Welcome to all(!) the new readers. I heartily thank you choosing TMSIDN (that's my catchy acronym for the blog - try saying it, you'll spit like an ungodly camel). If you came from Fab Frocks, again, I salute your reading choices and thank you for your blog-based time.
Now, because I'm little else but a contrary bugger, the next wave of auctions to go up will be books, not fashion. I have a frightening amount of paper matter in my possession, not least because of my job in the publishing industry (not that I'm allowed to say any more then that on acount of their crazy big brother internet rules). Because of this job, I have an inordinate amount of proofs which I'm not allowed to sell, on pain of actual death. This death would be self-inflicted and excuted during a Loose Woman marathon because I would have lost my job and daytime TV would be my only recourse for human contact. If you get to a stage where Lynda Bellingham is all you've got, that's the point where oblivion is too good for you.
However, my personal and freely saleable book collection runs into the thousands. I want to talk about the psychology of compulsive book buying in another post but here's the thing, tiny readership and I'd really like your thoughts on this:
I have a lot of lovingly inscribed books which various friends and loved ones have given me. Is it ever okay to sell them on?
If the relationship with the person who gave you the book doesn't exist any more, does that give you right to profit from that book?
Or, to be succinct: there's letting go and there's being an arsehole. Column A? Column B?
Because of my appetite for micro narrative, I consider a second-hand book with a dedication to somebody else in it a huge boon. Throw in an enigmatic bookmark or old bus ticket and I'm in heaven. But there's the question of betrayal, as there is in the very existence of this blog. Is the physical manifestation of a memory more powerful than the telling of it? I have no idea, blogosphere. Zippo. Nada.
What do you think? Comments below...
Yours in much conflict,
Becky.
