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THOUGHTS ON BOOKMARKS

For the thousandth time this morning, my husband gently removed something from the interior spine of a book I was reading and replaced it with a bookmark. “A pair of tweezers is not a bookmark,” he commented.

We have an infinite number of bookmarks in our house. Many that I have made to promote the books I’ve written, handing them out at book fairs and school appearances. Some I’ve picked up from other authors at said book fairs. Some sent by nonprofits after a donation to their organization. Some home-crafted: felted, quilted, painted. Still, somehow every time I pause in my reading and need to mark my place—I certainly can’t bring myself to leave it facedown, its spine open, or to dog-ear a corner—I end up using something unexpected (some might say “weird”). Tweezers are sometimes easily available, or a Kleenex (clean, don’t worry), or a comb, or a shopping list, or a cellphone, or a rubber band, or a necklace . . . or anything that’s close to hand.

Usually, it’s been pointed out to me, a bookmark is close to hand, but for some reason that never makes the final cut. What’s your favorite bookmark?



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