Colleen Conrad

In attempting to play, she thinks.

I begin every academic year by inviting my students to write six-word memoirs.  Some are painfully adolescent (I mean, they are twelve), but others are strikingly insightful and adult.  I treasure them.

And I always write my own as well.  This year my six-word memoir was, “In attempting to play, she thinks.” 

I come from a sports family.  Play has always been a huge part of the way that we connect with each other and with the world around us.  And I do love sports—even more now than when I was growing up.  As an adult, I really appreciate the way that athletics have given me a foundation for a healthy lifestyle; the way that I’ve built friendships (and even romances) around sports; the way that playing can be an escape from the exhausting places in my mind.

I say exhausting because even as I grew up around athletes, I found myself drawn to the quiet solitude of my room and my journal.  I was writing poems and novels as early as fourth grade.  By fifth grade, I’d decided that I wanted to be a writer.  (Or a dancer, actually.  But that dream was disregarded before graduating from elementary school.)  So while I spent a great deal of my spare time in gymnastics, softball, volleyball, field hockey, swimming, diving…I also buried myself in books and letters.  My mom says that she would watch me disappear even when I was young.  My family would take one look at me and know that I was blocking out the world; retreating into the distant musings in my mind. 

And that hasn’t changed.  But I have become aware of how scary a place my mind can be.  It’s sometimes a lonely place.  Other times it’s just overwhelming. 

So I’m thankful that I was also given the tool of play.  And I’m grateful that I’ve continued to play—and to love it even more—as a grown-up.  It’s a coping mechanism, really.  A place where I can turn off my brain and put the worries, the anxieties, and the neuroses aside.

Today, for example, I found myself spinning.  My mind was a twisting, turning, up-and-down rollercoaster.  By mid-afternoon I realized that I couldn’t sit by my laptop anymore.  I pushed through yesterday, and I’m glad that I did because eventually it became productive.  But today I hit a wall.  Today, I was on a downward spiral, digging myself deeper into the troubled recesses of my mind. 

I’d planned to go to yoga, as I regularly do on Tuesdays.  But I also knew that there was goaltimate (basically a form of half-court basketball played with a frisbee) a little later in the evening.  And while I adore yoga, my favorite instructor is out of town.  And somehow I knew that I didn’t need meditation or quiet.  I needed noise; I needed cleats on grass; I needed heavy sweat and grunting and maybe even a little cursing at a dropped throw or a defensive misstep.  I needed something all-consuming.  I needed the kind of tough competition that would shut out the very loud chatter in my head. 

In attempting to play, she thinks.

Even as I love play, it’s still hard for me to just let go sometimes.  To throw caution to the wind, let down my guard, and enjoy myself.  It’s a challenge to release my inhibitions and my insecurities.  Moreover, it’s difficult for me to just enjoy play when I’m so much in my own head, and I have to make an active choice not to criticize how well I play and my skill or decisions.  But I’m getting better at it.  And no matter what, I never regret playing.  I always feel better afterward.  Where would I be if I’d never been introduced to sports?  If I didn’t enjoy them so?  If I weren’t at least decent at them?  Or if I lived in a place that didn’t offer so many opportunities for physical activity?

I guess I’ll never know.  And I’m so, so glad for that.

This weekend, my classmates will celebrate our ten-year college reunion.  Unfortunately, I’ve moved across the country and can’t make it back there to join everyone.  But I started thinking recently about how I’ve changed—and how I’ve stayed the same—since I was a starry-eyed co-ed wandering around a small Norman Rockwell-esque liberal arts college.  I lent someone a book that I read as an undergrad, filled with my undergraduate highlights and chicken scratches, and thought about what those marks say about me now.  If that was my college self talking, what are the messages I was sending to my (arguably) adult persona?   

We’ve all thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we could go back.  But if I could sit down over a cup of Cool Beans coffee with that girl, what would she tell me?  What advice would she impart?  What expectations would she have of her future self?  How would she hope to grow and change, and how would she hope to stay the same?

******

Choose your impulse purchases wisely. 

