no longer want to write a book

seven years ago, i hoped that i would write a book. a book—something to print, touch, caress even—seemed an obvious result for a job well done ; a record, set in stone paper, which would both create and certify the good work that i would have done by then.

that was seven years ago.

much of what i do is owed to an age that accorded the book as a cornerstone of information archival and communication. but, now, i do not wish to create a book. not because books involve the felling of trees or toxic ink : simply because the book, like the stone before it, is no-longer a cornerstone for information archival, communication or—that which books do not afford—manipulation. i’ve stood on the shoulder of a fantastic tree, but now that i see an impressive cloud in the distance, i’d very much like to take flight and reach for that instead.

having said that, i still prefer reading out of a book than off a computer screen; but that’s because book-makers had several centuries to perfect the act of showing things to me. so, while i shall continue to bemoan the primitive-ness of new media, i’d also like to work on them. or maybe… go further than just working on new media, and actually build some tools or new mediums altogether; some day; soon-ish, perhaps. maybe.

first written in 2014. some rephrasing and edits in 2020.