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Back to my hometown library

I’m visiting family in California and getting some work done too, usually in the wee hours when the house is quiet.  During the daylight hours, I’ve renewed my acquaintance with my home state’s laid-back ways.  It’s a treat to drive among motorists who stick to the speed limit, mostly.  They’re spoiling me.

California has its drawbacks, of course.  Black widow spiders, for instance, and the cost of living out here is ridiculous.  And . . . um, those are the only problems I can think of at the moment.  I love this place.

On Sunday, I attended my aunt’s 95th birthday party in the park that holds my hometown’s Carnegie library.  Built in 1908, this little brick building is used as a museum now.  I decided not to go inside.  I want to remember it as it used to be, filled with tantalizing books of all kinds.

The children’s section gave me Dr. Seuss, fairy tales, horse stories, and Nancy Drew mysteries, and that’s only scratching the surface.   I don’t remember that the librarians set any limits on how many books I could haul home.  Upstairs, too, in the “grown-up” section, the librarians were very accommodating.  I don’t remember any limits or rules except to treat the books with respect and bring them back on time.  It was heavenly.  And I always wanted to be one of those lucky people who wrote real novels and sold them to real publishers.

So, here I am, emailing back and forth with WaterBrook’s wonderful editorial and marketing teams about a novel for “grown-ups” that includes a plot thread about the importance of children’s literature, while I’m a few miles from the library where I fell in love with books as a child.  It feels like I’m coming full circle, and I’m very grateful.

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