Thing is, I’m more a book person than a yacht person, so I was happy to get to walk through this other festival on my way to the boats. I wandered past table after table of cheap books, rare books, new books, cookbooks, history books, Maryland books, kids’ books, library books, and then made that long walk through the Authors’ Tent, past the writers with their individual books, waiting for us to wander up and chat about what was certainly an intense labor, getting that book finished. And the bravery that must be needed to sit there and say, “Hey, of all the books out there, this is the one you should read, the one I wrote.” I read a lot, but I still only read a book every month or two (please write shorter books, people), and by my (very generous, I’m-going-to-live-forever) calculations, I’ve got time to read maybe 550 more books. That only sounds like a lot until you consider there were that many books in maybe 100 yards of Inner Harbor space. Maybe the book festival wasn’t for me.