Tag: authors

All Write, Columns

Travel that Transforms

Cindy Hval

When I think of Susie Leonard Weller, the first word that comes to mind is “vibrancy.”

From the brilliant turquoise color she favors to her beautifully bright smile, she exudes energy and intelligence.

We met almost 20 years ago at a writers group. She taught parenting and life skill classes for Head Start parents enrolled in the Community Colleges of Spokane and I was a fledgling freelance writer.

She was in the early stages of drafting her book, “Why Don’t You Understand? Improve Family Communication With the 4 Thinking Styles,” and I was writing columns about my boys burping entire conversations at the dinner table.

I’d leave the group inspired by our conversations, and I think she at least left entertained. After retiring from the community colleges, she left the group but continued to write and, more importantly, travel.

The travel bug arrived on her 10th birthday when Susie received a three-piece set of powder blue vinyl luggage. Two years later, she lugged it through the LAX Airport with her 10-year-old brother in tow as they changed planes on their way to Mexico City. Her parents had arranged an informal exchange with a family in Mexico.

She’s pretty much kept her bags packed since.

Recently, she sent me a note to let me know that her latest book, “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” is scheduled for release on June 18.

We caught up over the phone.

“I see myself as a global citizen,” Weller said. “The book is part spiritual autobiography, part travel memoir.”

Over the years, she’s explored 34 countries, ranging from Australia to Turkey, and she typically stays in youth hostels.

“They’re for the young at heart, not just the young of age,” she said.

Susie, Barcelona, 2019

Weller has hiked over hills, trekked across trails, kayaked across bodies of water, and soared above the ground.

“To commemorate my 50th birthday, I paraglided over the Swiss Alps.”

In “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” she documents her experiences in 52 locations around the world and includes over 150 reflection questions.

Her reason for penning this book now is simple.

“I’ve survived Stage 3 colorectal cancer, Stage 1 breast cancer, a ministroke and brain surgery,” she said. “I want to share my story before I die. If I don’t share it now, it will be gone.”

Weller’s story isn’t one of tourism but of connection.

“I believe in connecting with people at their sacred sites and spiritual places,” she said. “So many communities across the world are searching for that connection to something bigger than ourselves.”

Her pilgrim travel memoir integrates her 1981 master’s degree in pastoral ministry from Seattle University and a 2006 certificate in spiritual direction from Gonzaga University to provide insights into visiting sacred locations, shrines and labyrinths.

In a world divided by politics, ideologies and religion, Weller’s experiences offer much-needed hope.

“I’ve experienced the kindness of strangers and the generosity of people,” she said. “I’m so glad I traveled earlier because if you wait till you retire, health issues can limit you.”

In 2023, she spent nine weeks in Greece, Jordan, Malta and Turkey.

While visiting the home in Ephesus, Turkey, where Mary, the mother of Jesus, is said to have spent her final days, she writes of experiencing a profound healing of childhood wounds.

But her favorite country remains the first one she visited at 12.

For 18 years, she and her husband, Mark, wintered in Zihuatanejo, Mexico.

“We’ve traveled by bus all over Mexico,” she said. “When I’m there, I don’t feel like a visitor.”

Weller’s goal in sharing her travel experiences is to encourage others to step out of their comfort zones and enter the unknown.

“Let us build bridges to increase our compassion and respect for others, recognizing that they are a part of us, that we don’t yet know,” she writes in the memoir’s conclusion.

Neither illness nor time has dimmed her vibrancy.

“Travel transforms my head, my heart and my spirit,” she said.

”52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir” will be released June 18 through Kindle Direct Publishing with a special 99 cent promotional offer. More information at https://52globalreflections.com/

Columns

Keep libraries a safe haven for all readers

Cindy Hval

As a lifelong library lover and voracious reader, the idea that access to reading material has become controversial boggles my brain.

Yet in Idaho, libraries are relocating material the state defines as harmful to minors to adult-only areas.

I remember when parents were the ones who defined which books might be harmful to their children.

My mom sure did.

Even when I could drive myself to the library, she always perused my selections, shaking her head at choices she disapproved of.

I read them anyway. (I did have nightmares after reading “Helter Skelter,” so Mom was probably on to something there.)

Dad’s jobs, first in the Air Force and then with the state of Washington, meant frequent moves. The first thing we did in a new town was to look for a church. The second was to find the library and get our cards. Weekly library visits were almost as sacred as church attendance on Sundays.

Library cards were a rite of passage for my four children. As soon as they could print their names, they received their own cards.

Much to my sons’ chagrin, just like my mom, I was the arbiter of literature in our home. I sorted through the books they wanted to check out and weeded out “junk” like “Goosebumps.”

