When I was little, books were there. They are still there, here, everywhere. My earliest reading memory is of Dick, Jane, Spot, Puff and Sally. Bored out of my mind, I never knew which page I was supposed to read standing by my desk. I’d already read the whole book and got no joy from reading snippets to my equally bored classmates. It’s a wonder any of us grew to like reading with such a beginning. Somehow, though, even in rural settings where libraries and movie theaters were mysterious rumors, I read all of Nancy Drew, all of the Black Stallion books, tried and discarded the Bobbsey Twins, and disdained the series of historical novels my mother gave me in the sixth grade. I never saw the inside of the tiny library in East Sebago, Maine, where we lived while I was in high school. The school library was also the principal’s office, so you can imagine how inadequate that was.

Now books come and go, many staying with me. Some wander to a friend’s house and come back, and I’m delighted, having forgotten that I ever owned such a book.  This week I’m in deep with futuristic books, as another writer and I will host a salon for Boulder Writers’ Workshop next weekend. We want to focus on world building, a special delight and challenge for novelists. So, I’ve been greedily buying and reading or rereading books by some of my favorite authors: Margaret Atwood, Ursula LeGuin, Marge Piercy. Yes, I buy ebooks. I also buy print books on line and in stores. I haunt used book shelves in thrift stores. Recently, I mentioned on Face Book visiting a bookstore I had not been to, Coyote Ridge Books in Broomfield, CO. What a delight to see a clean, well-lighted place with a knowledgeable guide who put his hand on just what I wanted. Blessed be real booksellers. Then I went to one of the big bookstores and found with minimal direction another book I needed. I was sorry to have bought it, because, like Dick & Jane and the Bobbseys, it will not stay long in my heart. But the point is that I knew how to get it, and I know that even this dud it will find its way to someone who loves it. Long may it live–in someone else’s bookcase.