Mozzarella sticks are delicious.  But if you order them to your apartment at 3:00am, someone else will probably intercept the delivery guy on his way to your door.  And you’ll find yourself waiting up, losing your buzz, wondering where the hell those late-night appetizers could possibly be.  And if they do finally arrive, you’ll probably regret scarfing down all of that processed cheese right before going to bed anyway.  In other words, they may taste good, but they’ll cost you.   

 

Your friendships are just as important as your romantic relationships. 

This won’t change.  Some people say that it will.  They argue that eventually you and your friends will settle down with reliable men (or women), have kids, buy a house in the ‘burbs.  Your immediate family will eclipse your friends—even those amazing women that you live(d) with, who build you up, sometimes tear you down, call you on your bullshit and love you just the same.  But “some people” are wrong.  Because no one person can meet all of our emotional needs.  Ever.  You need your friends so that when the tough times come around, you have an army.  Trust me, you’ll be happy you have the troops. 

 

Be brave. 

Like, stupid brave.  And confident.  And uninhibited.  Being bold has worked for me.  I don’t think so much about what people are going to say, or how they’re going to see me.  I raise my hand before I’m sure that I know the “right” answer.  I take the classes that interest me and spend time with the people who inspire me.  I just assume that people are inherently good, and that they’ll believe I am, too.  And if they don’t, so what?  This is who I am:  Opinionated, confident, direct.   This is how I’ll make friends when I move to a new city, keep connections with professors, get jobs and sell myself in a grown-up professional world.  Be audacious.  Own it.

 

Give yourself a break sometime. 

You don’t have to be perfect.    Could I be better at field hockey?  Maybe.  But it’s so much more fun to let myself off the hook sometimes.  I enjoy practice, but I don’t let it make (or ruin) my day.  I could probably write some better papers, and be more responsible when it comes to my obligations.  But I don’t lay awake at night worrying over it.  I let some things go.  And that works for me.  And at the end of the day, I’m pretty darn happy with my life.  (Plus, I think it’s that much sweeter when I score the winning goal against Brown, or UVM, or whoever…)     

 

Do everything. 

I’m tired.  I’m an officer in aBiGaLe, co-chairing Poetry Circle, playing field hockey, and I made it into that acapella group and just picked up another minor.  Time is tight.  This is exhausting.  But it’s so worth it.  All of these experiences make me a better person, with interesting and supportive friends and experiences that feed my soul.  Sometimes you’ll feel full, but it’s the good kind of full, like a totally satisfying meal that covers all of the food groups.

 

And lastly,

Know yourself.  And then re-discover yourself when you change. 

One of the best things about college is that I’m still trying new things and learning about myself.  I think I have a pretty good sense of who I am, but I also know that I may be different tomorrow.  I don’t mean that I’m changeable or inconsistent, I just mean that I might know even more about myself next week or next month.  I may discover something that I’m good (or bad) at, or something that I enjoy way more than I realized.  I may meet a new friend who brings out a different quality in me, and that may be a good quality or a bad one.  But it’s part of who I am.  It’s complicated.  And I’m okay with that.

A month and a half ago, I got my first tattoo — a quill on the top of my right foot.  Most of you know by now that I took a major leap of faith recently in deciding to resign from my job and commit more time to my writing.  The tattoo felt like a good benchmark; a visual reminder about the pledge that I was making to myself.  In a lot of ways it’s also paying homage to an integral part of my identity. 

I’ve been a writer my entire life.  And I believe that I will be a writer for the rest of it.  So it was a surprise when, about a year ago, I had my very first experience of sheer vertigo while writing.  In all of the years that I’d spent writing novels, poetry, short stories, journal entries and blogs, I’d never felt so moved as that moment.    

I’m a planner, so I believe in outlines.  I don’t live and die by them, and I regularly improvise in my writing, but having some structure up-front does help me.  Still, it’s fun when my characters end up in an un-planned scenario.  In this particular case, I found my protagonist in a surprising and terrifying situation.  And the experience was similarly enjoyable, except that it became considerably more intense.  It was as if I was reading someone else’s novel.  Like I truly had no idea what was going to happen next.  I’ve heard writers say this before:  that they’re consistently surprised where their characters and stories take them.  But this was a first for me.  I felt initiated. 