In retrospect, I wish I’d let them indulge in a little R.L. Stine, instead of shuttling them to the inanity of the “Bailey School Kids” series. I’m positive I killed a few brain cells reading “Vampires Don’t Wear Polka Dots” or “Ghosts Don’t Eat Potato Chips” with them.

When some Christian groups deemed the “Harry Potter” books evil and my firstborn wanted to read them, I stayed up late into the night engrossed in “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” My 10-year-old loved the series, and so did I.

He’s also the kid who introduced me to the works of Stephen King.

King was on my mom’s banned author list, so I was in my mid-30s before I got the liver scared out of me by “Carrie,” “Misery,” “Pet Sematary” and “IT.”

By the time our fourth son arrived, I’d relaxed my literary gatekeeping. Sam’s appetite for books rivaled my own. He devoured comics, novels and nonfiction, and he probably read “harmful” books, too. I haven’t ascertained any lasting damage to his psyche. He’s now a college English instructor introducing a new generation to the delights of the printed word.

The term “safe space” has become much derided, but that’s exactly what public libraries were for me.

As a lonely little girl, they provided refuge through frequent family moves. I found comfort among the familiar shelves and welcome escape in the stacks of books I checked out every week.

Libraries nourished my sons and expanded their horizons.

I want my grandchildren to enjoy that same haven, the freedom to choose their own adventures, and the space to let their imaginations soar.

My Library, My Story

Have you ever had a moment in a library that changed your life? Maybe it was the book that sparked your imagination, the librarian who helped you find the right resource, or the space that gave you room to dream. Spokane Public Library invites you to share those moments through My Library, My Story, a community–wide celebration of the impact libraries have on our lives.

From March 5-Through March 31, Spokane Public Library invites you to post your personal library experience on social media. Tag @spokanepubliclibrary to collaborate with the library and amplify your voice. For more information, visit www.spokanelibrary.org/mylibrarymystory.

Share your birthday memories

In my previous column, I wrote about celebrating my 60th birthday.

Facebook friend Cis Gors said her 60th (25 years ago in April) proved unforgettable. It included a birthday lunch with coworkers, a surprise party with kids and grandkids arriving from the West Side and Wisconsin, and another surprise party with her overnight crew at work.

What was your most memorable birthday?

Email a brief synopsis to dchval@juno.com and include your first and last name and a phone number. Your story may be included in a future column.

All Write, Columns

A room of my own

Cindy Hval

For many years, I posted the same cartoon on social media every December. It features a woman sitting on Santa’s lap, reading her Christmas wish list. “… And I also need a gripping opening sentence, help with my 14th and 28th chapters, an agent with excellent connections in the publishing world, and a home office with a door.”

I didn’t share it this year because, after 17 years as a freelance writer and author, I finally have a home office with a door.

I’ve spent my career working in our unfinished downstairs rec room. The boys called it the playroom because that’s what they did there. They built gigantic Lego creations, set up Hot Wheels tracks and played video games. It’s where they hosted sleepovers and movie parties.

Meanwhile, I sat at a battered hand-me-down desk that once belonged to my father-in-law, next to an old filing cabinet snagged from my husband’s business.

My desk faced wobbly 1970s-era faux pine paneling. Lighting consisted of a series of cheap gooseneck desk lamps that teetered precariously atop the previously mentioned filing cabinet.

Without a door and no drawers in my desk, I’d leave the room and return to find my carefully arranged notes scattered across the room and my pens AWOL.

Cats enjoy few things more than knocking things off flat surfaces.

I churned out thousands of articles and columns from that room, but thankfully, when it came to pen books or bigger projects, I had kind friends who offered me private, quiet spaces for work.

As our family grew, other projects superseded my longing for an actual home office. My husband had a deck to build and a shed to create, the boys’ rooms needed finishing, the living room needed new flooring, and a second bathroom was vital.

Derek completed each job with great attention to detail, and every project turned out fantastic.

Our youngest son accepted a teaching job in Texas nearly three years ago, and Derek hoped to finally build an office for me because he truly loves home -improvement projects – and me. Unfortunately, his osteoarthritis limited his mobility and energy, and hip replacement surgery loomed.

So, reader, I took matters into my own hands. A friend referred me to a contractor, and I made an appointment for him to meet us at the house. Then I told Derek.

Though disappointed he wouldn’t be able to do the project himself, he agreed to talk to the contractor with me. They hit it off like I knew they would.

Almost a year later, work began. I chose Zachary’s former bedroom for my office. The ceiling hadn’t been finished since an earlier remodel, and the blue indoor/outdoor carpet had been there since our oldest two sons shared the space.

It also had a window facing our backyard. Finally, I’d have natural light and an office with a lovely view!

