Citali's Library

Have I mentioned I love libraries?

(a joke. That's a joke. I love libraries. I say this all the time.)

Like, a lot. Unironically. Unconditionally.

SO last summer I volunteered at my city library, and to be not cliché, it wasn't exactly life-changing. But it made me think things.

I worked in the children's section, as opposed to adult or circulation. However, they don't let volunteers sit behind the reference desk and answer questions and sign kids up for summer reading. Whether or not it seems logical, you need a master's in library science for that. I also wasn't shelving books, though I feel like I'd be good at that, being a longtime patron of the children's section (the wisdom of years: that the L-M and M-R shelves are where everything that's worth anything is. Pretty much). What I did was everything else. My fellow four volunteers were almost-not-quite found family; I figure that once you pick up speech patterns from someone, you've become at least a level 2 friend (a joke. That's a joke). There was a performance series where we volunteers would help set up stages for puppet shows and jugglers and science shows, then count the attendees—adults and kids—with little clickers. Memorably, we performed in one of them, as part of an opera, albeit a 30-minute one. We stamped summer reading achievement certificates with the librarians' seal of approval. We lugged boxes of the free books given out for summer reading. Memorably, we spent one afternoon session sanitizing laundry baskets full of baby toys (yes, the ones that little kids put in their mouths. It was fantabulous //s).

But what I spent the most time doing, well... it didn't seem like a very library thing to do. For hours of those afternoons, we voided books, removing them from circulation. Some of them were ripped, drooled on, oil-stained. Some were wholesale ripped from their bindings. But others? They looked like they've been gently used, still usable. Nevertheless, they were treated all the same: their barcodes blacked out, their library labels removed. They were Tetris-ed into circulation carts. And thrown (tossed. Stacked. Fine, placed). Into. Dumpsters (garbage! Trash cans! Or at least, bins).

To be fair: 1) Since they were library property, they were government property. And that means that when they're declared void (and when the library/government has to buy new books) they have to go. Otherwise librarians could void books randomly so that they could keep them. Or sell them. 2) I guess libraries have to toss out things sometime. Some of those voided books were pretty nasty. 3) And some of the books in better (read: spotless, imho) condition were Tetris-ed into boxes, not carts, and taped up and shipped off to libraries elsewhere.

However, those didn't really change the fact that, when I came out of my summer of volunteering, I thought ever-so-slightly less of my library.

But after the summer, I spent an unusual amount of time in other people's libraries: schools, other muni libraries. Whether it was spending time in the school library studying and not touching a page of fiction, or meeting up with classmates in the teen section of their municipal library to work on group projects, or even visiting a library comic-con, it made me think things.

In the world we live in, every bit of government spending is being thrown into question. But libraries, public ones, seem like one of the best and at the same time craziest things you can do. My library isn't huge and urban, and yet I have to stop myself and appreciate what my citizenship gets me. A building with books and computers that you can use for massive blocks of time. Museum passes. Books that have come out mere weeks or even days ago. Wi-fi. Readings. Art. Summer reading. The Oxford English dictionary. An online catalog. A juggler. A Triwizard Tournament.

And that's not even counting what other libraries can do. There are libraries that lend out cake pans and shared seeds and sewing machines. 3D printers and virtual reality headsets. Hosting comic-cons.

My library is limited by the rules of a county system—it can never shut down an entire branch and host a comic-con, for example. But it's also empowered by the thousands of books it can hold in collection and retrieve from different libraries around the area. The catalogue might have been a little clunky. But the fact remains that there are so, so many books I can access with my keystrokes, even months before they're published, without the interlibrary loan. And I might have to disinfect a few baby toys. But for all those two- and three-year-olds who get to have those toys for that time while they're getting read to, sure.

I might have huge, grandiose thoughts-with-a-capital-T about libraries and sharing and whether that playtime and storytime with those disinfected toys will change a life or make a future author want to write. But honestly, even with all the slightly problematic destruction of books or the large quantities of baby saliva, libraries are so, so worth it. And I will be supporting them all the way.

Happy reading,
~Citali

Steampunk Library: Library Series

Citali again with another library! This library is a steampunk vehicle-house! This, I guess, is the first installment... I might add more to the Athenaeum's story later.

Steampunk

She pulled the lever, and the Athenaeum Airship began jolting forwards on its large velocipede wheels. The open windows clattered in their frames and let in a wind that whipped her braids back along with her scarf. Steadfast, nowhere did the pilot's eyes wander until she grabbed the throttle and pulled it farther back, tipping the Airship back on its oversize wheels and setting its batlike wings flapping as the Athenaeum lifted up into the sky. Stepping out of the controls area, the pilot yanked sharply on a bellpull. A horn let out a loud, comical squawk and a boy wearing airship goggles and a mischievous expression popped his head down the skylight. The girl snatched the goggles off his head. "That's where my goggles got to?"

