Is my library a special one as far as libraries are concerned?
In a couple of my unfinished works bits and pieces have taken place in
libraries. But the libraries in my written works are never anything like the
library I frequent. The libraries in my stories are large buildings with rows
upon rows of bookshelves which reach nearly higher than an average person’s
arms. These libraries are usually full, but not crowded. They are frequented by
older citizens looking for a good read to pass the time, students searching for
some piece to use as reference material for their next big essay, and
individuals who just want to immerse themselves in the writings of others.
Sometimes my stories have people working at the library, plugging in a laptop
to pound away code or write an article.
But do you know what the libraries in my stories never have?
Crying babies running and stomping across the floor, causing such a ruckus that
no matter where you hide or how many books you bury yourself in, the noise
cannot possibly be blocked out. There aren’t smelly, bedraggled, supposedly homeless
people begging for money at the front entrance. And there aren’t thoughtless
individuals talking loudly amongst themselves or, please, please, please,
heaven forbid – having their cell phones blasting their ringtones, and
answering the freaking things right then and there, before continuing the
conversation where they sit instead of getting up and politely leaving the
premises.
None of that happens in my stories, but that happens all the
time at my charming, little library. Does any of that happen at your library?
For your sake I hope not. The library isn’t a playground, or a daycare, or a
nightclub. It’s a place where people who require a little peace and quiet can search
for information, read a good book, and simply enjoy the written word.
My library is nothing but a free-for-all, it would seem. And
what ever happened to using your “Library Voice”? Yes, the books, and movies,
and CD’s have titles on them. And yes you are meant to read them. Just not out
loud. Not every, single, bloody title on the shelf, one after the other, out
bloody loud. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT UP BEFORE I STUFF IT FULL
OF BOOKS AND LEAVE YOU TO CHOKE ON POE AND BRADBURY, AND PRATCHETT, AND
REMARQUE, AND GINSBERG, AND VONNEGUT, AND DUMAS, AND DICKENS, AND STEVENSON,
AND BLOODY BLOODY SHAKESPEARE, SO THAT YOUR LAST BREATHS ARE CAUGHT AND SNUFFED
BY THE PAGES OF THOSE BOOKS, YOU STINKING AND UNCULTURED MORON!
Ugh.
My library can’t be the only one, can it? It kind of bothers
me.
