There’s something irresistible about the way a book smells once it’s been
rescued from a bookstore. The sharp, fresh ink of new arrivals; the warm,
seductive musk of an old, tattered volume. A spine as supple as a ballerina’s
slippers. Edges worn smooth by countless hands, inviting yet another stranger
to wander the unknown within.

The scent carries me back to girlhood, learning to run a Heidelberg press
for a school booklet — learning, very quickly, to keep my hands away from the
machine that could slice a ream of paper like soft butter. Stealing a kiss in
the darkroom while waiting for an image to bloom through the chemicals.

Now I find myself wondering: could I make my own books or pamphlets at
home? I’d love to craft journals or organizers for my WIPs. Well here we go…
hello, bookbinding.