I want to write a book.
In the past, I swore to myself I would never write a book. I didn‘t think I had it in me. I am simply not someone who writes books; books are not what I do, I told myself, I do blog posts. I‘m a blogger, not a book writer.
I still don‘t believe it. Writing books scares me, books scare me. Books are big, full of words, full of many, many words. I never wrote many, many words. Look at most of my blog posts, they are short. But books are beautiful. I love books. The world needs more books.
So, I will write a book. A beautiful book. A book that makes people smile when they hold it in their hands.
And it shouldn‘t be any book. I want it to be a unique book: What it feels like holding in your hands, how the paper sounds when you turn the page, how the spine cracks when you open it up, how it smells of ink and paper and glue and words and stories and pictures and ideas and imagination.
I don‘t know what it will be about yet. I don‘t know when it will happen. It scares me. But I will write my book. This, I promise.