Nadine Huffman and Marilyn Lebhar's book 'A Cincinnati Night Before Christmas'

I asked one of our custom book clients, Nadine Huffman, author of  ”A Cincinnati Night Before Christmas,” what inspired her to write her book and why she chose Orange Frazer to publish it. Here is what she had to say.

I wrote A Cincinnati Night Before Christmas because I believe no other city “does Christmas” like Cincinnati:  Our Christmases are filled with family, traditions, and the incredible generosity of Cincinnatians. I had two specific sources of inspiration for the book. First, on an out-of-town trip, I happened to see a book about Christmas in a certain city. The book seemed dull, caricatured, and lifeless. I leafed through it and thought, “Cincinnati Christmases aren’t like this at all – they’re heartwarming and special, and I could write about that.” At the same time, friends of mine were in the process of adopting a long-awaited baby girl from Guatemala, and I imagined what it would be like if she came home on Christmas Eve. So through these two events, I developed a storyline linking the unique qualities of our city’s holiday celebrations with a story of amazing love.

I published A Cincinnati Night Before Christmas for several reasons.  It seemed to have market potential. There was nothing else like it, and as far as we know, it’s the first children’s picture book about Cincinnati. I also thought it would be a great way to showcase our city, which sometimes gets negative press, but is actually a wonderful place to raise a family. And by giving all the proceeds to adoption charities, it was a great way to give back and leave a legacy to my adopted hometown.

My friend, illustrator Marilyn M. Lebhar, partnered with me on the project from the beginning. We decided to publish with OFP because our goal was to produce a beautiful, keepsake gift book. With the high quality of Marilyn’s gorgeous watercolor illustrations, we knew we had to be selective in entrusting them to a publisher. Plus, we knew we needed book design expertise. Seeing OFP’s catalog of books, particularly Dayton Air Show – A Photographic Celebration and Beauty in the Grove, convinced us that OFP’s creative vision and standards were as high as our own. And OFP could manage the entire production process, from design to finished product warehousing, thereby freeing us to focus on the marketing and business aspects of the book.

Our experience with OFP has been, in a word, superb. The wonderful folks at OFP made the book of our dreams come to life through their design talents. They also gave us the knowledge, encouragement, and insight we needed to make our project successful. They always met deadlines, and sweated every detail. They were patient when we asked ignorant questions, and understanding when we had to push back our initial timeline. Most importantly, they are people of honesty and integrity, which shines through everything they do. The fact that they’re genuinely likeable, bright, and enjoyable to work with is a delightful bonus. We’ve been blessed to work with them.

"When My Mama Reads to Me" by our custom book client, Julie Elkus.

We have published a few children’s books here at Orange Frazer and even read some of them to a child or two.

 1) Studies have shown that reading to your children, as painful as it might be when you are exhausted and would rather chug wine straight from the bottle to make it all go away, makes your children better readers. Knowing how to read is obviously important so why not get them started as soon as possible.

 2) It’s a bonding experience. I’m pretty sure the last time my mother read to me I was thirteen. Her voices were the characters in all of my books. She was Cora the cat in “Gus and the Baby Ghost” and the voice of the lion in “The Tawny Scrawny Lion.” No one but my mother could read to me about Flip the colt who wanted to fly or about all of the animals in “Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm.” I think the only other person who read to me was my sister. I think it was just once and I’m sure she hated every second of it.

 3) You expose your child to new worlds. A flying bed? A worm that hops around on one shoe and dons a hat with a feather? A cat that can drive a forklift? As a result of this exposure I thought that everything had feelings—even an abandoned shoe on a highway or a lone pencil on a sidewalk. To me they were sad and lonely objects who missed their owners and just wanted to go home. Retail therapy has since remedied this but I still have quite an active imagination. And I am extremely empathetic.

 4)You expose your child to new words. How about tawny and scrawny?

 5) You teach your children how to properly pronounce words. I know adults who still say Valentime’s Day or ambulampse. It is cute when you are two. Not so much when you are thirty–two.

 So sit down and read a book to your child or children. Your exhausted voice just might turn into the voice of their favorite character.

