Sometimes I stop by the library just to visit my books

Last year I published a book, but I don't really talk much about it here anymore because I figured it has sold just about all of the copies it's going to sell.

Which, for the record, is something like 230 total sales when you count paperbacks, Kindle versions and the audiobook recording.

Not exactly Danielle Steel territory, but then again, I never did it for sales or money or anything like that. I did it as a bucket list item, and because I found the whole experience to be so cool.

You know the best part? It's the fact that our local library carries four copies of my book.

I want to note that initially there were five copies on the shelves at the Wickliffe Public Library, but now there are only four. Presumably someone borrowed a copy and lost it, which I assume happens all the time.

Whatever the case, having a book I wrote on the shelf at my childhood library is something I never imagined would happen. I just love it.

Sometimes I will look it up in the electronic card catalog to see how many of the four copies are actually in circulation. As I type this, for example, two are sitting on the shelves while two others have been checked out.

I like when they're checked out, of course, but I also like stopping by the library to see the available shelf copies.

Every time I'm there I sneak over to the appropriate stacks (call number "248 TEN") and stare at "my" books for a minute. It never gets old.

Do you think Stephen King ever does that? I'll bet he did when he was first starting out.

Let it be known that on the day two of my books were checked out, both copies of Mr. King's "Pet Sematary" were also in circulation.

Which, as far as I'm concerned, means Steve and I are pretty much on the same level, as far as famous authors go.

Five ways going to our local library now is different from what it was back in 1981

(1) I now take a car to get there instead of a bike

My visits to the Wickliffe Public Library these days require a short car ride of only 4 minutes. When I was growing up, the library was located clear on the other end of the city from me, which usually meant I would have to ride my bike all the way down Euclid Avenue to get there. It was only a few miles, but it seemed farther. On the way home, as I carried the books I had selected in a plastic bag with the drawstring wrapped around my wrist, the bag would constantly bump up against my front bike tire and start to tear. I remember at least one time when it burst open and the books fell out before I reached home. I think I like the car trips better.

(2) Computers

There are probably a dozen computers at the library that are free for public use. When I first started going decades ago, there were zero. And even a few years later when the first few green-screen models were installed, I recall them being coin-operated and time-limited. Nowadays it's difficult to imagine a library that aims to serve its surrounding community to the fullest not offering free computer use.

(3) The card catalog has gone away...

Speaking of computers, that's how you look up materials at the library now. When I was a boy, you had to go the card catalog, pull out the appropriate drawer depending on the first letter of what you were looking for, and find the card that would tell you where in the library it was located. If it was a book, you had to memorize the call number. One time when we traveled to the library for a field trip in 6th grade, I ripped the card out of the file drawer and took it with me as I searched for the book. I wasn't exactly a genius back then (or now).

(4) ...so has the old checkout machine...

The only loud sound I remember in the library growing up was the "chuh-CHUNK" of the little machine they used to check out items. They would insert your library card in a little slot, then place the card that was kept in a sleeve on the inside cover of your book into another slot, and that would cause the "chuh-CHUNK" sound that meant the due date (and I think your library card number) had been printed on the book card. Now it's just an innocuous little beep when the circulation clerk scans your title. I miss the "chuh-CHUNK."

(5) ...and so have the ethnic jokebooks (I think)

Back in the 1980s, the Wickliffe Public Library offered a whole shelf full of jokebooks aimed at various nationalities and ethnicities. I remember a Polish jokebook for sure, and I'm pretty sure there was an Italian one. And I wouldn't be surprised if there were books of off-color jokes about Black people, White people, Chinese people, Eskimos, Antarcticans, etc. The culture ethos was...a little different in the 80s. I assume these books are now off the shelves, but as a 12-year-old I would happily check them out, read them, and laugh uproariously.

As I often say, it was a different time, you understand.

Having your own book signing sounds great until you start overthinking it

On Monday, November 6, at 7pm, the good folks at the Wickliffe Public Library are allowing me to do what they call an "author visit," which really just means that a small group of people will gather to hear me talk for a few minutes about my book, and then I can sell and sign copies of it.

This is presumably because real authors like Stephen King and Danielle Steel are not available that evening.

Just as I always wanted to publish a book, I've also always wanted to do a book signing. I love the idea of sitting at a table with people walking up and making small talk while I scratch out some small greeting and my signature on the title page of the book for them.