Even more dramatic was my deeply emotional reaction.  Goosebumps raised on my arms; my heart raced; tears sprang to my eyes; butterflies fluttered in my stomach.  I almost felt dizzy, and wondered if the room was spinning for the other coffee shop patrons, too.  (And yes, it was bizarre, having this happen in a decidedly public place.)  I felt like I was watching someone else write, or reading someone else’s work.  I would explain it as an out-of-body experience, if I knew how that actually felt.  I was in the room with my characters, on the edge of my seat, even as my fingers frantically plugged away at the keys on my laptop. 

Was this a preview of the direction that my writing life would take?  Was this one of many moments to come that would lead me to step out of my comfort zone and be a writer for real?  Just yesterday a friend and critique partner told me that almost every successful artist that he knows became so in the midst of a major life crisis.  I’d like to think that I’m not quite in crisis, per se, but I’m certainly in a position to mine some serious material from my own circumstances.  A year ago my life was stable and predictable; right now, not so much.

My life isn’t following an outline, and clearly my characters don’t really give a damn what I have planned for them, either.  This is a great time to pick up my quill and scribble away.  To seek and celebrate some more of those butterflies.

Last weekend I went to the wedding of two good friends.  It took place at a beautiful ranch just southwest of Austin, with rolling hills providing the backdrop for their ceremony and reception.  (The reception notably centered around a large pool.  Many people desperately avoided falling in, while others eventually did back-flips into the water later in the night.  The bride’s father, in lieu of a speech, performed a massive crowd-soaking cannonball into the pool himself.  But this is all beside the point.)

As the night went on, I found myself deep in conversation with another dear friend, Amanda.  I’m not really sure what we were talking about—but we were apart from the group and clearly in serious discussion.  The ranch happened to feature a lit tennis/basketball court a short distance away from the reception, down a rocky path, just within earshot of the music.  So Cara cut into our shared whispering  with a proposition:

“I know that you two are having a Serious Talk right now,” she began, “But would you be interested in playing a game of tennis with me and Tessa?”

Did she even need to ask?

The three of us stumbled down the hill, over the rocky path, and on to the dilapidated court.  Cara and I teamed up against Amanda and Tessa.  We were all still wearing our dresses and heels, the balls were weathered and ratty, and clearly none of us were ever tennis masters.  But we managed to rally a few times, and most of our serves landed in-bounds…or close to it.  At one point Amanda hiked up her dress and tucked it into her underwear, and in between serves we wiggled and swayed to Michael Jackson’s “PYT” and Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance.”  (Cara would later say that it wasn’t so much a game of tennis as a game of “dancing with racquets”.)

When we tired of tennis (or perhaps when we’d hit all three balls out of the court, I can’t quite remember), we moved on to the flat basketballs and very low hoops.  We managed a weak lay-up drill, and several of us attempted to dunk.  (Something that we’d later regret when we realized how painful the rim would feel on our hands and that landing barefoot—or in heels/sandals would aggravate whatever athletic injuries plague each of us respectively.)  We only retreated back up the hill when we heard Amanda’s husband whistling to us that the bride and groom were leaving and we should see them off.

In looking back, there was a moment on those courts when I felt perfectly, completely happy.  Maybe it was the late-spring chill in the air, or the feel of the old court on my feet.  Maybe it was the way that the game reminded me of spring break in Jamaica circa 2000, when my friend Kelly and I spontaneously jumped into a pick-up basketball game (also in our skirts and heels) in the parking lot of Margaritaville at midnight.  Maybe it was the fact that those girls know me so well, and I know that they will see me through any storm, or the way that I laugh with them in total reckless abandon.  Maybe it was the fact that we were dressed to the nines but playing sports—always a beautiful juxtaposition in my mind—or maybe it was the fact that I felt entirely at home with them. 

I’m not sure, but I knew this—this—is what happiness looks like.  Four grown women in party dresses, running around a tennis court at midnight, like girls at play.