Recently released custom book by renowned Cleveland photographer, Jennie Jones. "Cleveland Inside Outside" is available on Amazon.com and Orangefrazer.com

We have many different clients who have published custom books with us. I have compiled a list of things they have done that helped make their books a success.

1) Schedule events and schedule them where it makes sense. We have a client who scheduled an event at a local ice cream parlor. But it made sense to do this because the store was mentioned in her book. As a result she sold seventy-seven copies at this one location. However, she also scheduled fifteen more events at different locations around the city and was equally successful—and not just because they served ice cream.

 2) Use the old-fashioned sales approach. You still need to knock on doors and make that personal connection with potential customers. Bookstores aren’t the only place to sell books. Gift shops are good places, too. Don’t be afraid to solicit gift shops but if they do end up purchasing from you, make sure you get paid up front. Gift shops can close without warning and leave you stuck with an unpaid invoice, lost merchandise, and a personal vendetta.

 3) Have a web presence. You don’t necessarily need a web page to sell your book but it is a good idea to have a presence in an online store. Amazon is our first choice but if it won’t pick up your book, see if the publisher has an online store. If it doesn’t, why did you publish with them in the first place?

 4) Facebook is an easy way to keep friends updated on book signings and news surrounding your book. Be mindful and don’t overpost. Every other day, share some news about your book or publicize an event or report how an event went. Subtle reminders are the best approach. Overpost and you are likely to land in the ‘I can’t take it anymore!’ zone—the place where annoying ‘friends’ are sent because they have over- shared inane information, gotten way too religious, or posted non stop about their cat.

 5) Go to parties. Yes, party like a rock star, er, author. What I really mean by this is: don’t sit at home hoping someone will find your book. Your book cannot walk or talk so you have to be its voice and its legs. When you are at that holiday party, don’t be afraid to talk about your book. And also talk about the process that went into making it. Talk about what you have learned through writing and publishing it. People have a romantic notion about writing. Take advantage of it. Deep down inside, they want to know how they can get their book published, too.

 6) Get some old-fashioned media attention. You know your topic. Is there a reporter who might be interested in what you have written about? (If it is a cookbook, you don’t want to contact the guy who writes the obits.) Once you have found the reporter who matches your topic, you can usually find his/her email address on the newspaper’s website. I would advise against pitching your book via telephone unless you’ve received no response to your emails. But be prepared for them to tell you to ‘Make it quick, I’m on a deadline.’ Which is true, but who needs that sort of pressure?

 Your book is your business, literally. You have just created a product. How will you let the world know it exists? This is the question that every business owner must answer, from the gal at the farmers market selling pins made out of corn husks to the owner of Walmart. If you don’t have the energy to sell, re-think the idea of self-publishing; as your success is up to you. Most important, have fun. But leave the clowns at the circus. Nine times out of ten, they are terrifying

Sarah clowning behind Chad at the office.

Sometimes in publishing, you have to say goodbye. Our designer/in house comedian, Chad DeBoard, will be leaving us mid- September to work for a company in Tennessee. Chad has been with us on and off since 2006 and he leaves us with a lot of memories. I have created a resume for him, in case he needs to show his new employer some of his lesser known but equally important talents.

 He can make stop-motion videos. He has heard the song “Starring” by Freelance Whales—the soundtrack to one of our stop motion videos—so many times he can sing it while sleeping. (See the videos at www.orangefrazercustombooks.com)

He can imitate a dolphin.

He can turn an umlaut into a comedy routine, and he has been known to launch into impromptu standup at places such as Toys R Us, to wit:

Chad to woman shopping: “You have just the one kid?”

Woman shopping: “Yes, how did you know?”

Chad: “You’re buying fruit wash. We used to buy fruit wash when we had our first kid. Now our third kid eats dirt off the bottom of his shoes. If we’d stayed with the fruit wash thing we would be buying fruit wash in industrial drums from Sam’s Warehouse and asking, ‘Can you get that with a pump on it?’”

He can fold paper into a three dimensional truck, plane, or boat.

