where the writers are
Book Stores

Up in Eugene, I visited the Smith Family Book Store. Love book stores and enjoy this one. Smell the pages and feel the energy. Walking through the stacks without considering titles or sections, ideas slip into me of story ideas to explore, novels and stories to write. Going outside, I see the Post Office and a threating pale gray sky. The Post Office may be gone soon. How long  until they become an anachronism, as rare as a horse and buggy, typwriter or rotary telephone? When will the microwave see its last day? How much longer will we drive cars and what will we do with all those roads?

Zipping 'across town' and across river, four or five minutes of driving, I visit the late Borders. I don't mourn it so much. I see its loss and its impact on the local economy, national economy, etc., but the Borders were never 'there' places.  I went when needed to find a book or periodical. I sipped coffee in them once or twice but they lacked the soul to grab me.

Back into the car and down the highway, I visit Barnes & Noble. The same soul that inhabited Borders resides in B&N and I have the same relationship with it. My wife finds one book she sought, "The Phantom Tollbooth", but not the second book. The clerk looks it up and researches it on Google. It was published in 1993 and then reprinted twice a few years back, three different variations. He explains that B&N doesn't carry that sort of book because it's a small publisher, Fem Press.

There is the problem.

I hope I never reach the state that I can't find a good book store, a Bloomsbury, Powells, Keplers, Smith Family, or the ilk, that I don't walk in and feel the books' magic.