One of my favorite songs is “Mystery” by the Indigo Girls.  It was released in 1994, and for a year I listened to it on repeat while lounging in adolescent angst on my bed.  But even as an adult, seventeen years later, I still go back to it again and again.  One of my favorite parts of that song reads, “So what is love then? / Is it dictated or chosen? / Does it sing like the hymns of a thousand years / Or is it just pop emotion? / And if it ever was there and it left / Does it mean it was never true?”

It would be so nice to believe that love is permanent and un-wavering.  That when you find it, you know without a doubt that it will last a lifetime.  That it’s strong enough to carry through years, distance, and hardship.  But the human heart is so much more complicated and ever-changing than that.  What if some love—most, even—is temporary? 

I don’t think that makes it any less real or significant.  It doesn’t change how all-consuming it is in the moment, or how far you’ll go to protect it.  It isn’t false or deceitful or unhealthy (necessarily).  It’s still love.

But if it was there and it left, it’s a one-hit wonder, like “Come on Eileen” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners or Hanson’s “Mmmbop.”  You still adore those songs in their heyday.  You blast them in your car, learn all the words, and gleefully dance to them at weddings.  They have a place in the musical canon; a legacy, even.  But those aren’t the songs that you reach for when you’re looking for answers in a world full of questions.  They don’t make you emote or reflect on your life in any profound way.  They don’t give you strength, or motivation, or a sense of peace.  They don’t speak to your soul.  And so, eventually, you leave them behind, seeking something deeper.  More complex.  Believing that it’s out there somewhere.

It doesn’t matter how many years pass.  Every time I hear “Mystery,” I’m moved.  It resonates with me.  It endures.  The best songs—those meaningful, poignant pieces—put a knot in your throat.  You hear something new every time you listen to them.  You understand a lyric better, or you notice the cello in the second verse, or you hear a harmony more clearly.  They’re special and powerful; as multi-dimensional as a person that you know completely…and yet sometimes not at all.

I could name a few of these songs for me—“Defying Gravity” from Wicked, Ani DiFranco’s “Both Hands”—but they’re far less common.  And maybe that’s the way love is.  Maybe that kind of raw, multifaceted love exists, but it’s a lot harder to find.  It’s the kind of relationship in which people are stripped to the core of their beings and completely vulnerable.  They look into each others’ hearts and meet there.  Connect.  They know each other completely and honestly; they understand and accept each other.  This kind of love persists because it has reserves.  It has supplies on hand—no matter how hard you have to look for them—even as people change and grow and life gets in the way.  It’s love with an arsenal.  With backup.    

But maybe that kind of depth and complexity is more exceptional than we’d like to think.  Maybe most love is a pop song.

I recently wrote about my yoga instructor’s reminder about being “open to grace.”  I determined that for me, being open to grace is about balance, truth, and love.

And that was all true.

But I’d like to add something to the list:  Time.

I have a tendency to rush.  I like things to happen now.  Or, better yet, yesterday.  And this is in distinct opposition with my writing, where I need to be patient and thoughtful, deliberate and critical.  Maybe my impatience has something to do with being an athlete.  I’ve always been a sprinter, not a distance runner.  But as I face a miasma of change in my life, I’m going to give myself time.  Take it day by day.  Remember that this isn’t a race.  Breathe like I do in yoga:  Slowly, calmly, in and out.  Sure, I may be in a hurry to have this bad day end, or that one, but maybe the next will be better.  And it’s not going to get here any faster if I tap my toe and drum my fingernails on the desk in frustration.

Because if there’s one thing that I do know about myself, it’s that I embrace emotion.  When I’m angry, I’m angry.  When I’m hurt, I’m hurt.  And so on.  I know how to be in the mess.  I accept the necessary evil of sitting, however uncomfortably, with your feelings.  Sometimes I feel the need to apologize for that.  But I’m not apologizing any more. 

The things that I’m facing right now won’t be settled in an hour, or a day, or a month, for that matter.  But if I can take it a minute at a time, I’ll get there.   To grace, that is.

