February Isn’t Just For Lovers
Valentine’s? Think Again
You say February, and we think Valentine’s. But there’s another often overlooked highlight to the month of romance. February is also National Library Month and commemorates libraries and library lovers, making it a significant time for authors and readers alike.
recently hosted a webinar about public libraries with Mary Skiver (Ingram). Mary began the session by asking who had a public library card. My head couldn’t have hung lower.There are recommendations for things to do:
Read a book ✔️ Read another ✔️
Write a book ✔️ Write another (in progress as we speak 🐌 )
I’ve lived down the block from a library for over a decade. I walk by daily, admiring the books highlighted in their window display. Sometimes, I even allow myself to imagine my name on one of those books.
If you’ve been following my newsletters, you’ve already read about the angst of giving up my collection of hardcover novels. In my quest to find them a loving home, I walked into that library for the first time and came out disappointed. They don’t accept book donations. Given that this was well before my writing was something I would ever share, I barely registered the complicated protocol the librarian graciously explained to me about how and who decided what books they shelve. I only knew for the first time in my life a library let me down.
As a child, walking up the steps to the New York Public Library filled me with excitement. And inside, the grandeur, the vastness, the echoes of footsteps and hushed conversations always took my breath away. I loved the mysteriousness of pulling open the long card-catalog drawers and decoding their system. And then the scavenger hunt, and running my finger along the spines on a shelf to find the matching key on the treasured plastic-covered book.
Later, as a senior in high school with the privilege of leaving campus during free periods, I’d find myself with an afternoon off, but my friends still in class. On those days, I’d drive twenty minutes down the parkway to my sanctuary—the largest library in the area. There, I’d buy pencils from a gumball-like dispenser for a dime, and a thin, tape bound notebook (for a quarter?). I’d take a seat at one of their large wooden tables and let the quiet consume me. I’d diligently do my homework, study for an exam, or just daydream until my growling stomach reminded me to go home.
Thinking back on how meaningful libraries were, it’s funny that I instilled a love of books and reading in my children, and yet, I don’t remember ever taking them to the local public library where they grew up. I’m not sure if they’ve ever been inside the New York Public Library. And shame on me, because, even though I am transfixed when I ride by in a cab, and the sensory memories are vivid, I haven’t brought myself there either.
Maybe I’ve avoided going to preserve my memories and experiences, keep them safe from progression and computerized change. But I need to develop a new relationship with libraries because I’m an author with an impending book launch. And it’s their complicated protocols that decide what’s on their shelves. That, and a stroke of luck, will determine if one day I’ll walk down the block and see Not Yours to Keep in the library window display.
So this week I got over myself and got my first library card since I was a teenager!
Interesting facts I learned from Mary Skiver’s presentation:
A library doesn’t buy direct from publishers. There are library wholesalers. Each library buys their own books and is responsible for their own collection.
Much funner fact I learned from Mary Skiver’s presentation:
There are more public libraries than there are Starbucks!
Did You Know Beverly Cleary Was a Librarian?
What other famous people or character librarians can you name?
I CAN READ:
I’ve mentioned more than once that I attended
, “New Year, New Chapter” event in NYC.
But there was a month’s worth of gold packed into one exciting day. One of those nuggets was the chance to speak briefly with Ashley Audrain. Though she’s a master thriller author, we both write about motherhood, expectations, love and drama. During a discussion panel, Ashley talked of her writing process, explaining how her mind naturally veers towards the darker aspects of storytelling. There can be something cathartic about creating a narrative about our fears.
Her latest book, “The Whispers,” spoke loudly to me. It is a captivating story that follows a group of neighbors and underscores the repercussions of choices people make and how people are not always who they seem. The vehicle Audrain uses to craft her narrative skillfully heightens the most universal fears in the most unexpected ways.
My rating scale: Take the number of days to read, subtract all of life’s responsibilities, obligations, fun, and a few hours of sleep each night, and this edgy, page turning, emotional thriller, scores a 1-1/2 day read!
And Now For Something Completely Serious…
Previously, in the continuing saga of the thing in Zelly’s brain:
When we left off, there was a ticking time bomb in my head too small to worry about. It’s somewhere in the front of my brain—the doctor likes that. It has a smooth shape—whew. The treatment plan—forget about it and come back in a year.
So I did. I forgot about it. As much as anyone can with the itching, nagging knowledge that the little itty-bitty explosive could, in fact, grow. But the doctors weren’t worried, so I fed the denial until it became a big fat juicy blob of invincibility. They said I could fly. So I did. I flew across the country for a bike and wine weekend. Not much of a biker I reserved an electric bike, only the batteries for the e-bikes hadn’t come on time. Some took the option of waiting it out in a pub. Not I. Medically speaking, I was strong and healthy. I felt great. The fresh oppressive humidity and record-setting heat couldn’t break my enthusiasm. So why not take option B—head out manually like a normal bike rider, and the guides would catch up with the batteries? When the van pulled us over to fix the bicycle, we’d barely ridden two miles. Two hot, dry-mouthed, chest-ripping, up a hill miles on a bike that felt like twelve tons. My legs were rubbery, my mouth dry, my blood buzzing, my head hurt, and the world pulsed around me. I kneeled on the pavement, waiting to faint. Not once did I stop and think, “Oh shit, you have an aneurysm.” Not once.
Chew on that until my next newsletter!
Last Licks
Glad you got your library card. Now go use it!
Timely post. Libraries are awesome, even though my state legislature currently doesn't think so. Looking forward to requesting my local library add Not Yours to Keep to their catalog when the book comes out. 😁