I’m not the first to think that writing is an isolating occupation. I sit alone, usually with earbuds in, typing out a story that exists only my head. I now have a book out there in the world, and presumably people are reading it. I can see the book’s sales on Amazon (I still haven’t decided whether that’s good or bad to know such things.) But what I get the biggest kick out of is checking the OCLC – World Library Catalog to see what libraries in the US have my book on their shelves. I can even click on each location to see how many copies they have and whether they’re checked out (I let out a little squee of excitement when I find holds placed on it).
I heart libraries. I always have. I’ve had and used a library card every place I’ve ever lived. I have very fond memories of begging my mom to take me to the tiny Ottoville Public Library on Wednesday nights (Wednesdays because that’s the only day they stayed open later than 5 PM). It’s still located in the same building, by the way, but it looks like late hours are now on Mondays. (I’m not sure if my book’s there. Can someone local check for me?)
So it thrills me a little that people all over the country are happening upon a book I’ve written on the New Arrivals shelf, picking it, and checking it out – just like I’ve done countless times over the years.