• Bookstore

    Daydreaming about the ultimate home library

    April 6, 2016 / 1 Comment

    M and I have spent the past few years saving up to buy our first house. Our needs are fairly modest. We’d like an affordable place with a great kitchen, at least two bathrooms, a nice yard and hardwood floors. The one extravagance we seek involves size; the place needs to be at least 2,000 sq.ft. Why would two people want to live in such a large abode?

    Books, my friends. We need space for all of our books.

    M and I are avid readers and book collectors. Why, there’s not a room in our current home that doesn’t have books in it, and there’s even more stored in the basement. Yes, we do own Kindles, and yes, we will do a culling during the move, but I expect we’ll be transporting no less than 100 boxes of hardcovers and paperbacks to our new home.

    Now I recognize that I would have to become immortal to have enough time to read all of the books I already own, let alone all of the books I check out of the library or plan to purchase in the future. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting more. Some people collect cars or shoes or clothes. Me? I just love books.

    And when I allow myself to daydream, I imagine creating a sanctum sanctorum. Occasionally I’ll even browse interior design websites for ideas on the best way to set up such a space. In my wildest imaginings, I picture built-in bookshelves, a massive fireplace and comfy chairs for long readings. I’d also install a secret room behind one bookcase because let’s be honest, no home library is complete without one.

    With nearly unlimited funds — I’m talking lottery winnings here — I’d also schedule an annual all-night shopping spree at The Strand for my birthday. The owners would be well-compensated to let us in around midnight and leave behind dozens of book bags to fill. Come morning, an employee would cash us out and prepare the massive purchase for delivery. Not only would such overnight adventures greatly enhance our personal book collection, all of our friends would receive literary care packages, too.

    –Photo by Bitterfly

  • Inverness Library

    Quote of the week

    April 4, 2016 / No Comments

    “Libraries really are wonderful. They’re better than bookshops, even. I mean bookshops make a profit on selling you books, but libraries just sit there lending you books quietly out of the goodness of their hearts.” –Jo Walton

  • The library adventures of a bibliophile

    January 15, 2016 / 1 Comment

    Going to the library is, for me, the literary equivalent of a scavenger hunt.

    First, I gather the clues. This usually involves reading reviews, blurbs or interviews about various books that might pique my interest. When I stumble upon a title that sparks a flame of curiosity, I visit Amazon.com to browse reader reviews and download free chapter samples.

    In a brick and mortar book store, my process is similar. I’ll spy an interesting title or favorite author and read the back cover and inside copy before flipping to the first page. Can the author “hook” me with a great opening paragraph? This is my test. If I can’t stop myself from reading beyond that paragraph, and I have cash on hand, I buy the book. Otherwise, back to the shelf it goes.

    Similarly, when I read the first chapter samples Amazon sends to my Kindle, I buy the ones that both capture my interest and cost less than $9.99. The books that cost more go in the Kindle’s “library collection,” and the rest get deleted.

    At the moment, the “library collection” contains about 100 samples. I’ll weed through them every six months or so, dumping the books I’ve read or have no intention of reading in the near future. I enter the rest of the titles into the New Hampshire Downloadable Books Consortium. The books that are available in e-book form are added to my online “wish list” and downloaded when available; the rest remain on the Kindle until my next visit to the library.

    Currently, I patronize the Keene Public Library in Keene, N.H. Although the Hinsdale, N.H., library is closer — and free to use — it keeps terrible hours and contains only a small stock of books. The Keene library is a good 20-mile drive, which makes going there an actual event. I also have to purchase a “non-residents” library card to use its services, but I love the place so much that the time and cost are worth it.

    Upon entering the gorgeous old building, the scavenger hunt begins. I browse through the shelves filled with new releases. Inevitably, I’ll already be familiar with many of the titles, but it’s satisfying to pull the physical tomes off the shelves and feel the weight of their contents. Each book I touch promises to teach me a new subject or transport me to a different time and place. I toss the books I can’t resist into the treasure sack that’s slung over my shoulder. I do try to limit myself in this section, though; loan periods only last for 14 days instead of the standard 21, and it’s often harder to renew a new release if I haven’t had a chance to finish it before the due date.

    Confession: Due to my schedule and the library’s distance, I’m terrible about returning library books on time, and I often end up paying a late fee. However, I always feel horrid when I’m tardy and accept my financial punishment. I also make a sincere effort to only check out a few of the due-back-sooners and more of the due-back-laters.

    Once I’ve finished with the new books section, I head to the computerized card catalog. Although searching for titles and authors on a computer is a practice I engage in on a daily basis, I do miss the old-fashioned way of tracking a library’s contents. It was just so satisfying to flip through the cards and find just the right one properly categorized amidst the thousands.