The boy grinned and hopped down from the skylight, bowing a bit. "Isn't that what your little-brother-librarian-sidekick is for?" Turning serious, he continued, "What's our next city? Did you see the trunk of books I managed to get at that antique shop in that last town? A steal! They're really good too; some of them actually aren't falling apart at the bindings."

The pilot-girl rolled her eyes halfheartedly. She might never let her little brother see it, but he really was a good librarian-sidekick. "Yes, we've got to sort out those books you found. Come on, the Airship can fly itself for a few hours, and we must get those books on the shelf before we get to the next town." Turning, she gripped the railing of an old iron spiral staircase and descended to a lower floor. Here, below the deck where she piloted and her brother kept watch over the wings and the steam engine, was the Athenaeum itself: the library. Leather poufs filled the space between half-full bookshelves. The girl opened the window seat between two bookcases and pulled a needle and thread, as well as a bottle of glue, from the repair kit she kept there. As her brother descended into the library with a battered trunk, she opened it to reveal even more stacks of books. "It was a good find," she admitted. "But like all good things, it can always be better if we make it so." He rolled his eyes at her waxing philosophical, but took the glue bottle she offered him and sat down on his own pouf, checking book spines and applying glue.

A steam horn squawked. "Come on, we're almost to the next city." Her brother tumbled the unfinished books into the window seat's storage and scrambled up the spiral stairs behind her. As he climbed to the rooftops to sight the town through the clouds, she pulled down her goggles. Before her, clouds scudded past as she lowered the Airship down into a field. Before she could stop her brother, he'd given an ear-piercing whistle and sounded the squawky horn of the Airship again. Children and adults spilled out of the town buildings towards the airship taking up the town common, holding baskets full of books.

Children tugged at their mothers' skirts as they waited their turn in the "magical house" of the Athenaeum. The girl had thrown open the windows, and shouts of the children running around the commons followed her down the stairs to the Athenaeum floor. As her brother set the last books on the shelves in order, she threw open the doors. "Come one, come all! Visit the Athenaeum Airship, home of books you need! We fly from city to city to bring you from your world to a world far away!"

And as her brother, swarmed by little boys, went over to find some serial novels for his flock (though closely watched by slightly disapproving parents' eyes), the pilot-girl took a basket of books and wandered out onto the common.

"Come one, come all. I'm here, the Athenaeum girl, with books for those who don't want to venture from your world; books that are here, right now."

Happy reading!
~Citali

High Fantasy Library: Library Series

A troll meditating on the meaning of life wasn't something you saw every day, even in the city of Elyka. But if any elvin gondolier had poled his boat beneath the rightmost arch of the Twilight Bridge, he'd have seen exactly that. The troll in question had made his home there; most of the gondoliers took their business passengers looking for fast, skillful transport through the middle arch, which was the cleanest and most direct, while they took the tourists looking to admire the mosaic masonry of Elyka through the left arch, where colored glass formed a runic pattern. The troll didn't care for speed: he was part rock, after all. And the ragged trousers he wore with dirty, grey-toned patches showed a disregard for art and beauty probably equal to his love for solitude, hence the camp under the rightmost arch.

Today, he was meditating on the meaning of life as he sat, legs up to his knobbly knees in the grey water, trousers hiked up to mid-thigh, back up against the piers of the bridge. A troll shouldn't think about the meaning of his life, he thought. But while I'm at it... what do I want to do with my life? I have the whole city of Elyka ahead of me to use. A single elvin gondolier poled his boat past the bridge, not going under it into the Twilight canal, as the troll thought. Elves are gondoliers, he thought. Mages are writers. Centaurs are blacksmiths, fae are goldsmiths. But no one thinks of the trolls. I could be anything, if I wanted. 

Like the gondoliers that traveled the tourist routes all day, his thoughts meandered, but always came back to that thought: I could be anything. Not a troll under a bridge, but what? As the sun set, he lumbered up from his spot and waded through the water, which at its deepest was merely knee-high for him, to the banks. Easily stepping out of the water to drip onto the path, he clumped up and through the streets.

Finally he arrived in the center of the city. Gaping down the narrow street at the many lit lanterns, he noticed a tall, tall building with the marks of all trades: fae gilt made lanterns shine even more brightly than normal; elvin gondolas were docked in front of this clearly popular stop. Elyka's famed mosaics made a round stained glass window of a mage holding an orb of light blossom like a star. For this was a mage's building: centaur wrought iron supported a hanging sign over the street reading, "The Library of Elyka."

A centaur holding an iron poker glanced at him curiously as the troll began walking forwards, almost transfixed. Two fae bending over a lantern in the street flitted out of his way. An elf walking down the street with a mug of some hot drink in hand almost dropped his mug at the sight of a troll coming towards him, eyes lifted and seeing the window and only the window.

Two mages at the front door stood in the circle of light cast by a lantern. Though they did not move at the sight of the rocky troll, one said in a surprisingly soft voice, "May we help you?"

"I... am a troll. And I would like to learn to... to... write." Perhaps it was the mage's voice, the only voice directed at specifically him in such a long time. Had he ever been spoken to in Elyka? Directly? His voice seemed soft to him. Soft, not like a troll.

"A library is a mage's place," the other mage quoted. Her eyes seemed like the white glint of stars on the canal: much farther and colder than the lantern light from buildings.

"Who says it cannot be a troll's as well?" the troll found himself saying. It wasn't soft now, but the grating tone he'd always thought he spoke in. The arguing seemed to smooth the lump that was in his throat into something he could work around. Arguing and riddling were a troll's native ground, after all. That was why they lived under bridges, for passers-by had to solve a troll's riddle to get by. That was in the old days, before the cities had grown up and there was more than one bridge to get over a canal. Perhaps what the mages called "rhetoric" was not so much his gift, but he could understand arguing in riddles.

The glint-eyed mage frowned, then smiled. Then she extended an arm and barely trembled as the troll rested his rocky arm as gently as possible on hers.

"You know, mages are not only writers. To write, you must adventure. I lived under a bridge, myself, when I was younger," she said. To the look on his face that must have been skeptical, she flexed her robed arm slightly, surprising him with her strength. "A pen is a weapon of its own, beyond strength," she said, quoting again.

And the people of Elyka's library were pleasantly surprised by the elderly librarian who escorted in a troll to a private table, set a quill before him, and directed him slowly in forming his letters.

Happy reading!
~Citali

Willow's Library

Bonjour! C'est moi, Willow. (Translation: *Adele voice* Hello... it's me...) :-)

You've all probably already seen Citali's wonderful worldbuilding library posts, and I thought I'd just hop on her bandwagon like the unoriginal copycat I am. She's written about libraries in different alternate universes, but I'm going to write a short piece on my school's library, which, honestly, has become my home away from home in these two years. It's cozy and inviting, and the librarian is absolutely brilliant. If you're reading this right now, Ms. N-, this one's for you.

Here we go:

My library is a good-sized room, with several aisles of bookshelves, the books themselves ranging from biographies to graphic novels. I wander through the fiction section, pinpointing my favorite authors with practiced ease. Brightly lit, the library also hosts a set of tables and several computers. These are perpetually occupied by students reading, doing homework, or just chatting. There's a buzz of conversation throughout the room; never is there pin-drop silence. The TAs behind the counter work steadily, checking books in and out. The librarian herself ambles through her domain, stopping to greet students, to recommend books, and, occasionally, to shush an overly noisy group of kids. She'll direct you to books and authors you ask for with a smile and a pointed finger. Always helpful, always polite, and always friendly, Ms. N- is half the reason the library is always crowded. Enthusiastic about books and her job, Ms. N- is always willing to give you book recommendations, discuss books or movies in detail, or even just give you directions to anywhere on campus.

The last few years have been tough for my family. We've gone through a lot, and I've had to deal with it in the one way I know how: bury myself in fiction. Read book after book after book until the future seems a little less bleak. Laughing about jokes in movies, analyzing minor details in my favorite volumes, discussing character development throughout a series-- these things have kept me going. I owe a lot of that to the library. It has given me the opportunity to read, reread, and discuss the books I love. So to my library and everyone in it: thank you.

*Fin*

Okay, so maybe I'm not as good at Citali at this whole "describing libraries" thing, and this got a little more personal than I originally intended it to be. But I really do mean every word. My library means the world to me; I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't there.

Au revoir!
Willow

Snowy Vault: Libraries Series

Hiya from Citali. I'm not so sure how this libraries writing thing will go, but here's my second one. It's a bit longer and different, but... more libraries and writing!

Snowy vault

"Ugh." She finished the energy bar and stood up, immediately feeling the blast of cold, snowy air as she poked her head out of the small rocky crevice that had been protecting her from the cold. "Almost there." Gripping her backpack straps, she tested the slope with her boot before taking each step, struggling to dig her foot first out of the snow, then into it for a grip as she moved the next step. Dig in, lean forwards, dig out. Dig in, lean forwards, dig out. She kept her gaze downwards, focusing on her steps so she would never fall. Never, she promised herself. Suddenly instead of the hard slickness of frozen-together snow, which would give if she pushed hard enough, she felt the hard solidity of metal. Using her boot, she brushed aside more snow to find a metal grate packed with ice. But it was metal nevertheless. Continuing to brush aside snow, she followed the path and was suddenly stunned at a sight she'd never expected to see in the wildest of places: a building of concrete and metal, rising at sharp angles from the soft curves of frozen water. She trudged to the front door and found it open as she brushed fingertips over a sensor. Somehow it had been frozen shut, but by giving it some good old pounding with her boot, the ice broke, shattering into a treacherously clear mound in front of the door. The big step she took over the threshold was hindered by her many layers of clothing, but once inside the blast of warm air felt like a zephyr of life. Shoving with her shoulder, she closed the front door. Now she was safe from the cold, inside this... vault. A counterlike ledge jutting from the wall was the perfect place for her to shed her waterproof gloves in favor of simple, warm wool ones under a round lantern. She hesitated just a bit before shrugging off her heavy backpack, but something about the lamp and the warm air made her feel secure after the day of trekking through treacherous snow. She brushed the snow from her boots and the folds of her jacket, then took the lantern carefully to explore the rest. Later, she realized she hadn't had to, as more lanterns were somehow lit inside. Instead of eerie isolation, the vault was filled with a cozy sense of comfort in solitude as she passed shelves. Unlike the concrete and steel exterior amidst black rocks and white ice, the shelves were full of color; books with spines of bold illustrations and fine embossed words, boxes of documents tabbed in bright plastic. She could imagine someone else here, someone like her, enjoying being alone; but she could also imagine many others here, filling this place with even more warmth and light, sharing in this color.

Happy reading! I'd love feedback or comments.

~Citali

Solarpunk Library: Libraries Series

Hello, it's Citali here, with my first post in the libraries series: a solarpunk library.

Solarpunk

The library had been the first thing the city rebuilt after the apocalypse, by unanimous vote of all the citizens. Standing outside, he always took a moment to look up at the building. Seemingly squeezed onto a street corner, the former apartment building now had its balconies, fire escapes, and even its roof glassed in. Through the colorful stained-glass-like mosaics created by the solar glass, he could see the library already humming with life, even at this time in the morning. Quickly, he locked his bike into one of the colorfully painted racks and entered the library. Inside, he immediately started hunting down his favorite reading nook. Passing an end table with a whimsical sign saying Leave your favorite book, take someone else's as your own, he took a look at a dark blue hardcover with a graceful, cherry-red high heel. With a grin, he took the book, taking one out of his backpack to leave, a silver-and-blue book probably about two inches thick and yet one of the greatest stories he'd ever read. Next to the end table lay a pile of colorful beanbags with a lanternlike stained glass lamp hanging above, casting a warm glow. Letting himself fall onto the beanbags, he put his feet up and opened the new book. A few minutes later, a boy in walked by with an overstuffed backpack and a tiny kitten following at his heels. Pausing at the end table, he thoughtfully flipped open the cover of the book he'd left and scanned a page or two. Deciding to take it, he pulled a thin yellow paperback out of his backpack with difficulty and left it on the table. The boy would have walked on, probably to find an armchair for himself and his comical kitten, but something about the other boy made him pause. "Nice book," he said. The kitten padded up to the beanbag boy and patted his shoe.

Happy reading!

~Citali

Perfect Libraries: Libraries Series

Heya, it's Citali!

If you're a book lover who doesn't love libraries... well. I do believe you have a few issues, though I'll try not to judge. But libraries seem to embody the best of not only a love of books but also, well, everything. Where else is a sanctuary, a meeting hall, a place to receive knowledge for free, a place that's equally fun and interesting by yourself or with a book-loving friend?

Whether you love sci-fi or fantasy, I've always been fascinated by the idea of worldbuilding including libraries. Futuristic libraries? Cozy libraries? Flying island libraries? Underground vault libraries? Robot librarians? Elf librarians? As public buildings, they can embody the entire vibe of whatever world the library belongs to; as a storehouse for knowledge, they can be as open or as secure as you wish.

So I'll be starting a bit of a series, composed of different short stories I've written about libraries of different possible genres. I guess I've talked about me writing on here a bit, but I've never really shared any of it. Hope you enjoy!

Happy reading,
~Citali