Some people burn books
for books can burn souls;
light hearts through reading –
wild future dreams come
book
The printout on the publisher’s desk
The printout on the publisher’s desk was his autobiography. One day, she thought, it could be famous and she could be rich. But only if the writer somehow, mysteriously, died. She looked at the nervous, eager man.
Yes. Yes, I think we can, she said.
Tent
In the tent the writer of ‘The Domino Effect’ posed by stacks of his book. A step back and he was a victim of his own success.
Climbing into a good book and pulling the covers closed
The girls split up to read, two went as ones and two stayed as sisters. They jumped into books they found open and wheedled their way into books that were closed.
In her silky fresh book Jackie lay looking up at the frontispiece, body horizontal and a fingertip reach below the title. Sometimes she stretched out a white-socked foot and touched the author’s name with her toe.
Inside the thriller’s hard back cover Beyo ended up tight against the writer’s face, his moustache tickling her nose as he squashed his extra chins hidden. She turned her face to the side and frowned.
Grace and Kirsty were the lucky ones. They dived in, deep into the story, flipped and flirted with mermaids and seahorses, with sharks and sea shepherds, bubbling and blowing and shaking long hair.
The four of them met later, the wet girls giggling and panting and winking and sighing, Jackie stiff and Beyo not smiling. Next time, they all promised, next time, they would read one book together and not leave damp footprints on the story’s last pages.
Open book
“Open the book, hold it in front of you, breathe in the words through your eyes.” I was the only one who couldn’t. The book closed.
J looked at the book
J looked at the book, then at the woman sitting next to it. Strangers on a train. She smiled back up at him and put the book away.
