So, there’s this notion running around suggesting that books are a dead art. Well, maybe not dead or extinct, but certainly dying. At least, that’s what they would have you believe. The they being the twisted sadist naysayers behind such shenanigans like hiding the remote, mixing starches and vegetables, and other communist 

plots. What, then, does that mean of authors? Are we also nearing extinction? Are we among the forsaken, destined to usher in a new, far-too-intelligent race of humans who no longer need books or words to show them how to live and cope with the world?

According to tons of bestselling books, no. I think the notion behind books being obsolete is, in actuality, the thing that is obsolete. A quick glance at the records of fellow masochists like Nicholas Sparks or James Patterson or the alien who wrote 49 Shades of Charcoal (wait, that chick was an alien, right?) will show very clearly that books are not even close to being dead. Yes, as insane a notion as it is, people are still actually reading and so are some of their friends…yes, both of them. But those two friends will read the crap out of all the books on their shelves.

Of course I realize that not everyone reads. Wait, scratch that. Yes, they do, just maybe not full-length novels. I think something about good storytelling scares them off, or maybe it’s just the evil iPhone, which makes us all minute children, mostly incapable of lengthy attention spans. Jury’s still out. Whatever the reason, there does seem to be a shift. People, as a whole, are reading less; however, the ones who still enjoy a good story, good characters, good writing, are still out there in search of their next favorite. So, while not every author seeking to make a name for him/herself will make it into the echelon of douchie authors who make far-too-much cash, there will be some who do, and it is the job of masochistic capitalists like me to keep scheming for ways to make it into that party to shake things up a bit.

The days of writing a book and getting it published and becoming uber rich, if such days ever did really exist, are dead, but the art of reading and writing good books (several titles notwithstanding) are not. This is NOT the end. Books, and the awesomeness of them, are not dead. The voracious readers are still voracious and looking for authors who are eager to meet them where they are.

stay fly. spread fuego,

-ev