I’m known to have my ‘Howard Beale moments’, particularly when something in the news pisses me off, sending me into one of those: “Where the hell is it all going – or has it all just gone to hell?” rant.
I’ve felt like doing exactly that many times over the years.
I love libraries.
There’s something about those places.
They’re quiet … warm … they have tables and seats … shelves in multiple rows … all filled with books … multitudes of books! These days, they also stock CDs and DVDs, along with the latest newpapers, magazines and editiorials … but it’s the books that make the libraries the places they are.
I discovered the silent magic of libraries as a young child, as I walked around in awe of all those rows of books, those volumes filled with words, so much knowledge and imagination stacked, ordered and alphabetized according to author … all waiting to be discovered, read and absorbed.
Sadly, for those living on a tight budget, books are a luxury they can’t afford. This is where the value of a public library can’t be measured. Register with the local library, get a library card and you can borrow all those books – for FREE! It doesn’t get any better than that.
It’s ironic that the media celebrates the anniversaries of classic author’s births and deaths, but so many people may be denied the pleasure of discovering those authors’ books because they won’t have access to a library. Future generations, along with many people today, might also be denied that pleasure.
My teen-era haven eventually became my character Jack Parrish’s haven in my book, Wrath and Remembrance.
Jack uses the library for different reasons: to read up on past events in the hope to fill the gap his amnesia has left and to be able to relax while keeping out of the way of his violent, alcoholic foster father.