But now, with it actually happening in less than a month, I can only think about the things that could go wrong:

• What if nobody shows up? This is a very real possibility. I am neither Mr. King nor Ms. Steele. I am in no way some big name that people will want to come and see. I'm just a local dope who managed to get a book into print for the first time and is now trying to sell a few copies. (Earlier this year, an author named Suzanne Young tweeted about the experience of having a book signing to which no showed up.)
  
  
• What am I going to say to the few folks who do come? What witty and charming things can I come up with to make the book sound entertaining enough for them to part with $16 and buy a copy?
  
  
• I have terrible handwriting. What am I going to sign that will not make people walk away wondering, "Wait, why does that person who writes like a 3rd-grader look 53 years old?"

My wife Terry used to work at the Wickliffe Library and still fills in at the circulation desk from time to time. When I told her I had scheduled an author visit there, her response was not exactly encouraging:

"Oh, there's nothing sadder than watching those people sitting at a table with their books and no one is there to see them."

She is my light and my inspiration.

On the plus side, having lived in Wickliffe my entire life, I know a lot of people. Good, caring people. The kind of people who, despite having no interest in your book at all, will show up for an author visit just to ensure the chairs are filled and a few copies are purchased.

I am counting on these people to save me from having my own personal Spinal Tap moment.

In the meantime, I need to work on my grade-school cursive.

I'm trying to remember how we planned vacations in the pre-Internet age

As I mentioned a few days ago, my family and I recently took a fun and relaxing vacation to Bethany Beach, Delaware. I booked our rental house through the VRBO app. We navigated the 9-hour drive using Waze. And of course we looked up information about local attractions online.

At no time during the planning or execution of this vacation did I speak directly with anyone. It was all facilitated by the little electronic miracles known as smartphones.

So now I'm wondering, how did we do all of this before, say, 1996? How did we plan vacations without the Internet? I simply cannot remember.

Here's a good example: At the end of my freshman, sophomore and junior years of college, I took trips to the beautiful city of Montreal. Each time I did this, I brought a friend (Kevin in 1989, Nate in 1990) or family member (nephew Mark in 1991) and we drove the 10+ hours from Wickliffe to Southern Quebec.

As I look back on it, I wonder:

• How did I make hotel reservations? That is, how did I know my hotel options, and where did I find the correct phone numbers to call? I couldn't just Google that information back then.
• How did I purchase (in advance) tickets for the two Montreal Expos baseball games we attended? Did I send them a letter or something? How did I know how much the tickets would be? Where did this information come from?
• How did I know the correct driving route to cover the 560 miles from my house to Downtown Montreal?

I can't remember how most of this was done, but I do know the answer to that last question.

The two options when it came to long drives back then were having a road atlas in the car with you and/or ordering a AAA TripTik. I always had the atlas handy, and at least once I remember getting the TripTik, which was a paper printout of very thorough driving directions provided by the helpful folks at the American Automobile Association.

Many of us back then had the special ability to decipher an absurdly detailed road atlas map while safely driving a car at 60MPH and trying to figure out exactly where we were and where we were going.

But what of the first two points? It's not like they listed Montreal phone numbers in the Cleveland Yellow Pages. How did I figure out who to call and what their numbers were?

I think the two answers were (a) library books, and (b) directory assistance.

Back when libraries mainly loaned out actual books, there was an array of destination-specific travel guides you could borrow when planning a trip. If these guides had been published in the previous 5-10 years, the phone numbers in them were probably going to be accurate. So those certainly helped.

There was also directory assistance. As long as you knew the area code of the place you wanted to go (in this case 514 for Montreal), you could dial <AREA CODE>-555-1212 and ask the nice person on the other end of the line for whatever phone number you needed.

There was a charge for this, of course, but it worked.

So I guess that's how I mapped out these trips to Montreal: Books, long-distance directory assistance, and large bound driving maps?

All I know is we somehow found our way there and back, and those vacations remain some of my most memorable.

But I'll be honest: I would much rather go the smartphone route. Fewer fines for overdue library books and no separate charges for each Google search. Technology has spoiled us far more than we probably realize.

With some time suddenly on my hands, I'm going to do a little reading

As an officially unemployed person, my main job is of course to get a job. And I spend time each day trying to do just that. Something will eventually come along, so I'm not especially worried.

In the meantime, I'm able to engage in household chores, do a little yardwork, and even indulge in some leisure activities that never seem to fit into my daily schedule when I'm working.

An example of the latter is reading.

I have always called myself a reader, which would be fine if it weren't for the fact that I haven't done that much actual reading over the past, oh, say 30 years. I like to read, I want to read. I've just not elected to make the time for it since my college years.

