We visited the library today.
Really, I don’t think you understand.
We visited the library today. If there was a way to run my palms along the bookshelves and just breathe, breathe in deep all the words jumbled up on all the pages right down into the very tips of my unmanicured toes ….
…. I would stand and breathe and breathe and breathe until the stark, terse, typewritten words bubbled up and spilled over in a veritable flood.
But I can’t. And I had a rowdy crew with me. (J Girl and the Wee Man, plus my nephews the Gentle Giant and J Man. And the Husband to ride herd.) Fortunately for the unsuspecting patrons of the Clarksville-Montgomery County library, the children’s section is completely closed off. With doors. (And possibly soundproofing….?? Seems like they should if they haven’t already). So we started there, on a surprisingly difficult hunt for Spiderman books. After locating several (with Wee Man’s bird-like caws echoing through the stacks) and hunkering down to read to the kiddos in the middle of a power-interrupting wild summer storm, Husband relieved me.
To get my own book.
Sadly, due to the draconian address-verifying rules of the Clarksville-Montgomery County library, I could only choose one book today.
How in the name of Dewey Decimal do you expect me to choose one library book in five minutes when faced with hundreds of thousands. (It seemed like a hundred thousand. I have no idea the actual number). On top of which, I haven’t had ten minutes to string together in the pursuit of literary pastimes in, oh, I don’t know, months? A year?
I was paralyzed in front of the computerized card catalog, hovering over the search box, with literally no idea what to search for. I wasted the first five minutes in this fog of indecision, staring dumbly at the screen.
(Which meant I was living on borrowed time while Husband wrangled the zoo circus animals children in the soundproof containment zone.)
Finally, I typed in “writing.” Because in the end, standing among the jumble of other people’s words creates in me a driving need to put my own words on blank pages, the spare beauty of black and white speaking my voice among a million others.
And I got my book. My one book.
I love the library.
~M.
P.S. I am not above pointing out the irony of choosing other people’s words to help me write my own. I get it. I appreciate it.
Thankful for Spiderman books, The Hardy boys, all things pinkalicious, ladybug beanbags, striped canvas tents, emergency lighting, summer storms, much-needed rain, picture books, a cawing Wee Man, the Gentle Giant loving the littles, wavy loungers, library cards, supernatural patience, card catalogues, self checkout, and my rowdy crew.
I love the library and love writing and reading. If you want a good-no, GREAT-book on writing, I highly recommend Wordsmithy by Douglas Wilson. He is a Christian author, and also a masterful writer. I used to work at our local library, and there is not too much that exceeds my passion for literature of all kinds. I would often find myself with one book open in my hands while simultaneously scanning the shelves to see what else was there.
I appreciate that too… Other’s words make us better writers…