The Former Anne Spollen's Author Blog Is Being Retitled to "Notes from Living Upghetto": Gangsta Librarians

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Gangsta Librarians

I love train stations. That may seem weird since stations are so much like waiting rooms. It could be that I used to watch movies from the 1940's all the time (I still think that was the best decade for films) and everything important changed at a train station. People were always going off to war in Europe or waving them home from somewhere amazing while standing on train platforms.

Later on, I am taking a train from the Philly Amtrak station (see picture above) and I can't wait to take some pictures of the station. Here's another one:

Of course, my leaving the house has caused major questions from the kids because Mom only leaves to
a) work
or
b) get them food.

When I told them I was going to the ALA Conference in Boston, they wanted to know what our room would look like and if they got a day or maybe two off from school. "I'm not actually sure how much I like history," Emma reminded me, "and that's all like Pilgrim stuff, isn't it?"

They were stunned when I told them I would be back on Saturday night, and I was leaving and returning alone. These are kids who never even had a babysitter (I know, I know)

After the initial shock wore off (indicated by uncharacteristic silence), Philip asked me, "So are you like famous now or something?"

"No, it's just a conference."

He looked at me suspiciously. "You know what happened to Tupac when he became famous, right?"

I had that coming.

For years, it's been, "What? You ate a PORK HOT DOG THERE? Did you know they are associated with childhood leukemia?" "You forgot to wash your hands? WHAT? That's how the PLAGUE spread!"

You get the idea.

"Yes, I know what happened to Tupac. But these people are mostly librarians, people like that. They tend not to be violent."

"Maybe they are," he insisted. "They just cover it up."

"Gangsta librarians? The image just isn't forming, Philip."

They are coming with me all the way to the Amtrak station in Philly. Then I get to spend a day or so with a bunch of people who like books and reading and all that stuff as much as I do, probably even more. I'm betting I get over a hundred texts from my kids - and that will be within an hour of leaving the station.

But it's okay; I finally get to wave from a train - both ways.

11 comments:

Elizabeth Bradley said...: Sounds fun. In the movie Witness, weren't the mother and the little boy in a train station when they witnessed a murder...I'm just sayin; Thursday, 14 January, 2010
Hardygirl said...: The Book and the Rose is a cool short film with a great train station scene.

And, ALA?? Sounds like so much fun!! I LOVE conferences--especially big ones. Take tons of pictures. Your kiddos will be fine--your house will probably be trashed when you get back, but everyone will be breathing.

sf; Thursday, 14 January, 2010
Jemi Fraser said...: Have a great time!!

Watch out for those gangsta librarians - you never know :); Thursday, 14 January, 2010
Jemi Fraser said...: Have a great time!! Just watch out for those gangstas carrying books - maybe they've got secret compartments :); Thursday, 14 January, 2010
Bish Denham said...: I hope you have the bestest time! Watch out for those gangsta librarians who may foist books on you while threatening you with shushes.

I've only ridden on a train a few times, but enjoyed them all.; Friday, 15 January, 2010
Christy Raedeke said...: Trains, librarians, Boston - sounds like BLISS!; Saturday, 16 January, 2010
Bish Denham said...: Anne, I've left you a little something on my blog. Just have to pass on the happiness!; Monday, 18 January, 2010
Bish Denham said...: P.S. It will be up tomorrow, Tuesday the 19th.; Monday, 18 January, 2010
Anne Spollen said...: Hey guys, thanks for all the wishes to have a good time! It was really fun.; Wednesday, 20 January, 2010
Mary Witzl said...: Oh heck -- Elizabeth beat me to the Witness thing. I trust it you made it through safely, though.

My kids know all about trichinosis and salmonella. Nice to know I'm not the only one instilling paranoia.; Wednesday, 20 January, 2010
Unknown said...: Anne,

Of COURSE it's a good review. I've made it a policy of mine to only review books I love. And love it I did. I ordered "Ferns" before I finished because I needed more.

Lisa; Thursday, 21 January, 2010

Books

Light Beneath Ferns

"I have this strange sense that my silence is preparing me for something I can't name . ."

Elizah Rayne is nothing like other fourteen-year-old girls. More interested in bird bones than people, she wraps herself in silence. Trying to escape the shadow of her gambler father, Elizah and her mother move into an old house that borders a cemetery. All her mother wants is for them to have "normal" lives. But that becomes impossible for Elizah when she finds a human jawbone by the river and meets Nathaniel, a strangely hypnotic boy who draws Elizah into his dreamlike and mysterious world.

Only by forgetting everything she knows can Elizah understand the truth about Nathaniel—and discover an unimaginable secret.

Teen made trailer for Light Beneath Ferns.

Order Light Beneath Ferns here.

Foreword Magazine's Review of Light Beneath Ferns

Excerpt from THE SHAPE OF WATER

CHAPTER ONE
I discovered windows one afternoon and after that, nothing was ever the same. They had always been there, of course, glass panes shimmering in the color of rain, but that spring for the first time, I was able to open the windows in my room. For years, the locks had been painted stuck, and during the winter, heat from the radiator beneath my windows finally steamed off enough paint off the metal wings of the locks could be twirled open. Knowing that I could open the windows attracted me to them, and I began sitting under the windows, staring through the glass at the sky. From that position, on a chair in my room, the sky did not seem real; it seemed a place I was making up, so I watched it.
The white wood of the window panes acted as frames so the sky came to me slowly, and the huge openness of its space did not touch me. All the window glass in our old house had wavers and bubbles inside it, so at times the clouds moved like water, melting and blurring until they passed outside of the warp. After a few afternoons of sitting, the heavens seemed too quiet to keep watching so I began watching a small patch of woods next to our yard that housed little more than trees and a scatter of bony, mean-looking rabbits.
I started gazing at the sky and the woods in March when the branches were still wet and it was then, with nothing outside my window but trees and rain, that I noticed a shine inside darkness, I noticed colors glimmering within the darkness of the wood. I watched birds come and go, I watched rain nipple down from buds to the grass. The water dripping from branch edges and leaves created optical tricks; I could see that as I watched leaves melt.
Then one day I ventured into the space outside. I did not think about doing this much beforehand. I simply opened the window and dropped to the ground below, uncertain as to why this should be such a more satisfying exit than simply using the door; my father worked until seven o’clock and I could do whatever I wanted until then. But I liked the solid sound my legs made when I landed. Leaving via a five foot drop seemed so much more a decision than just using a door. The sense of escape made my heart pound, though all I escaped was the soundless spread of moss-colored light inside my house and the silence.
I had come to know silence well during those months after my mother died. When you sit in silence long enough, you learn that silence has a motion. It glides over you without shape or form, but with weight, exactly like water. Its color is silver. And silence has a sound you hear only after hours of wading inside it. The sound is soft, flute notes rising up like the words of glass speaking. There comes a point when you must shatter the silence, when you must shatter the blindness of its words, the blindness of its light. I did this by going into the yard. Once I stood there, in the grass next to the trees I had been watching, I found silence outside as well. But I was happier outside than I had been in the house, so I stayed for a bit. I stood beneath my bedroom window for a few minutes, looking up at the branches and the crooked pieces of sky colliding between the branches. I believed I could identify the scent of the sky as I stood there, a blue menthol fragrance similar to the scent of seawater that sprayed into my face when I first dove into the ocean. That initial scent smelled much more subtle than the ocean’s heavy, fishy aroma, a whiff of salt and mint that warned a more powerful scent would enter my nose just as I approached the water on a dive. It was the scent I dreamed in. And it was the scent of that spring sky as I stood in my yard.

***