Work began in August, and when I dithered over choices that came up, wanting to defer to my husband, the contractor gently reminded me, “This is your office. You get to decide.”

And I did. I chose soft gray paint, white trim and a laminate floor that mirrored the warmth of the pine tongue-and-groove ceiling. Honestly, I would have been happy with any ceiling, but Derek lobbied for the upgrade, and I’m glad I listened.

In late September, he put together the desk I’d purchased years ago in anticipation of my new digs. Its L-shape offers plenty of room for notes on the smooth black surface. When I tire of sitting, I can use its stand-up option.

I had a matching bookshelf delivered, chose a cozy chair and a lamp for the corner, and hung art I’d saved just for this space.

Every morning, when I take my mug of coffee to my desk, I smile. My notes are right where I left them the night before – my pens and paperclips, present and accounted for.

The view from the window feeds my soul no matter the weather. When the sun beats down, I lower the blinds, but usually, I leave them up. I’ve watched the leaves swirl down into the garden. I’ve seen the rain drizzle or pour and watched snow slowly shroud the deck.

I love everything about this room, but my favorite thing might be the newly painted white door with its shiny gold knob. When Derek’s home and I have phone interviews or looming deadlines, I shut it with a satisfying click. Unlike our cats, Freya and Walter, he doesn’t stand outside and scratch and whine until I open it.

My 60th birthday may be approaching, but I finally have a room of my own, and oh, it was worth the wait.

Columns

First Valentine’s Day Deflating

Cindy Hval

My husband and I have reached the time of life when downsizing seems prudent. No, I’m not talking about selling our home or offloading possessions, I’m talking about reducing our waistlines.

Keeping track of things like blood sugar looms ever more important as we age. That’s why, when Valentine’s Day approached, I suggested we skip the usual exchange of chocolates.

Derek agreed, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eye he had something else in mind. More on that in a minute.

We’re in our second year as empty-nesters, and we continue to adapt.

During the years our sons lived at home, Valentine’s morning was special. They awoke to a lace-topped table filled with heart-shaped dishes of cinnamon, cherry and conversation heart candies. A card and a box of chocolates waited at each place and, when they opened the refrigerator, they discovered that Cupid had magically turned the milk pink.

Even after the older boys moved out, they stopped by to get their cards, candy and hugs from Mom. With the departure of our youngest last year, for the first time in 25-plus years, Cupid skipped our frig, and the heart-shaped dishes and lace tablecloth remained tucked away.

We were back to where it began – just the two of us.

That’s not to say our first Valentine’s Day as man and wife was especially romantic, but it was certainly memorable.

As newlyweds, we attended college full-time and worked three jobs between the two of us to keep our Love Boat afloat. I knew we couldn’t afford to go out on Valentine’s Day, but I did my best to make it special.

When Derek arrived home late on that fateful Feb. 14, I’d roasted two tiny Cornish game hens with potatoes and herbs and set our wobbly card table with a vinyl cloth and our wedding gift stoneware. I’d placed a small box of chocolates and a red enveloped card at his place.

“This looks nice,” he said, kissing me.

Then he noticed the card and heart-shaped box.

“Oh! It’s Valentine’s Day?”

At that, I burst into tears, ran the six steps to our bedroom and collapsed on our waterbed, heartbroken.

“Don’t cry! I’m sorry I forgot! I’ll be right back!” Derek yelled, slamming the apartment door behind him.

I was still face-down on our now-soggy bed when he returned.

He switched on the bedroom light and announced, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Babe!”

Sniffling, I sat up.

That’s when he thrust a helium-filled balloon into my hand. I tugged the attached ribbon, looking for the card.

There was no card.

No candy.

No flowers.

Just a Pepto Bismol-pink balloon.

Our waterbed got even waterier. My bewildered and exhausted husband went back out and returned with a card. We ate cold game hen and potatoes and made up the way newlyweds do.

Our sons know this story well, as I’ve shared it as a cautionary tale (future daughter-in-laws will thank me.)

Yet this year, when I suggested skipping the exchange of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, Derek nodded.

“But balloons are OK, right?” he asked.

Columns

Don’t Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Cindy Hval

When I picked up my friend Sarah on a recent Sunday afternoon, she said my timing was perfect because the Seattle Mariners game had just ended.

“Oh, do they usually play on Sundays?” I asked.

She stared at me.

“They play five times a week,” she said. “Next week they’ll play six.”

Speechless, it was my turn to stare.

You may think conversations about politics and religion are divisive, but try telling a good friend that you hate the sport she adores. Actually, we have this same discussion every spring because Sarah knows I don’t like it – she just has difficulty accepting my antipathy.

