For as long as I can remember, I've never lived my life very far from a book, a notepad, or a post-it with some scribbled handwriting on it. They were always close by, as if demanding to be cherished, a reminder that words were my lifeblood. And while I could get on my laptop and type a paper, or open up my Kindle and read a novel, that electronic approach never seems to live up to the experience of pulling out a real book and running my fingers through the dog-eared pages, tracing each word with a delicate touch, and inhaling the perfume of the papered pages. Tangible writing that I could pick up and hold in my hands as if I could absorb the words through my fingertips and into my heart.

I think this is the way books were meant to be read, and words were meant to be written.

I find comfort in knowing that there are others who love the push of a pen against paper, more than the click of a button on their laptop. The nostalgia of a library rather than the convenience of online bookstores. The feel of thumbing through a notebook, rather than scrolling through a mouse. And the soft touch of book pages instead of the harsh light of an e-reader.

Pen to paper, paper to pages, pages to eyes, eyes to mind, mind to far and beyond, all because of some words printed on a page.

That's the power a book has to transport, to immerse, and to carry a reader. Away to travel, yet remain stationary. An introduction to magic and imagination. A vessel to carry you beyond the storm. But you can only come aboard ship if you pick up the book and open the cover.

And whether you're a writer yourself, a bibliophile, or someone who just makes the occasional trip to the bookstore, you know what it's like to find solace and comfort under the cover of a book, rather than the power button of your laptop.