Oh, I've read several books in the intervening decades, but it's not the regular sort of pastime I would like it to be.

In particular, I like to read my World War I books. I've checked several of those off my list over time, but there are still many more in the "planning to read" column than there are in the "been there, read that" column.

A good number of these books I own, but others I get from our excellent public library here in Wickliffe.

There is essentially one small section of Great War books at the Wickliffe Public Library, as shown here:

You will notice two red circles in that photo, both depicting larger books that have been on my list for quite some time.

The one on the left is called "Castles of Steel." It details the naval conflict between Britain and Germany before and during World War I. And when I say "details," I'm not kidding. It's 788 pages long, not counting the notes, bibliography and index.

"Castles of Steel" was published in 2003, and ever since then I've wanted to read it. Just never had time. Here's what it looks like up close and personal:

It's sizeable.

The book on the right is titled "Isonzo," and it chronicles the long series of wasteful battles between Italy and Austria-Hungary in the area of the River Isonzo during the war. It's a relatively pedestrian 350 pages, but given how much I don't know about the campaign, I've always wanted to dive into it.

Faced with the choice of how to spend some of the open time on my sparse appointment calendar, I went to the library yesterday and checked out "Castles of Steel." Go big or go home and all of that, you know. I'm starting it today and estimate it's going to take a good month to get through.

I do, after all, have to spend some time finding a job. I'm not a total slacker.

What's not to like about libraries?

I have never stopped being amazed by the concept of libraries.

You walk into the building, and there are stacks upon stacks of books, magazines, CDs, DVDs and other materials, all of them available for you to browse through. And computers, too. They have computers for you to use.

If you want, you can sit there all day and just read. Anything they have there, you can sit down and read it. For free.

And then there's the best part of all: YOU CAN TAKE VIRTUALLY ANY OF IT HOME WITH YOU. AGAIN, FOR FREE! They don't really care what you do with it, just so long as you bring it back on time and in good condition.

There's no way I'm the only person who thinks this is one of the coolest things ever, right? I mean, why aren't libraries overflowing with people taking advantage of this set-up?

Well, actually, our local library IS sometimes pretty crowded, but that's usually with people who don't have Internet access at home and are using the (FREE) broadband connections there, or with students researching papers, finishing homework, or else doing something wildly inappropriate.

I know this last part is true because my daughter Elissa has worked as a page at our local library for almost two years (NOTE: I think it's funny that they have a position called a "page" at a library. Because, you know, books have pages? That's kind of funny, isn't it? OK, moving on...)

Elissa spends a good deal of her time telling middle school-aged library patrons to be quiet or to stop fooling around. She has some great stories of things she has seen. Who knew the library was such a den of iniquity?

Because of this, and because she spends 10 to 15 mind-numbing hours per week reshelving books and DVDs, I'm afraid that Elissa does not share my passionate love of libraries. When she first got the job, I thought what a perfect fit it was. Elissa has always been a pretty voracious reader. What better job for her?

But I suppose there can be too much of a good thing. Understandably, whenever we take family trips to the library, Elissa doesn't come along with us anymore. I don't blame her, I guess.

Anyway, getting back to the wonder of libraries, I've always wanted to burn a day of vacation at the library. Like, the entire day. Just sitting there reading whatever I wanted. Or walking up and down the aisles looking at book titles I wouldn't normally notice during our 30-minute family excursions. That sounds like a serious amount of fun.

But I never do it because, you know, vacation time is precious and there are always things to do with Terry and the kids, or jobs to accomplish around the house or whatever. But one day, maybe when/if I'm ever retired, I'm going to do that.

I'm obviously not in the library business and thus I'm not familiar with the statistics, but my feeling is that libraries have way more amenities and resources available than most people ever use. These poor reference librarians, most of whom slogged through years of school to get their master's degree in library science to enter a profession in which they're chronically underpaid, are ready and waiting to help you with even the most arcane request for information. And most of the time the only thing that ever happens is that some unshaven guy in a dirty trench coat comes up and asks them where they keep the back issues of Maxim.

Still, it makes me feel good that they're there. If I ever want two paragraphs of Herodotus' description of the Greco-Persian Wars or to know the flying speed of the lesser striped swallow, they would be glad to help me. I'll never need either of these things, of course, but the fact that I COULD readily access that information with their assistance is somehow comforting.

And other than the overdue book fees, it's all free. Amazing.