He will share humorous stories about his children and other family members. A Christmas tree is now known around here as a ‘mimiss tree,’ and his Uncle Seymour says that the Kroger Plus card raises your insurance rates. (Uncle Seymour says they can see how much bacon you bought and this means your cholesterol is probably too high.)

He can design a website, a book, a t-shirt, a poster, a business card, a logo, a brochure, a post card, an outdoor sign and a hair-do. (And he can design them faster than you can say “mimiss tree.”)

He has been known to buy groceries for people out of work or pay their rent, and once he repaired the car of an Orange Frazer client—in the parking lot—while the client stood by.

He can make birthday cards. Here is an example:

A Chad DeBoard designed birthday card. L-R, Tim Fauley, Marcy Hawley, Chad, John Baskin, and Janice Ellis photoshopped to look like the gang from Scooby Doo.

Thank you, Chad, for everything. For working through the tedium that book formatting presents, mulling over the puzzles of picture placement, and solving the text- roll fiascos. Roman numerals are a girl’s best friend in two-volume books, and to proofread a book it takes a village, of which you have been our presiding mayor.

All our best,

Your Orange Frazer Family

 P.S. Needless to say, we are hiring.

400 meter relay team: L to R, Melissa Vermillion, Margaret (Hawley) Morgan, Sarah Hawley, Kari (Jones) Crowe

We have been working on a book for several years about sports in Clinton County. We do have quite a history, believe it or not and the locals love our sports teams, win or lose. For my blog today, I am including an essay that I wrote for the book and it describes what it was like to run track for our high school when Roger Ilg was the track coach.

What Track was Like

I ran track simply because my sister did. Initially, I had no interest in it. The only running shoes I owned were cheerleading sneakers, Converse. They were meant for gently bouncing on your toes, some serious high kicks, and spirited dance choreography. I merely wanted to follow my sister around, as I had always done.

My inability to think for myself put me on the starting line of the 100 meters at the high school track for the 1987 spring tryouts. “Just run fast, Sarah,” was the only advice my sister gave me as I crouched at the starting line, nervously waiting for the coach to yell “Go!” When he did, I ran. I ran as hard as I could, my little cheerleading sneakers hitting the asphalt at an unfamiliar pace, this time propelling me quickly forward instead of upward.

When I crossed the finish line before everyone else did I was ashamed. My first thought, as I looked at my friends—all of whom I had outrun—was: Who would be mad at me because I had beaten them? Before anyone had the chance to respond, the coach had said, “Margaret Hawley’s sister has some wheels on her!” And that was the moment when my life changed.

Track practice was hell. No, what I mean to say is, comparatively, hell would have been a day at the beach. I had never experienced such pain before. My lungs burned, my stomach ached, my brain throbbed, and my eardrums were wind whipped. During every practice I felt as if my insides were trying to push their way through my skin in an urgent quest to find another body, one that was resting peacefully beneath a shade tree or watching a movie with a friend. Some of my new teammates quit. I have no idea why it never occurred to me to do the same.

I do know that those of us who stayed learned quickly how to deal with pain, to work around it, to talk ourselves through it, to get used to it, to grow from it, and to understand that a life without it is a mediocre life. Pain makes you beautiful. It makes you sexy. It makes you strong. It gives you the ability to say, “I’ve seen the devil and we worked things out.” All of my teammates and I, we ran with him, and we knew how to deal with him.

“Breathe through your nose!”

“Use your arms!”

“Don’t sit down!”

“Don’t you dare quit!”

“The faster you run this, the faster you get to go home!”

We not only developed mental ways to deal with our suffering, we became physical specimens to behold. Arms, legs, butts, and abs that were so worshipped they deserved their own church.

We also became winners. We won almost every track meet for four years and every annual South Central Ohio League meet. We knew the names of our rivals at Little Miami, Miami Trace, Washington Court House, and Lebanon. We could outrun Xenia girls and outhurdle Clinton-Massie. Our track meets were watched by the neighborhood boys who played their rap music through the chainlink fence and cheered us on, making the final events more bearable.

