Today is National Book Lovers Day, which feels like the perfect excuse to talk about books… mine, other people’s, and the ridiculous path that got me here.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a successful author. You know—towering stacks of my books in the front window of some quaint little shop, my name in that swirly font, maybe an interview where I look very thoughtful while sipping tea.
Fast forward only five decades, and I’ve made it halfway: I’m officially an author. The “successful” part? Well, that’s apparently on layaway. At this rate, I might get there by my 100th birthday—so if you’re planning to live that long, please keep an eye out.
But honestly? I love this stage. My books are alive in the world, so far being read by three actual humans (and maybe a few cats, but they’re terrible at leaving reviews). So far, I got to write about whimsical gnomes, three times over, and a misunderstood skunk (rebellious bees and health truths that don’t come shrink-wrapped in clickbait are on the way). And when someone messages me to say, “I enjoyed this”—that’s its own kind of success.
So, on this National Book Lovers Day, I want to end by recommending a book that isn’t mine at all but absolutely deserves a spot in your hands: A Ribbon of Sand by Mike Shannon. It’s the kind of story that lingers like the last line of a poem, both vivid and haunting—and it might just be the perfect way to celebrate today.
Because books aren’t just paper and ink. They’re worlds you get to keep.
📚 A Ribbon of Sand by Mike Shannon — available now wherever good books hide.
