Quiet Memory

Here I am for the first time in nearly 20 years at this place that I loved as a kid. I spent so much time here writing, reading, and otherwise being someplace quiet and surrounded by books. I had glamorous ideas of my future writer’s life and for whatever reason, I imagined hours spent in libraries – when I wasn’t in the custom-made writer’s den/cabin I’d of course have somewhere, with a giant weeping willow outside and nearby brook. I’m a little surprised to remember now that I had that image of writing in libraries, since in my adult writing life I don’t think it’s even occurred to me to go to a library to write.