What a prosaic title for a blog entry. But every writer knows what this means: A home for those towering piles of books that have been accumulating on tables, on other shelves, in the bathroom closet, and on the floor of every room.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Our local Borders is one of the stores that is closing (weep!) and besides all their books, they’re selling the fixtures. So I put my name in to get a couple of bookshelves—the 90×36 ones. I mean, if you’re going to do it, you may as well do it properly, and we have tall ceilings. So the DH and his BFF installed them, and I spent a blissful afternoon introducing all those piles of books to their new home.
And you know what? My friend Bella Andre, who, when she isn’t writing hot books, is a Feng Shui consultant, is right. Clearing out old stuff and making changes really does affect the spirit of the house and its occupants. Even the DH said that it was a little startling to come into the loft and have the eye immediately leap up those shelves to the ceiling. That happens to be the Fame and Reputation wall, so maybe that’s a good thing!
Meanwhile, my paper friends now have a home, and I can enjoy them all whether I’m reading them or not. There’s something about books in the house that satisfies me. If I go to visit someone and there are no books anywhere in sight—not even a magazine—I don’t feel comfortable. What does that say about the person living there? That they don’t enjoy mental exercise? Or that they’re just better housekeepers than I am?
I don’t know. But I do know that when someone steps into my house, they’ll be surrounded by the words of everyone from Aristotle to Beverly Lewis to Troon Harrison to Jeff Vandermeer. You know, the friends who share the house with me.