A friend of mine recently said that he nearly drove—at 70 mph—head-long into a detour sign.  Twice.  Deeply lost in daydreaming, he narrowly escaped disaster only due to the frantic shouting of the passengers in the car.  He’s a musician (as well as a writer, a filmmaker, and a “cave-drawing” doodler), so I asked him what he was daydreaming about.  “There could have been some good material in there!”  I argued. 

“The Muppets,” he told me. 

I really don’t know what to do with that…

But I suggested that he make a point to pull over and write down some of his musings during those deep-daydream moments.  In the interest of avoiding certain death, of course, and harvesting whatever creative juices were flowing at the time of said space-out.  He didn’t receive this suggestion well, pointing out that “Pullover Daydream Journal Breaks” were just as likely to get him killed…by his friends.  Now, I respect everyone’s right to pick their poison, but to me these creative time-outs are a win-win.  I mean, you jot down some of that fodder and preserve your life.  Unless, of course, you run with my friend’s buddies, who would apparently make you pay for that kind of touchy-feely hippie crap.

I’m prone to the same kind of lost-in-thought distraction.  I often find myself so consumed with planning and writing in my head that the world around me falls away.  I, too, have nearly missed the occasional stop sign, or—for that matter—waited at stop signs as if they were red lights, staring blankly and patiently into the intersection.  Sometimes I get so lost in thought that it’s an irritation when the phone rings and it’s my mother calling, or when the noise of the mailman at the door startles me back to the real world.  I write every day, be it scribbling down a thought or two or journaling in the car after ultimate practice.  But the times when I’m most prolific are when I completely disappear.  When I’m submerged in the work; blocking out distractions; hiding away in my stories. 

Maybe Pullover Daydream Journal Breaks aren’t the most realistic option in the world, but wouldn’t it be great if they were?  If mundane things like eating and showering and—hell, avoiding disastrous car accidents or getting pummeled by your friends—didn’t get in the way?

Who Says Librarians Can’t Have Fun?:  Reflections from TxLA 2011

Guest Post from friend and awesomely energetic librarian Christy!

 

It’s disheartening to see librarians stereotyped on TV, such as the ones in popular shows like Glee and Greek. We are not old, prim, bunned, shushing spinsters as commonly portrayed in the media. We are a tech-savvy, fun-loving, information-seeking oriented group of professionals who love what we do! 

April 12-15, Austin hosted Texas Library Association’s annual conference with pre-conference sessions being held on Tuesday. It was very gratifying to attend a cocktail dinner Tuesday night with local author Cynthia Leitich Smith as she celebrated the release of her third book, Blessed. On Wednesday, after greeting conference attendees arriving on buses from area hotels, I was able to join local librarians from Austin, Round Rock, Pflugerville, and other surrounding areas in a flash mob to welcome conference attendees from all over the state of Texas to Austin and TLA. We were up out of our seats and having a great time, making the 4^th floor of the Austin Convention Center vibrate with energy and enthusiasm! That was just to start it off…

Jamie Lee Curtis, author and actress, was our opening general session speaker and was eloquent with the way she was wearing her red kerchief around her neck… a symbol of the guillotine (or rather our government chopping our heads off within the education system)!  She went on to say how, through testing and top-down administration, we are no longer using our greatest assets… our minds, our intellect, our creativity. Our students, teachers, librarians, and those who work directly with students are not expendable; the government should be doing what they can to keep those who work directly with children.  Red was the color of the day, for after that day’s sessions, librarians traveled to the State Capitol to rally in protest of the funding cuts being made to libraries across the state and the K-12 databases that equalize the playing field for all Texas students.

From a personal angle, it was a lot of fun to volunteer for a few hours during the event, catch up with fellow Austin ISD librarians throughout different sessions, and support my AISD colleagues participating in the Book Cart Drill Team. I’m very proud to say that after a tie with Austin Public Library, AISD was able to pull off the win with audience support! It was also great to see fellow graduates and professors from the University of North Texas where I recently earned my Masters of Science in Library Science. Then there were the friends from other school districts such as Round Rock and Pflugerville who we rarely get to visit with as professionals. As librarians, we are typically the sole person on our campus in our profession and when we get time to meet with other librarians, it’s so incredibly rewarding!

