Every morning, when the sun rises, it first shines on my bookcase, which often inspires me to think about books – I’ve written 26 of them, including children’s books –  and I wonder how long there will be bookcases.

I’ve never really been comfortable keeping books on shelves for years gathering dust. I usually give them away as soon as I finish them, but some I keep for reference or out of loyalty to a writer.

When I give someone a book, they always promise to return it, but I always ask them not to. I don’t need to have books lying around unread, they ought to be out in the world passing from person to person.

I’m attached to my bookshelf, the sun remains me of it every morning. I’m not into nostalgia, I don’t know what form books will take after I’m gone.

But books have given shape and purpose to my life, supported me and my family, helped me heal, given me the wisdom of so many smarter men and women.

I just like thinking about my bookcase sometimes, it is soothing and meaningful. My new Leica caught the mood.