It was dark and cold at the 200-yard mark of the mile relay. Parents placed themselves strategically at certain points around the track where there was limited support. I can still hear those voices: “That’s it! That’s it! Don’t let her catch you!”

After four seasons, we had no choice but to move on. At the awards banquet I can’t remember what my coach said because I was crying through most of it. I didn’t want it to end. Being a part of Roger Ilg’s WHS track team introduced me to a person that my mother had only told me about. “You’re a tough cookie, Sarah.” Now I knew—and my teammates as well—how strong we all were. We had proof. We outran, outthrew, and outjumped our problems and insecurities. We crossed finish lines first, dusting both the competition and our self-doubt. The track was hot, but we were hotter.

Occasionally, I see some of my teammates now and we complain about how old we are— how we pulled a muscle running halfway around the block or hurt our back bending down to plug in the vacuum cleaner. How did we abuse our bodies so back then when running 100 yards down the street now is a trip to the couch for a week?

But when I see them, I know. I remember, that we outran demons who tried to bring us down, tempting us to give up and give in to the pain. And we, along with our coaches, parents, friends, family—and the community—cheered each other on and chased them away.

The publisher's family reheating brisket on the grill. Are you kidding?

We’re working on a custom book cookbook project with my longtime, good friend Ev Small, originally from Greenville, Ohio, now living in Washington, DC. It’s called Stirring Up Stories. (Ev was integral in helping Katharine Graham write her Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir, Personal History.)

 Ev’s thought was there’s likely a story behind a favorite recipe. I think she’s right. She has about forty recipes and stories so far. It made me think I might have one to add:

 Road Brisket

 A week before I was to be married, it occurred to me that my new husband and I were likely to starve. I had not the first notion of how to cook; at 22, my culinary stockpile was heating cans of Franco-American spaghetti and boiling hot dogs. So, I did the unthinkable: I asked my mother for help.

My mother and I were never on great terms. One, she was a Jewish mother. Asking a Jewish mother for help was to prepare onesself  for getting a sailing ship to fish in a pond. Two, she was a nurse. That was like asking for a band-aid and ending up with recommendations from the Mayo Clinic.

When she suggested we sit down with my Aunt Roz (a twofer), thoughts of starving became thoughts of drowning. But I was desperate.

“Vat vud yul like ta cuk, my dahlink?” Aunt Roz asked. She loved to bake. I believe she thought we could live on Mandelbread and butter cookies. I went for the butter cookies.

“Roz, they’ll need something substantial,” said Mom. “How about my sweet and sour meatballs, honey?” They were a favorite of the Mah-jong club ladies and my dad’s bridge club. Often they’d appear at the hors d’oeuvre table at family bar mitzvahs. I loved them. “Sure,” I said.

Sweet and sour meatballs and butter cookies. Hey, this wasn’t so bad. But I thought my new husband, a Protestant from Ohio, was going to get kind of thin on this short list. His grandmother’s after-school snack for him was pan-fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and homemade applesauce. I was at a severe disadvantage here.

“Do you have any meat recipes? Pork chops, maybe?” A look shot between them that could have severed a pig in two. “No, dahlink,” said Aunt Roz. “No pork recipes.”

“I know,” said Mom. “How about brisket?  Marcy, you always like it when I make brisket. You know, the one with the potatoes and carrots and tomato sauce?” Now that sounded like a meal my new husband would eat. “Okay, let me have it.”

And so, along with spaghetti sauce, chicken soup, potato salad, cranberry mold, and giblets, beef brisket came with me into married life. Or tried to.

I’ll make this brief. After all, this is a recipe, not a memoir. But it should be noted that for several months after our marriage, we lived at my husband’s home in Greenville,Ohio. I really didn’t expect this, but when we pulled into my in-law’s home after our sixteen hour trip from Sharon,Massachusetts, I figured it out. The bad news was, this was a surprise. The good news was, I could postpone cooking.