Throughout the conference, I attended sessions that applied to my position as a middle school librarian and had fun downloading curriculum documents posted via QR codes. Sessions included:

• Learning Commons for School Libraries
• Cutting Out the Cutting Edge: Stories of Censorship
• Let’s Talk Books! Middle Grades Book Clubs
• Lone Star Authors Shine
• Maverick Authors Get Graphic
• Graphic Novels and Comic Books in the Library
• Librarians and Teachers Collaborate for Student Success
• YA 2.0: Marketing Your Library through Social Media (#YA2.0 on Twitter)

I was able to walk away with something from each session and was motivated to go back to the Matador Library and start making plans. One of my favorites was where authors of Lone Star books sat and talked about their writing, their ideas, what inspires them, and how incredibly rewarding it is to write for ‘Tweens. I was also inspired by David Loertscher and his concept of learning commons, where libraries are no longer storage spaces for books, but areas of learning and collaboration. A handful of us were fortunate to have dinner with him later that evening where we were able to discuss his ideas further.

Nothing can really compare to being in a place with 6000+ other librarians who love what they do and continue to show enthusiasm and interest in the ever dynamic field of library and information science. The atmosphere was buzzing, the sessions were relevant, and the synergy was unbelievable! It might just be the geek in me, but I couldn’t get enough, even with the information overload. For a recap of conference events, search #txla11 on Twitter.

Flash Mob:  Danced to “I Gotta Feeling”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xg-kcLS-yTc

AISD Book Cart Drill Team Performance:  A political take on the song “I Will Survive”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzlFWcgx-gE

Austin Public Library Book Cart Drill Team Performance:  A fight for intellectual freedom and rights

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tHeUEWCpu0&feature=related

Round Rock Book Cart Drill Team Performance:  Breaking stereotypes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJQPa9NwTRc

Texas Library Association Conference Coverage:

http://txla.org/annual-conference

Matador Library on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Matador-Library/205667736117997

Matador Library on Twitter:

http://www.twitter.com/MatadorLibrary 

 

THE SCHOOL LIBRARIAN SURVIVAL SONG

Lyrics by Shannon Pearce

 

First I was afraid;

I was petrified

school librarians would be cut,

and then just cast aside.

But I knew deep in my heart

we could prove that would be wrong,

because we’re strong,

and we know how to bring it on!

 

We won’t sit back

and let it be.

We will speak out and then we’ll mobilize

the whole community.

And those who just don’t get it

can go sit down and shush,

if they think for just one second

they can close the book on us!

 

Oh no, we won’t

walk out the door!

It might save money,

but all our students need us more.

Aren’t we the ones who teach the skills they really need

for the future?

So if we want them to succeed,

 

We will survive.

We will survive.

We’ll teach those research skills

and keep the love of books alive.

We’ve got campus goals to reach,

We’ve got every kid to teach,

and we’ll survive.

We will survive,

Hey, hey.

 

They tried to say librarians

are obsolete –

That eBooks and the Internet

are all you need.

And we’re not keeping up

with technology, they say.

No we’re not keeping up –

we’re the ones leading the way!

 

Now you see, we

are something new!

We tweet and blog and Facebook,

and we have tattoos.

And yes, we still tell stories,

and we love the printed page,

but we’re the superheroes

of the Information Age.

 

So no, we won’t walk out the door!

It might save money,

but all our students need us more.

Yes, we’re the ones who teach the skills they really need

for the future,

and we help them to succeed.

 

So we’ll survive.

We will survive.

We’ll teach those research skills

and keep the love of books alive.

We’ve got campus goals to reach,

We’ve got every kid to teach,

and we’ll survive.

We will survive,

Hey, hey.

 

An interview with my good friend Hannah, A.K.A. “Future Children’s Librarian”!

CC:  Congratulations on being accepted to graduate school for Library and Information Science!  What made you decide that this is what you want to do?

FCL:  While I was working overseas as an English teacher in northern Somalia, I had the opportunity to help a local boarding school by turning a donation of 20,000 books into a lending library.   That experience made me realize that I didn’t just want to work in libraries as a side job or as a hobby- I wanted to do it all the time!  I loved helping students find books that got them excited about reading.  

