Okay, okay. I admit it. Quit pointing the gun at me. *sigh* Yes, I do dog-ear books. It’s not an addiction, no. It’s just sort of a… habit.
Hi Sabrina, and welcome to the book blogger rehabilitation center. Can you introduce yourself for us?
Hi, my name is S, and I habitually dog-ear books.
(And yes, if you must ask, that was terrifying. My slogan, for as long as I can remember, is A used book is a loved book, and, by “used,” I mean beaten-up and falling apart. And yes, dog-eared.)
Welcome, S! Please, share your story with us.
I don’t like bookmarks. They’re too fancy, too attention-attracting, and they tend to fall out of my books. Or I tend to take them out and start reading and then leave the bookmark behind as I gradually migrate across my house to lie in the warm sun. (Yes, this actually happens.)
Dog-earing is just so much easier. Plus, you never run out of dog-ears. You can dog-ear as much as you want! Besides, for me, I only dog-ear one page at a time: the page on which I have stopped.
For a long, long time, I believed that dog-earing books is what everybody did. And I mean everybody. Nobody in my fifth-grade class really read as much as I did, and nobody else used bookmarks because our teachers never really handed them out. (I know, I know, you’re going teachers!, but allow me time to explain for their faults.) I guess it was a good thing, too, because we were sticky, messy, sloppy, forgetful little
miscreants, er, fifth-graders, and bound to lose the bookmark and the page we were on and have to start all over again, because everyone knows we have no brains.
Well, after a while, I joined the blogosphere. And later the book-blogosphere. And what I saw there terrified me. Horrific slogans of anti-dog-earing tactics pervaded the atmosphere. To survive, it seemed, you must leave behind the dog-earing tactics of old, and conform to the new standard of bookmarking and page-memorizing, neither of which I’d really liked before.
And so I, the poor little A-used-book-is-a-loved-book nerd in the corner gave up what I loved most about books: dog-earing them. Now, now, before you begin judging me, you should know that I had been dog-earing books since I was a wee child, and this was a whole new world. I tried sticky notes (bad, bad things for books!), bookmarks (they kept slipping out), memorizing the page (… was it 321 or 322?) and many other recommended techniques. None of them worked. I took to kind-of-sort-of-not-really memorizing the page number and trying my best to come back later. Nothing, it seemed, worked.
For a long, long time, I was the poor little book blogger in the corner, afraid to admit that I dog-ear. And so I joined the oh-nos and how terribles and other horrific slogans of anti-dog-earing tactics, with little regard for my past as a horrible and avid dog-earer. (Now, I didn’t dog-ear all my books, children! No, no, no! Far from that. I only dog-eared the ones I really, really liked. Also, the ones that weren’t hardbacks or too pretty or too expensive.)
Well, several hundred books and a few years later, I found my fingers itching once again. I needed to dog-ear a book. And so I did. I dog-eared and dog-eared and dog-eared some more. I dog-eared until I had nothing else to dog-ear. And there I stopped, fingers finally at rest, brain buzzing with words. And I realized that all the horrific anti-dog-earing tactic slogans were false. They were just a horrible hegemony of the individualism of book readers. And so I rebelled.
Now, members of the Book Blogger Rehabilitation center, this is where I rebel. I ask you to take up arms and join me, book addicts, in the turning tide against hegemony and false individualism!
Yes. You know what I am asking of you. My dear bookish addicts, I am asking you to dog-ear books to your heart’s content. I am asking you to like paperbacks better than hardcovers. I am asking you, my fellow readers, to unleash your inner bookish insanities in real life. So today, I shall introduce myself again:
My name is S. I am a dog-earing addict. And I am PROUD!