In my novel Don’t Try to Find Me, a pretty pivotal scene occurs in a library. That’s no accident. Libraries are amazing places, aren’t they? You can lose yourself in the stacks, for hours on end, for free. I’ll say it again, in capitals this time: FOR FREE! Libraries act as safe havens, homes for information, incubators of creativity. When everyone has access to a library, art is democratized. That’s a beautiful thing.
I was a library devotee from very early on. My mother used to take me at least once a week to the Welsh Road branch of the Free Library of Philadelphia. Not the biggest branch in the tree, but to me, it seemed infinite. I was a quick reader then, and I’m a quick writer now, and the two are probably related.
What I know for sure is that reading taught me to write. I’ve never been strong on remembering the rules of grammar. I still couldn’t tell you what a dangling participle is, and I don’t always heed the one about not ending a sentence on a preposition. My sense of grammar came through osmosis, absorbed book by book. It was way more fun that way.
Every book you read is a lesson in what a book can do, how it can impact people. How you can someday impact people, if you’re fortunate. The library helped me hone my craft before I ever picked up a pen, or touched a keyboard. It gave me rows upon rows of inspiration.
How invaluable is that?
Thanks Holly! Make sure you check out Holly's debut novel Don't Try to Find Me at your local library!