CC:  What an incredible experience.  That answers some of my next question, but why do you think libraries are so important? 

FCL:  Libraries exist to serve the community and to foster and facilitate learning.  They offer free access to a huge pool of knowledge and resources.  I think when we’re so used to having the internet at our fingertips with laptops and smart phones, we tend to take access to information for granted.  So, to many people today, libraries are the place where you find a good beach novel to take on vacation – pure entertainment.  Which is one of their functions, sure. But there are people all over the world who can’t afford cutting-edge technology, and many who can’t even afford to buy just one book.  For those people, libraries and the information they provide access to can level the playing field.   Knowledge should not be a privilege afforded only to those with the means to pay for it.  It should be a universal right.  Libraries help make that possible. 

CC:  Speaking of vacation reading, what are you reading right now? 

FCL:  Right now I’m reading Cast in Fury by Michelle West and The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan.

CC:  I have Riordan’s The Lost Hero in my “to-read” pile, actually!  What books are in that pile for you?

FCL:  Oh my gosh, so many! But probably first up is the next book in The Chronicles of Elantra series by Michelle West, and also Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson, whose Mistborn series ranks pretty high among my favorite books ever!

CC:  Who would be your biggest fictional-character crush?

FCL:  OH! So easy! Bran, from Juliette Marillier’s Son of The Shadows!  Well, or maybe Domitan Masbolle, from Tamora Pierce’s Protector of the Small Series.  Or George Cooper, from her Alanna series! And I can’t deny a soft spot for Teddy Lawrence, from Little Women. All right, so maybe it’s not so easy!

CC:  Mmm…Teddy Lawrence.  So dreamy!  On another note, what is your fondest in-library memory?

FCL:  My best library memory is the moment I realized we really truly had built a library in Abaarso, Somalia.  I was shelving books one day and I saw students lounging everywhere, reading books on art, studying the Koran, having a book club meeting, and working on the trivia question someone had written on the whiteboard.  It was amazing. I don’t know how to describe it without sounding cheesy!  It stopped me in my tracks. 

CC:  I know that this is a near-impossible question, but who are some of your favorite authors and why?

Juliette Marillier, Tamora Pierce, and Brandon Sanderson are probably my top three. Although there are many many books and authors that I love, these three have written series that I can read over and over again.  All three write fantasy books, and for me what makes their books so riveting is that they completely succeed in creating entire worlds that exist in such detail you can totally lose yourself in the story, never questioning it once.  It’s more than entertainment.  It’s a journey to somewhere absolutely foreign!

CC:  Same idea — What are your favorite books?  (I’m giving you multiple, because I know that picking just one is painful!)

FCL:  Well, the series I referred to in the question before must obviously rank at the top of my list: Sevenwaters, Tortall, and Mistborn, respectively.  I also love Graceling and Fire by Kristin Cashore, The Dark is Rising series by Susan Cooper, and Juniper by Monica Furlong.  As far as classics go (yes, I don’t read ONLY fantasy!) I like Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky, The Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas, and I Served the King of England by Hrabal.

CC:  I think we first bonded over Graceling, if I’m not mistaken!  Fond memories!  Now, if you could be a character in any novel, which would you choose and why?  (And you could be yourself, or a specific character from that book.)

FCL:  That’s so hard! I think I would be Aly, from Trickster’s Choice and Trickster’s Queen.  She’s always one step ahead of everyone and her mind perceives things in a way few others do.  Also, to me, she’s believable in a way many main-character women aren’t.  Most are just TOO perfect.  And too unaware of how great everyone else seems to think they are.  Aly is always completely aware of who she is and what other people think of her.  She’s smart, sly, and charming.  I wish I was her!

CC:  If you could have any character-sidekick in real life, who would you choose and why?

FCL:  Hermione Granger!  She counts as a sidekick, right?  She’s brave and super smart and ALWAYS knows a million esoteric spells you didn’t even know existed.  And she likes muggles so I’d definitely be in luck there.

