I have always found solace in books. I don’t know if it is the general escapism of going to another land, or if it is the story. When I read, I can often “become” the character that I am reading, a person who is generally stronger and braver than I.
I’ve set up a space for writing in the house, but today I felt the itch to get out. So, instead, I am writing from our local Barnes and Noble. I would like to tell you I am sipping on my tea while sitting in a comfy armchair, but unfortunately, I procrastinated and all those chairs are taken. In fact, the cafe is completely full today without even a table to sit at. So, I am instead sitting in a random chair around the corner from the cafe. I am using a footstool as a shelf for my very berry hibiscus drink, which is actually quite yummy. I’m actually happier here because I am surrounded by the books, and am away from the people.
The fall of 2015, I spent a lot of time here wandering up and down the aisles. It’s ironic, that I had the dream then of writing more. In fact, I distinctly remember setting up my office with the idea that I would sit and write on the weekends. Unfortunately, when I first moved back I worked in home care and ended up spending so many hours on the computer, that the thought of writing was just… Blah.
So instead I would come here, and walk up and down the stacks and run my hands along the spines. I love the smell of books. Any true bookie will say the same. I spent time today, walking up and down the aisles as well. I am in awe of the sheer number of people that have put a story down to paper and had it published into a physical entity.
Now that I’m trying to write my own book to join the shelves, I find the stacks mildly intimidating. How could I possibly create something worthy of joining them? The books call me though, “Write us,” they whisper. “Our authors were much like you.”
I pause, take a sip of my tea, and begin…