A word on librarians: My mother, for my whole growing up and beyond, ran libraries, as I think I’ve mentioned here before. This means a few things, for me: 1) I can’t for the life of me return an overdue book/video/DVD. It’s pathetic, I know. But the woman spoiled us. She always kept track of what was due back when, then scooped them up all on her way out in the morning. I leave library books where they fall, behind beds, under dressers, etc., and only am bothered to hunt for them when the local librarian begins calling. Pathetic, as I said. Also I’ve racked up (and paid) enough fines to build a small library myself.
2) My face has been exposed more than most humans’ to the blinding (probably cancer-causing) light from the photocopy machine. The library owned the only publically-accessible photocopier in our town, so when my brother and I were parked there waiting for mom to take us home after school, guess what was our favorite activity? I still remember the first time we did it — you thought we’d inhaled gasoline and invented Pong all at once, we were so impressed with ourselves, and laughed so hard.
3) I have never written in a book. EVER. It pains me to even sign my own book, somewhat. Not enough not to actually do it, of course, but just enough to wince and be glad my mother isn’t there to see it.
4) I really respect the opinions of librarians, who really and actually do read more than all the rest of us put together (those new cut pages! those crinkly library wraps!). So I when I logged on this morning to see two glowing reviews of NTCHT by LIBRARIANS, you know I was excited. One is here, under the headline (which I love) Chick Lit Grows Up. And the other came in an email, from the Gale Free Library.
A librarian, loving your book? There’s just nothing better than that.
(Photo is my mother’s first library, Ella M. Everhard Public Library, in Wadsworth, Ohio. Photocopiers open to the public!)