    Still, technology has its perks, and convenience is certainly at the top of the list. So I pull the Kindle out of my purse, open the “library collection” and begin entering titles into the online card catalog. The books that are available get written in my reporter’s notebook. Title and author for novels, title and Dewey decimal number for nonfiction.

    With a proper list in hand, I dive head first into the stacks. I prowl through the mysteries before moving over to general fiction. I cross the room to the sci fi/fantasy section, searching for any titles that may appear on my list, then stride purposefully to the back of the room, where I can follow the numbers listed on the spines to the subject of my choice. Here is the humor section. Here is biography. History is over there. So is true crime. Keep wandering down the aisles and eventually I run into cookbooks, poetry, young adult and reference. So many topics, so many discoveries.

    As I locate each of the books on my “wanted list,” I reread the cover copy and first page to confirm that yes, this is a book I want to read. Those that still look interesting end up in the treasure sack. Once it becomes so full that the straps dig into the tender skin on my shoulder, I empty the bag onto a nearby table and begin the weeding process.

    Since I work for a living, and enjoy spending time with my husband and pets and friends, I need to keep expectations at a reasonable level. (Well, slightly higher than what is reasonable because life is short and I do like to indulge.) The books that survive the final culling are my prizes. The rest go back to the shelves with the promise that I shall return for them another day.


  • Quote of the week

    January 3, 2016 / No Comments

    “I bit my tongue and did not tell my already suspicious friends that the country was also dotted with libraries that provided books to all patrons free of charge. They wouldn’t believe me anyway since I hadn’t believed it myself. My first time in a library in the United States was very brief: I walked in, looked around, and ran right back out in a panic, certain that I had accidentally used the wrong entrance. Surely, these open stacks full of books were reserved for staff only. I was used to libraries being rare, and their few books inaccessible. To this day, my heart races a bit in a library.” —Zeynep Tufekci

  • The perceptual detour

    July 22, 2015 / No Comments

    When you work at home, you often adopt little tricks to get yourself into business-mode. Some people make a cup of coffee. Some put on the same kind of clothes they would have worn had they commuted to an office or job site. Me? I gave up coffee in college and have only recently started drinking a cup or two each week. And the concept of “work clothes” is practically foreign to me; I much prefer to don a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and/or sweater (depending upon the season). If I’m comfortable, I’m able to focus all of my attention on work rather than my attire.

    Each night, I walk into my office and I’m ready for bear. The very practice of crossing the threshold, sitting down at my desk and opening my work laptop puts me in the right frame of mind to get down to business. This is where I remain from 9 p.m. until at least 7 a.m., staring at numerous screens with only brief breaks to stretch or grab some tea.

    Writing fiction is a completely different practice. I’ve tried to do it in my office, but the atmosphere is tainted by the truth. Within those four walls, I’m bound to stick to the facts. I research world events. I accurately quote. I edit with care. These journalistic practices have become more than muscle memory. If you look at my blood under a microscope, I’m pretty sure you’ll find the First Amendment written somewhere in my DNA code.

    To make things up, to devise new worlds, well, that takes a perceptual detour. And so it is that when I want to write fiction, I pack up my laptop and leave the darkened warren that is my home office. Sometimes I head to a coffeehouse or diner, but more often than not, I get in my car and drive 20 miles to my favorite library.

    The ride itself is an important transitional period. Using a constantly rotating playlist of tunes, I try to clear my mind — and ease my soul — of the burdens involved with writing about death and destruction every single day. I sing loudly to certain songs or sit quietly during instrumental pieces. Then I cast off my mind into the waters of fantasy.

    What is my heroine doing right now? Is she in peril? In mourning? Inspired? What about my hero? Does he want a smoke, a ride or a new challenge? Can I make my villain more villainous? Is there a way to add texture to that scene? How can I boost the story’s tension? And will my muse guide me to the next part of the story or will she stifle my desire to commune with these characters?

    Once I arrive at the library, I do a quick tour of the shelves. Part of me is genuinely interested in what’s there. Light knows writers need constant inspiration. The other part of me realizes I’m doing this to delay the inevitable. I want to write. I want to create. But if I start — and suck — then what am I? It’s only after I mentally chastise myself for procrastinating that I head to the periodical section.

    The walls there are painted milk chocolate and covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves containing plastic-covered magazines. On one wall are four large windows, letting in just enough light to illuminate the reading material for the daywalkers who sit in the comfy chairs nearby. In the middle of the room are two green and brown tables surrounded by four chairs each. I prefer to take the table near the back, the one that bears a brass lamp and a sign noting “This area is reserved for quiet use.” It is at that table that I open my laptop and dutifully pay my fare to Charon for a return ride to the land of make believe.

    (Note: This post was inspired by a writing prompt on Terrible Minds.)