I originally told Mia that I was going to write about dreams and destiny and all that comes with wanting to be a real, live author. And then I went to the library and discovered where the dreams really come from, where the itching to be an author is born. In the library.
Walking into a library is like walking into Lewis’ wood between the worlds, a forest that opens to any any world, any universe imaginable. It’s where you can step into a story, any story, and join forces with rebellions, fall in love, watch good triumph over darkness again and again and again. Every book, every page, every letter holds the key to another storied universe, and nothing hinders you from opening the door.
I spend a lot of my library-time just walking through the books. Just standing and allowing the stories to whisper their contents through titles and covers and bindings. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see the words, creeping out from between pages, blending effortlessly even though they’re from such very different stories. Words and more words that make up stories of love and sacrifice and fairies and spies and adventures and whimsy and desperation and angst and beauty, so much beauty, and it’s all right there, and I can almost, almost but not quite, hear the lines whispering to me, all of them singing a hushed little song together, weaving the story all around me so that I’m there, so very snug. Wrapped up in a cocoon of stories that others have read before me and others shall read after me. I’m temporarily timeless in the middle of it all.
That’s when I most want to be an author. When I stand amongst books and feel the stories dance across my skin. When I reach out to take one and feel the electricity, the wonder of holding an entire world inside my hand. A world already experienced by dozens, maybe hundreds. A world that shall entice hundreds more. A world available to me just by tipping back the cover to the first chapter. It’s like magic. The magic of a world created by words. The magic of the pen of a faraway author, painstakingly writing a world that I will someday read.
And I want to share in the magic. I want to write words, write lines, write chapters and stories. I want to pen worlds into being. I want to create a story that will someday sit on a library shelf and whisper of the beauty in its pages, seamlessly joining the poetry that is the library.
Hmmm. Maybe here I have written about dreams. Not about the dedication it takes to pursue them—and it does take dedication—but about the inspiration that ignites them. The author cannot help but be inspired by books. And nowhere will you find a more varied, more tempting feast of books than at the library.
Melody is a whimsical writer of young adult fiction. Along with a miriad of peacock feathers, and Star Wars posters, Melody has a wonderful blog at http://iamanauthoress.blogspot.com/. She also twittles it up big time as @melodyauthoress.