But halfway through a summer of staying home with my thirteen-year-old brother-in-law while everyone else was at work, I found the courage to approach my new mother-in-law with a request to make dinner for the family. Her look of doubt was not unwarranted. I was untried, Jewish, East Coast, and socially insecure. I was going to cook for her very serious husband, herself, and four sons? “Well, all right,” she said, kindly.

I don’t remember how I bought the ingredients. Perhaps the butcher down the street found the brisket for me. Brisket was not a common Greenville request. I just remember standing in the kitchen with my little recipe book filled with a hundred empty pages… except for six.

I had before me a recipe that read:

One three-pound beef brisket, single lean (double is fatty)

1 large green pepper, sliced

1 large onion

6 potatoes, peeled, cut in half

6 carrots, peeled, cut in half

1 cup ketchup

Coarse salt to taste

1. Sear meat on all sides in large heavy skillet. Remove from pan.
2. Place pepper and onion on bottom of skillet.
3. Place meat on top.
4. Cover tightly and simmer for two hours.
5. Remove meat to cool slightly on cutting board.
6. Place potatoes and carrots on top of cooked onions and green pepper. Add salt.
7. Add ketchup and stir slightly.
8. On a cutting board, slice meat against the grain.
9. Places slices on top of vegetables in the pan.
10. Cover and simmer for another hour until potatoes and carrots are tender.

I did exactly as instructed. Then I set the table, everyone came home, and with very polite, Midwestern manners, six family members and I sat down to a perfectly burned, rock-hard dinner of brisket-as-shoe leather. No one said a word. The chewing seemed to go on forever.

I was embarrassed and humiliated. The boys just quietly smiled. Slightly raised eyes went towards my new husband. Luck to you, they clearly intimated.

“I’m so sorry. That was terrible, I know. I’m really so sorry.”

I didn’t cook for the rest of the summer. Who knows what I could have done to sweet and sour meatballs, never mind potato salad?

Without cell phones, calling long distance from their home was not an option. But I desperately wanted to ask my mother what went wrong. On the other hand, not telling her meant not admitting I couldn’t even follow a recipe.

I didn’t try cooking brisket again for two years. I had other people to feed: a baby whom I could keep alive on formula, rice cereal, and jars of baby food; a husband who had never eaten spaghetti but liked my spaghetti sauce; graduate school friends who would eat anything I cooked just to have someone make it for them. I figured out (through trial and error) the difference between broiling and baking a chicken. I found a recipe for chicken curry and we ate it regularly. I tried recipes from magazines, but only if they had less than six ingredients.

We survived.

Then one day, in a casual conversation with my mom, I asked her about The Brisket. I said, “You know, I lost that brisket recipe you gave me. (Lie.) Could you give it to me again?” 

“What do you mean you lost it? It’s in that little recipe book I got you. Did you lose the whole book?!”

“No, Mom. I must have spilled something on the page. (Lie.) I can’t read it. (Lie.)

She gave me the entire recipe again. I followed it verbatim in my recipe book while she told me. This time, she remembered to include a simple, yet vital ingredient.

A cup of water, added when the meat and green peppers and onions were cooking.

A cup of water: the difference between burned and tender; the difference between dry and moist; the difference between shoe leather and brisket; the difference between humiliation and satisfaction.

From then on, brisket became my signature meal. It became the Sunday noon meal, the winter doldrums meal. It traveled roads, state routes, and interstates as the meal to drive to college dorms, to serve at unmarried children’s apartments, to provide to sick friends, and to friends going through separation, divorce, and sadness.

Recently, it’s been taken to the nursing home where my mother, now 94, has eaten it the only way she can: pureed and spoon fed, while she makes soft “um” and “ah” sounds with each bite. You cannot imagine the satisfaction…for both of us.

Forty years of briskets. You’d think by now I’d have thought of something new.

But who wants to risk missing an ingredient?                                   

In 1992, we thought we’d make it easy for throngs of customers to buy one of our three titles when we got our 800 number established and began a pseudo-camaraderie with Random House and Houghton Mifflin.

