A World Without Borders

I went to college at University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. In 1993, a little independent bookstore beckoned with warm, cozy lighting, secluded corners where I could curl up with a book, and packed shelves. This was the first Borders--before the Rewards program, before the sidelines and the music/videogame sections, before the store became a corporation.

When it reopened as a bigger store, Borders kept its small feel by hiring knowledgeable staff who had to pass a literary test to be hired. I know, I took one when I applied for a job there. Where would these books be shelved in the store? Where could a customer find these top award-winners? Who wrote these five classic children's book titles? Questions like these ensured Borders employees would handsell books to readers, be able to answer more than just average questions about books and authors. The early Borders stores embodied the spirit of literacy and reading for pleasure with its book clubs and author readings.

It was frustrating and disheartening to watch this company's slow, steady decline away from its original identity. Bestseller and sideline tables assaulted customers as they entered the doors, distracting them by shiny popularity rather than encouraging a reader's natural scavenger hunt for hidden gems of storytelling.

Perhaps it's for the best that this store has met its end. True independent bookstores have one fewer competitor. And this may herald one more step in the movement away from big, unwieldy, indifferent box stores who don't care about cozy lighting, reading nooks, and the magic of books.

The Shifting Landscape of Books

That things are changing in the dynamic world of books is news to no one.

Books are going digital, turning into artwork, redesigning a library, helping others, and going mobile in more ways than you can imagine. Stories are being told, in all kinds of new ways--breathtaking, inspirational ways.

And the need to tell stories, the need to share and exchange information--fictional or otherwise--is still ingrained in our culture.

What's your story? How will you choose to tell it? What is the future of story beyond the physical book?

From Gizmodo, June 27, 2011
Find article here.

Just an average Pittsburgh bookaholic...

I grew up inside one book or another. Libraries were my heaven—full of all kinds of books, thick tomes and skinny illustrated stories—15 books were never enough each week, but that was the limit. So I piled them up on the counter, showed my library card, got the books stamped, and struggled home with my wobbly stack. I read everything—the Little House series, all the Ramona books, MRS. FRISBY AND THE RATS OF NIMH, THE RED PONY, THE BLACK PEARL, ISLAND OF THE BLUE DOLPHINS, THE HOUSE OF DIES DREAR, even books whose titles I’ve long forgotten but whose covers still linger hazily in my mind.

I loved books. I didn’t know how to get around my city by car until I started driving, because I would plop myself down in the backseat, open a book, and not close it until long after the car had stopped moving. Stories took me from place to place—trips as short as the grocery store and as long as vacations to Washington D.C. and Boston. I felt a kinship with the characters I knew so well—I understood misunderstood Ramona, nodding sympathetically even when Beezus and her mother shook their heads disbelievingly. Of course the first bite of an apple is the best! I longed to wear a bonnet like Laura did, just so I could let it hang loose behind my head as I ran through sunny meadows, letting my face turn brown. I imagined myself in medieval times, pioneer days, in the midst of China with Eleanor Lattimore’s Little Pear and hunched down on the frosty tundra with Miyax. To this day, I feel a kinship with wolves, having read Jean Craighead George’s series over and over and over, until I could feel the permafrost on the tundra.

 

I took vacations in books. The frame of the family car or the walls of my house would melt away and I’d lose myself in the details of stories, immersed in a brand-new climate and surrounding. My imagination was vast and filled with destinations. 

 

I never felt like much of a writer, though. I wrote, of course—the Pittsburgh Public School system had set up creative writing as part of the language arts curriculum in its grade schools and middle schools and so I composed poems and wrote stories I could never find an ending to, and I always felt like I was trying to walk a tightrope without ever having tried to before. The safety net below me was full of the stories I liked to read, stories I knew were far, far better than anything I was attempting to create. 

Next time...I discover my inner critic!

 

Welcome!

Greetings, friends, from high up in Madge's Treehouse, where Madge the owl and I discuss and recommend books for small kids, books for big kids, and chat about the book industry in general. Over a strong cup of coffee, of course!

Stay tuned as we dive into story structure, writing, plot, characters, promotion, Madge's extraordinary ability to keep this treehouse mouse-free, and many others. Leave comments, by all means--we look forward to hearing from you!

Hoot-hoot!

Madge and Liz