CC:  I couldn’t agree more.  And she’s so loyal, too!  I heart her.  Anyway,  last question.  Fast-forward five years and imagine the library where you’ll work.  What will it look like?  Feel like?  How will you run it and get kids excited about reading?

FCL:  I hope I’m working at a big public library!  I want it to be inviting and homey, like you want to curl up and read a book there all day.  Our community library at home in Wisconsin is like that.  I love it.  And we’ve had the same librarians forever, so they know you and your family and all the books you like to read.  I love to visit there whenever I travel back home.  As for getting kids excited, I want to run programs with local schools.  I volunteer at an Austin elementary school, and I’ve witnessed huge success with book readings and book clubs.  Especially when the adults get really excited and goofy about reading the books, kids react so enthusiastically! And I want to have weekly or daily activities like story time and discussion and bring-a-lunch book club, especially in the summer when kids have lots of free time.  Sure, it may seem cliché or cheesy, but they work!  And in addition to getting people started reading, they offer opportunities for people who already love reading to meet up and form friendships with that as their bond.  Everyone wins!

 

Thanks so much for guest-starring here, Hannah!  I want to live in your library one day! 

My yoga instructor, Mandy, says that the first principle of Anusara Yoga is “open to grace.” 

I love her class.  I mean, love it.  But some days, I’m more graceful than others.  There are times when I feel like a ballet dancer; a figure skater; a bird.  And then there are the days when I’m clumsy and clunky, stumbling around like a drunken frat boy. 

So what, exactly, does it mean to be “open to grace”?  My life is in a state of flux right now.  I’m running into changes—planned and unplanned, expected and unexpected—that could easily throw me into a tailspin.  But at the moment, I feel oddly peaceful about things, like I’m waking up from a really good, long sleep.  I can only guess that Mandy’s words are getting through.  I’m feeling open to grace in and outside of class, and I’m thinking about what that looks like in my life.  Here’s how I’m breaking it down.

Truth:  It’s easy to get caught up in the trappings of your circumstances.  To feel bound by your relationships and your environment.  To let those connections cloud how you feel about yourself and the decisions that you make.  I’m taking the time to think critically and personally about what’s really going on in my life and how I truly feel about it.  I’m trying to be honest with myself and with the people around me.  A hard truth about me is that I (regrettably) worry a lot about what people think.  Right now, I’m determined to set aside concern for how others see me and for the expectations that I think they have so that I can make the best decisions possible.  And so that I can see the Truth in those choices. 

Balance:  A few years ago a colleague of mine went through a traumatic event, and I didn’t find out until well after it had occurred.  I was so impressed with the level of composure that she’d maintained in the workplace, despite the chaos she’d been experiencing in her life outside of the office.  A friend described it as “equilibrium.”  I’m hoping that I can develop my own sense of stability in the fray.  We can’t always control the circumstances in our lives, but we can decide how we respond to them.  I don’t intend to hide my emotions or pretend like I’m unaffected, but I think that there are ways to preserve a sense of calm in the storm.  I want to be level-headed despite the mess.  If I commit to taking it day-by-day, I think that I can do it.  It isn’t about making everything perfect, or “fixing” things immediately.  It’s about keeping a clear head and checking in with myself.  It’s about taking care of my heart as best I can.

Love:  I’ve been in Austin for almost eight years, and it’s remarkable how much love I have for this city, and for the family that I’ve grown here.  I’m embracing that love right now, and I’m dedicated to loving myself, too.  I’m typically very focused on obligations, responsibilities, commitments.  But first and foremost, I’m going to commit to myself.  I’m choosing me.  I’m going to honor the things that I need to be happy—both tangible and intangible.  Physical and theoretical.  Artistic and practical.  Of course, at the same time that I honor my own needs and feelings, I want to be thoughtful about other people’s hearts and emotions.  (After all, I can’t love myself if I don’t like myself.)  There’s always a balance between respecting what you need and what others need from you.  But if I make choices out of love and for love, I’d like to think that I can’t go wrong.

…My hope is that grace is somewhere in the crosshairs between truth, balance, and love.  And if it isn’t, I’ll just have to find it elsewhere.