I’m sure you can write without reading – well, knowing how to read seems to be a requirement, but reading other works is technically optional. Stephanie Souders wrote a wonderful essay about this…
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Curmudgeon Reviews: Big Red
Big Red Big Red By Jim Kjelgaard was published in 1945 the third of a string of books about boys in the wilderness that would continue until ten years after his death in 1959. I must assume unsold manuscripts turned up. The basic story line is simple and enjoyable for those with some experience…
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Book Hunting
One of the reasons I write is that I love to read. My Mom tells me I learned how to read at four, but I honestly don’t remember a time when I couldn’t read. Mom may have regretted teaching me, because what I do remember is her trying to slow me down or keep me…