To Be Continued

There were a few dried leaves in the open doorway. My footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as I entered. Most of the tables were gone. There were a few lonely books on the remaining bookshelves. It was the last day that Spellbound bookstore was open.

I shook Brett's hand and took back the copies of my novels. He told me he doesn't know what he'll do next, but he acknowledged with a smile that there are a lot of opportunities. I wished him well.

Then he said something that sort of surprised me: he wanted me to let him know when my next novel comes out.

It surprised me for a few reasons. First of all, I was touched that even in his situation, he wasn't thinking only of himself, but was reaching out to someone else.

Second, it reminded me that I have another novel to work on. That might sound silly: how could I forget that I have this novel to finish? Well, this has been kind of a tough year for me, and several factors combined to give me a pretty tenacious case of writer's block. The novel kind of slipped out of the Top Ten things I was considering ... until Brett reminded me.

As I walked to my car, I made myself stop and consider the plastic bag in my hands. It held four novels and they were all written by me! When I was younger, the mere thought of that would have made me do a silly little dance of joy. And those books made me realize that I want to create another one. It's been sitting on my computer and needs me to finish it.

So I want to thank Brett one more time. His dream hasn't ended: he's just going to move on to the next one. His attitude about that has been positive and hopeful, not angry or disappointed, which is a lot better than I would have reacted. And he's inspired me to keep up with my own dream. I have actually written seven whole sentences today and I'm going to keep going!

I think we'll both be okay.

I wish you all the best in 2017.

Winter Show

I’m not fond of several aspects of winter: the cold, the long nights, the relative lack of wildlife and birds.

But these past few weeks, I’ve discovered something, a bonus that makes me a little more tolerant of the lengthening night (and the end of Daylight Saving Time).

When I step outside after a day of work, I’m facing west and I’m confronted by a sunset. The nearby buildings and trees aren’t tall enough to block it. I can’t bury my face in a book or hide inside four walls because I have to walk to my car if I want to get home.

In other words, I can’t miss it.

So I stop. I stare. I marvel.

The sun has usually just gone away, leaving a bright flare of yellow, orange and peach. Above my head are the clouds, which come in all shapes and, more importantly, colors. They’re white, gray, light blue, purple, yellow. They’re edged with orange, pink, purple and dark blue as the sunlight reaches out before slipping over the horizon. If I’m lucky, the display is accented by the sliver of a pale moon.

I stand there in awe as co-workers scurry past me, rushing to the comfort of their cars. I don’t even realize my breath is visible or my hands are going numb.

Winter is a time of neutral colors: white, gray, brown. But she has a few tricks up her sleeve, and this one is magical.

By the time I get home, it’s usually dark and the colors are gone. But they live on in my memory, enough to hold me until the next day when the show begins again.

There will be sunsets in the spring and summer, but I’ll most likely miss them.

Right now I have no choice, and I’m glad.

Here’s to beauty in unlikely places and times.

Farewell

I just learned this past week that our local bookstore, Spellbound, will be going out of business. Once again, this town will not have a bookstore! A few years ago, I wouldn’t have thought it possible that a university town could exist without a bookstore, but I guess times are changing.

I know we’ve made great progress in technology, and I can’t imagine life without the Internet, but I sometimes ask myself if it’s all for the better. I want to wander among the bookshelves, letting a particular cover catch my eye. I want to flip through a few pages, or check out the back cover. I want to find something unexpected. I can’t do any of that on a website where you have to search by author or title. I don’t always know what I want!

I went into Spellbound to express my condolences. While I was there, I investigated the shelves, letting my eyes roam. I bought a book that I never would have expected beforehand, a book about eloquence. It was a good find, one I never would have made if I had to search for something specific. I’ll miss that feeling of discovery.

I realize that I could browse among the books in a library sale or at the recycling center, but that has a drawback: if I buy a book that way, my money is going to a good place, but not to the author. As you can imagine, I want to do what I can to support other writers.

I’ll miss Spellbound for other reasons, too. Brett and Marcy are two of the nicest people you’ll meet and they’ve been very supportive of me and other local authors. They held a book signing for several of us and they held a short story contest that got me out of my comfort zone last year, something I needed. They were always friendly and fun to talk to. I wish them the best and hope they’ll find some new endeavor that they’ll enjoy.

This also means I don’t have a local outlet for my novels right now. Some people don’t buy things online (amazing as that seems) and I liked to be able to tell them they could get one of my novels at Spellbound. Now the only outlet in town is the trunk of my car, which holds three copies of each novel. I don’t take credit cards or offer espresso, though.

I realize that we can’t stop progress. I realize that most people are perfectly happy shopping online because it can be quite convenient and lets them avoid the crowds. (I especially understand that at this time of year.)

But I’ll miss the personal service, the friendly face of the proprietor. I’ll miss the sense of surprise when I turn a corner to find something I never expected. I’ll miss the warm atmosphere.

I guess I’m old-fashioned.

      But I also think it’s possible that some things that are left behind shouldn’t be.