My town, Maitland, is not large. Neither is Maitland Public Library. But it’s our library and it’s a treasure, a beating heart of community fabric from the get-go. And in this season of giving thanks, it occurs to me that a ridiculously high number of my most satisfying experiences as a writer have taken place within its venerable walls, and within those of other public libraries as well.
Maitland Public launched with 360 books donated by Clara Dommerich in 1896, and operated in the home of schoolteacher Emma Dart. Donations of books kept coming and the collection quickly outgrew Emma’s cozy front room, so local businessman W.B. Jackson stepped up and housed the library in his store, where it became the hub of social life. In 1908, the collection moved into its present home, a sturdy brick building exuding solidity and permanence, designed at no charge by architect Charles B. Waterhouse, son of one of Maitland’s first families, and funded by inspired folks and bake sales.
Our local writers group meets at the library every month, and the staff treats us royally, providing space, A-V equipment, and expertise, and plying us with coffee and tea. And then leaving us in peace to our own nefarious schemes and plot devices.
The library also hosts regular adult writing and poetry workshops twice a month, a poetry “coffeehouse,” four different book clubs, and “Adventures with Books” for homeschooled kids three times a month. What else? Well, there are separate story times for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers, and even story time yoga for little children. There are classic movies you can’t find on Netflix. There are free audiobooks. There are cooking classes.
To make room for new books, sometimes a purging of the old is called for. Book sales are held, an opportunity for avid readers and persons of limited means to buy high quality, gently loved hardcovers at bargain basement prices.
With the waves of hurricanes that have bludgeoned us in recent years, Maitland, a leafy green place shaded by large trees that are fond of falling and taking electric lines with them, has suffered repeated power outages lasting days and weeks. But the library soldiers on, keeping its doors open, its lights on, and its AC cranking so that we can escape the dog’s breath heat and humidity for a few hours, read the news, send emails, and recharge our devices. Don’t underestimate what that means to a family sweating through an August blackout with no end. And my writing doesn’t get put on hold, much to the dismay of my readers.
Our library carries copies of my novel, even though its author is the poster child for obscure authors. The staff even highlights the book with “Local Author” stickers on the spines. They want me to succeed.
While Maitland Public Library’s history is a model of civic service, it’s not unique and not alone, and mirrors similar commitments in towns big and small across America. The Orange County Library provided a venue for the launch of my first novel. With cookies! Other libraries around Florida have hosted me in yammering on about my novels and giving presentations on the craft of writing, even designing and printing gorgeous glossy fliers and posters for the events.
So get down to your library. Renew your card, prowl the stacks, enjoy the quiet. Thank your librarians for their dedication and passion, and your lucky stars for those visionaries that put free lending libraries—one of the great gifts of and to civilization—within reach of us all.
For a little bonus of pure book stacks inspiration, enjoy some of the world’s great libraries:
