Chapter 1: The Quirky Cast of Characters

After transitioning from a business career to writing, I turned libraries into my personal workspace. This change led me to meet a variety of intriguing individuals, including a hopeful ex-convict, a gassy lady hippie, and a man performing a whimsical song about bodily functions.

While writing in my local library today, I found myself perched on a low wooden chair, almost reminiscent of a child's seat. I enjoy this spot because it offers a panoramic view of the library’s activities.

Around lunchtime, a young woman with a backpack entered and chose a spot against the far wall. A familiar regular, an amiable man with silver hair, approached her, cheerfully suggesting she might prefer one of the more comfortable seats. She explained that she preferred the wall's seclusion due to her work as a hospice social worker, ensuring privacy for any sensitive patient details.

“Oh, I recognize your organization!” he exclaimed. He shared that a family member had been a patient and that he was well-acquainted with their hospice music therapist.

At that moment, I recalled having met this social worker before, as she had visited my home to assist my mother just days before her passing last April. The same music therapist had sung traditional Irish songs for my mother, a proud Cork woman.

“Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought,” my mother used to quote Shelley, reflecting on the poignant themes the musician often explored. Mom, a retired poetry teacher, had an impressive reservoir of verses that always captivated the hospice staff.

As their conversation unfolded, I opened my journal to capture the scene. A narrative writing professor once advised me to always carry a notebook for jotting down intriguing observations.

“Whenever I’m at a loss for words,” he said, “I simply flip through my notes, and something delightful will catch my eye.”

This advice resonated with me, especially after reading David Sedaris' Theft By Finding, a humorous anthology of diary entries that captivated readers and earned him acclaim.

Today, I took a moment to note the unfolding scene and reflected on past library experiences in Birmingham, Alabama, before my move to the mountains.

The first entry I stumbled upon was from April 2019:

I had chosen a table at the downtown library where I noticed a green bud on the chair intended for my backpack. I knocked it onto the carpet, and as fate would have it, a vacuuming man passed by later, oblivious to the little find left behind.

Fast forward to today, and I overheard a woman behind me animatedly chatting on her phone about her recent release from jail. She sounded lively and optimistic, sharing her newfound independence and her supportive husband, who “stayed away from drugs, not even suboxone.” Her conversation was loud enough for me to catch bits of her request for help retrieving some belongings.

The next entries revealed more colorful encounters at another library across from a prestigious country club.

I was working at Emmett O'Neal Library when an older gentleman approached a man at the table beside me, inquiring about the arts section. The seated man snapped back, “I don’t know, alright! You have enough sections already. Jesus!” The older man shrugged it off, unfazed.

A few moments later, the irate man stormed off, leaving the older gentleman to calmly sift through an abandoned newspaper.

Later, I spotted the congresswoman's father, who was engrossed in a conversation about politics with a retired lawyer. The discussion escalated into a debate over stock markets, and it wasn’t long before the lawyer stormed off in frustration. The father remained calm, seemingly amused by the outburst.

As I left, I paused in the restroom and was met with an unexpected performance. Someone in a stall was singing a parody to the tune of "Here Comes the Bride," humorously lamenting their bathroom experience. It took me a while to finish my business, partly due to the tall bottle of green tea I had consumed.

The following afternoons found me back in Birmingham, working at the Avondale Library, which is adjacent to a lovely park with walking trails.

I grew up nearby, and during writing breaks, I would stroll around the baseball fields of my youth, reflecting on the past. It struck me how integrated our league had been, with teams that were half Black and half White—a stark contrast to the city at large.

One afternoon, while at the library, a woman in a tie-dye dress asked to share my table to access a power outlet. After a brief chat, she put in her earbuds and began singing “Just Another Country Song.” Moments later, she stood, let out a loud fart, and said, “Oh, are you leaving?” before departing and leaving her belongings behind.

Just a few days later, I returned to find a discussion about politics heating up between two women in a nearby conference room. I caught snippets of their argument about Donald Trump, and when one emerged wearing an ID lanyard, I remarked, “I hope not, too!” She smiled, a bit sheepishly, and laughed.

Weeks later, the pandemic forced library closures, leading me to work from home. To combat the stir-craziness, I obtained my real estate license and began collaborating with a friend for a change of scenery.

Last year, my husband and I moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains, bringing my mother, who was on hospice care. Her last 18 months with us, coupled with my real estate experiences, added a plethora of new characters and stories to my journal.

Now that libraries have reopened, I find myself back at my favorite low table, observing the activity around me. As I prepare to leave, I stop to greet the social worker, and we have a delightful chat. She expresses her desire to memorize poetry like my mother did.

“Oh, that was just my mom’s gift,” I respond. “I can’t quite match her prowess.”

However, I share that I’ve added a daily reminder to my app, inspired by author Garth Greenwell’s advice:

MEMORIZE POEMS. Do it. This beauty will become part of you.

I also have a recurring reminder that simply states:

Write in your journal!!!

And so here we are...

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References:

² From Garth Greenwell's Style Workshop; October 2020; Notes + Six Daily Practices for Writers.

The first video titled Truth is stranger than fiction... dives into the idea that real-life experiences often surpass our wildest imaginations, mirroring the eccentric characters I encounter in my writing.

The second video, Truth is Stranger than Fiction, further explores the theme of reality's uncanny ability to outshine fiction, much like the colorful anecdotes I have shared throughout my journey.