So, I recently moved. I did everything I could to help it go smoothly, which meant that the #1 thing on my checklist was—box the books.
Over the years, I’ve collected an irrational amount of books (it’s not hoarding—it’s collecting; I’m not a greedy Gus—I’m a librarian). Fantasy adventure and science fiction decorated my shelves to a ridiculous degree. Old classics slept on top of my shelves. A pile of almost-but-not-quite-my-favorites sat beside the bookcases and stuffed under my bed.
I knew it was going to be chaotic, so I started with the ole library first. I boxed up all my hardbacks and paperbacks and comics…except I ran out of boxes. My ridiculously big collection couldn’t all come with me. I mean, they could, but let’s be honest: I really wasn’t ever going to read a good chunk of these.
So began the dreaded purge. I opened my pantry and released the dozens of reusable Walmart bags. I filled 5 or 6 of those bags to the brim with all the books I could bear to part with—only the ones I wouldn’t read (or wouldn’t read again).
(Watching those bags disappear into a donation box caught me off guard with the feels—it’s so hard to let go of even one book).
Even so, I had numerous boxes to fill, and I couldn’t carry most of them after packing up. So I ditched some of the larger boxes and re-stuffed the books into smaller, more manageable ones. They were still heavy, and I still had piles of books left after the boxes were all full.
(It didn’t help that a friend had generously donated piles of her books to me just a few weeks before.)
When I was little, I started developing a dream. The best thing about Beauty and the Beast? Not the romance, not the glorious yellow dress, not the magic—the library. Mainly, the swoosh of the shelf ladder during the “I Want” song. Ever since then, I’ve wanted a library like the Beast and a sliding ladder like the random bookshop owner in the “provincial life” setting. But I bet you Belle never had to move castles.
Don’t get me wrong: The lesson here is not to get rid of your books. I wish I didn’t have to watch those bulging Walmart bags disappear into the donation bin. I’m fully moved into my new place now, and my library feels just as heavy.
So, why did I immediately go to the bookstore and purchase a copy of Wings of Fire? Besides, of course, the dragons and the glowing recommendations? And why don’t I regret it?
It’s not because I’m a collector. If I’m honest, I doubt a collector would tear into the original packaging like I tear into my favorite novels. It’s not because I’m building my dream royal library. I’ve got no space for that in the chapter of life I’m in (but maybe someday…). I can even think rationally long enough to realize that even my sliding ladder dream doesn’t justify adding one more book to my reading list.
The fact of the matter is that I wasn’t going to read those books anyway. But this new one? I’m itching to tear into it, in a hungry way that I haven’t felt in a while. Sometimes you need to make room if you want to add something new.
Last year was one of the weirdest, busiest years for me. If you’ve been following me on this blog, you may have noticed that I haven’t posted in a while—I haven’t even submitted much to literary magazines recently. And LIFE isn’t completely to blame, but it sure hasn’t been helping either.
In short, even though my life is currently on the right track, my writing life very much isn’t. I’ve been in a slump with the occasional bright flashes of inspiration, but never enough for even a short story. I’m at a point in life where writing is rarely at the top of my priority list, but it should be.
The books I had to part with, while beloved, are representative of my old writing life. If you want to be cringy about it, I guess I’m entering my “Late Twenties Writer” era. I need new stories to sink my teeth into, new ideas, new inspirations. And most of all, I need to carve out time to dream again. I need to find that place where I dreamed of the sliding ladder and ancient dragons (and yes, they do belong in the same sentence, as they’re both equally magical).
It’s okay to have a slump. It’s okay to need a new setting or environment. It’s okay to reach the end of one chapter and turn the page to another. I guess we can think of this post as sort of an ode to those lost books whose covers I’m already forgetting (and some that won’t ever leave the memory), as well as a welcome to the new ones I’m setting on my shelf.
And yes, I’ll soon need yet another shelf. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Hopefully not until the next chapter…
I guess what I’m trying to say is: Welcome back to the ole blog! You’ll notice some changes. But as long as I’m posting here, it means I’m alive (yay!) and writing. I hope you don’t mind coming along.
Rachel Sandell 