At the time, Orange Frazer had three people answering the phone and I was all of them. I was Susan in the order department, Beth in sales, and Marcy the publisher. This got dicey when we got two lines. Sometimes I would get my voices mixed up and if a distributor, store, then author called, I found myself putting myself on hold, coming back to the hold line and forgetting who I was pretending to be, confusing even myself, especially for a call-back. One day I’m sure I talked to myself three times. It was a tall (if only it had been a large) order.

I was The Three Faces of Eve on publishing steroids.

I worked many, many hours back then. I had a young son at home and two girls away at college. I would come in to the office in the morning and check the answering machine:

“Hi Mom! This is Sarah! Hey, I’m at a bar. Here talk to my mom!” After which a loud slurring, male voice would come on the line and say, “Heeeeyyyyy Mrs. Hawley. This is Rick. I’m here with your daughter Sarrrrraaaaahhhhhh!”

And, “Hey Mom. It’s Margaret. My stomach hurts.”

And, “Mahhcy. This is Mom. You didn’t call me Sunday. I went to the doctor. I want to tell you what he said. Did you send your sister a birthday card?”

And, “Marce, Dan and Jerry and I just got to Vermont. Lots of snow.”

I had so many 800 calls from my family, I once contemplated writing my own book, 1-800 Mom.

But the number prevailed and potential authors, buyers, and customers found us. Custom book clients found us, as well.

We still have the 800 number, but only the phone bill knows who uses it or not. Most of our communiqués come via e-mail. If the number of e-mails we receive each day were translated into 800# calls, we’d need twelve lines. A real Janice answers the phone and takes orders. A real Sarah backs her up for marketing and production answers. They’re employees with their own personalities and DNA (although I share some of the latter with one). Funny though—callers forever confuse us. They think we all sound alike. (Or maybe like Susan and Beth…)

So if you want to flash to the past, call 800/852-9332. Consider it a little gift from us to you.

See if you know who answers.

 1) Do you want your book to be hardcover or soft cover?

We can make either choice look classy and elegant. The differences are in the price and the production time as hardcover will be slightly more expensive and will take a bit longer to manufacture due to the binding process.

2) Color or black and white?

 When deciding on whether you want your book to be in color or black and white, here are some points to consider: If the photos are the main focus of your book, you may want to choose color. If the photos are ancillary and the text tells the story, you probably want to opt for black and white.

 3) What size?

We can make a book any size but the most economical sizes are 5 ½ x 8 ½ , 6 x 9, 7 x 10, 8 ½ x 11 and 9 x 12. If your book has lot of color photographs you may want to opt for the larger size.

 4) Page count?

In order for us to determine the page count of your book, first we need to know the dimensions of the book (Height x Width) and then we need to know the total word count of your manuscript. To find out the word count, open your manuscript in Word, click on Tools, then click on word count. If your book is in chapters, you must do this for each chapter and then come up with a total. Once you have the total, we will figure out the page count for you.

 5) Who designs the book?

Orange Frazer Press books are designed, well, by Orange Frazer. Individuals, large corporations, foundations, etc. come to us for this expertise. It is what makes us special and sets us apart from the rest of the pack. Exceptions occur when a project has its own highly experienced designer.

 6) How many?

We can print any quantity. In order to get a price quote for you, we do ask that you provide us with three different quantities so that we can show you where the price breaks are. Although we offer warehousing for a small biannual fee, we think you should imagine what boxes of your books would look like sitting in your living room. That usually tempers the tendency to think “too big.”

Once you have answered these questions, we can work on getting a quote for you and move forward to creating your very own Orange Frazer Custom book.

And it isn’t just me. Yes, I am particularly built for distraction: I own my own laptop, carry an Android smartphone, have at least seven different social media profiles, and an unlimited texting plan that allows me to communicate with as many people, in as many characters, as I so choose. But so do most people my age. Just yesterday, while reading a Fast Company article about the now-common effects of “Phantom Vibration Syndrome” I was reminded, once again, that I am not alone. Have you ever felt your phone vibrating, just to check and realize that no one was calling you? Disappointing, right. And worrisome, actually. In fact there have been a number of articles recently about the mental effects of such impulses. If you think about it, we are now hardwired for distraction. We wait for the interruption of a text, a call, an email, a chat, and we have instinctual reactions to their particular sounds—the beeps, buzzes, bings, and bleeps of our technology. Was anyone else rocked off balance a bit when Facebook changed the tone of the chat notification? No longer the resounding “pop” of a Facebook chat, but rather, a very Gmail-esqe bing. It was downright unsettling.

Our reliance on interruption is very unique. Never before have we been so attuned to such shallow external stimulators, reacting immediately like Pavlovian dogs whenever we hear that one precious chime of communication. And it has a lasting effect. In an article by Matt Richtel in the New York Times, these enduring effects are described as “nicks and cuts on creativity and deep thought,” damaging our long-term focus in ways that, frighteningly enough, may be partially irreparable.

And so what does any of this have to do with publishing? It has everything to do with publishing. Because, it has everything to do with our ability to read. As a kid I could read for hours, even full days. I distinctly remember shutting myself in my room and sitting in front of my door with a book, so that my mom couldn’t even open it to call me to dinner, or give me new chores. Those days are, sadly, gone. In the past two years, I’ve noticed my reading time steadily decrease. I am still reading great amounts (believe me, an English department will require nothing less) but I read for shorter periods of time, an hour at most without break. I find that I have developed noticeable technology “tics.” Every few pages I check my phone sitting next to me, press the right hand button to light up the display, brush my finger lightly across to unlock it, and flip through a couple of screens—almost unconsciously—returning to the page only moments later without even recognizing that I’ve looked away. Even worse is when I have my laptop next to me and my Facebook open. Every few minutes I wave my cursor over the homescreen, allowing new posts to magically fill themselves into the real-time feed. I don’t care what they are. I don’t even really want to be on Facebook, but it’s habit.

I have trouble focusing long enough to read, and I even have the audacity to call myself a reader. I can only imagine how frustrating this is for those who have no previous inclination to read, no special affinity for books. It would be downright impossible. And publishers are getting it. The recent wave of e-books testifies to nothing less. Books have become compatible with our fragmented concentration. Don’t know which book you want to pack for your plane ride? Pack three hundred on your Kindle and you’re good to go. Convenience trumps tradition and we’re back on track to read.

But that isn’t the end goal of the e-book. With this new medium has come a new responsibility for publishers to cater to it, develop it, optimize it. Just look to Penguin’s newest “amplified” e-book on Jack Kerouac. You can now read On the Road in an entirely new dimension, with recorded audio, period photographs, and interactive maps of his trip West. New York Times’ praise of the book is quoted by Penguin and could not say it more clearly: “Tricked out with more fancy bells and whistles than a BMW M5…pretty much the only thing missing is the chance to hear the novel read aloud by that sexy-voiced woman from your GPS”. This is the age of the walking, talking e-book, and the bells and whistles of the “amplified” e-book know their audience perfectly. It is the audience of tabbed browsers, the readers who need more information, in smaller pieces, delivered to them in real time, all the time. This audience will download this book to their iPad, Kindle, Nook, or smart phone and read, listen, watch, and consume the story in an entirely new way. And frankly, this audience is me—it’s me, and it’s you.

So what do we do about it? Adapt. At this point there is little else we can do. I am still a lover of traditional books, and will always treasure the look and feel of an old hardcover copy, worn in by many page-turns and more-than-a-few previous readers. But I’m also a modern-day consumer, and a reader that is desperate to continue reading, learning, and experiencing books, even if it is in new, unforeseen ways. So don’t be surprised if Orange Frazer enters the “amplified” book world; it will certainly happen when the time is right and the product is pleasing. The medium will never change their attention to perfection, beauty, quality, and storytelling, but it will cater to, perhaps, a broader audience. And we, the nicked, fragmented, distracted readers of the 21st century, will accept these new editions with excitement, but hopefully, also, with a healthy dose of occasional technology detox, and a good ‘ole hardcover book.

And in that vein, some tips for the easily distracted:

Miranda July: The Future on Nowness.com.