To wit, the following day, she texted me a link to Mariners tickets and asked me to attend a game with her.

I declined due to a lack of interest. And time.

In 2021, the average nine-inning Major League Baseball game was 3 hours and 10 minutes. That’s bad enough, but each team plays 162 regular-season games. Let’s say we round a game to 3 hours, and you (and Sarah) watch every one of your team’s regular-season games. That’s 486 hours or a little over 20 days of your life! And we aren’t counting postseason games because doing that much math isn’t good for me.

This year, MLB added a pitch clock, and that’s supposed to speed up the games. They may go faster, but there are still way too many of them.

In addition to the time aspect, there’s the danger. I love football, which Sarah loathes, but I pointed out to her that no spectator has been concussed by a stray football in the stands, while hundreds of people each year get popped in the noggin by fly balls at baseball games.

She said that’s why they bring mitts. She said that like it’s actually possible for me to catch a ball with or without a mitt.

Undeterred, Sarah posted a link on my Facebook so that I could read about “the most literary sport in the history of sports.”

I skimmed it. Apparently, there are a lot of novels about baseball. I did know this because my friend, Beth Bollinger, penned one of them, “Until the End of the Ninth,” a lovely book about the 1946 Spokane Indians team.

Additionally, the article listed some baseball lingo that has leaked into our language.

For example, you can strike out on a date, or make it to second base. You can touch base with clients, or knock a column out of the park, and maybe you can even make it to the big leagues.

The article didn’t mention movies, but I’ve enjoyed several films featuring the sport – “The Sandlot,” “Moneyball” and “Field of Dreams” come to mind. Plus, I can watch a movie about it in half the time it takes to watch an actual game.

Having failed to convert me through literary persuasion, Sarah resorted to texting me photos of herself and her husband at a baseball game, her son in a Little League uniform, and finally pictures of Mariners games on her TV.

I countered with an adorable photo of our son Zachary during his lone season in Little League. Turns out the kid only wanted to play for the unlimited sunflower seeds and didn’t realize he would be playing two games a week. In his first at-bat, he got nailed in the leg by an errant pitch. We told him he still had to honor his commitment to the team.

“You guys are trying to get me killed!” he said.

Just because I don’t care for Major League Baseball doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a Spokane Indians game once every few years – especially on fireworks night.

So, even though Sarah thinks I’m an awful person for not sharing her passion for the Mariners, I still believe football fans and baseball lovers can get along. After all, diversity is what makes America great, and having dissimilar friends is educational. For example, while writing this column, I finally understood why baseball is called America’s national pastime.

It’s because so much time passes while you’re watching it.

All Write

Note from a War Bonds Reader

Cindy Hval

Sometimes writing feels like slogging away in solitary confinement.
Since “War Bonds” was published in 2015, I’ve completed an as-yet unsold manuscript and pitched another full-length book that garnered some interest from agents, but not enough for me to commit to writing it.

And there’s my children’s picture book still looking for a home…

That’s why this note I received a couple of days ago was so encouraging. It reminded me (as do my tiny twice-yearly royalty checks) that people are reading and enjoying a book I wrote!

Maybe I can write and sell another one:-)

Dear Cindy,

I am halfway through your book.  It is so enjoyable.  I really enjoy biographies and autobiographies.   

It came at a perfect time.  Our married Grandson/ Wife are moving out to their own apartment shortly.  As a Grandmother,  I want to jump into action and provide for them.  Your book has reminded me that the best time is to “let go”.    Couples starting out need to have that struggle at the beginning. 

The book is delightful.  I was born in 1944 and my uncles went to war.  I can recall their visits. 

The title of your book is super appropriate.

Thank you, Cindy.

All the Best ,

Pam

All Write

Buried in a Good Book

Cindy Hval

I’m often asked what I like to read and my answer is always M&M’s– Mysteries and Memoirs.

So, I was delighted to be asked to write a profile about Edgar Award-nominated Tamara Berry. (Spoiler alert: SHE WON!)

Here’s the story I wrote for The Spokesman-Review.


PS: I loved “Buried in a Good Book” and have already received an advance copy of the third book in series “Murder Off the Books.” Can’t wait to read it!

Tamara Berry always wanted to be a writer.

“But it seemed like such a pipe dream,” she said.

Yet, next month the Spokane Valley native and East Valley grad will travel to New York City to attend the 77th Annual Edgar Allan Poe Awards, presented by the Mystery Writers of America. Berry’s mystery novel “Buried in a Good Book” has been nominated for the Lillian Jackson Braun Memorial Award.

The Edgars honor the best in mystery fiction, nonfiction and television. Past winners include heavy hitters such as Walter Mosley, Stephen King, Viet Thanh Nguyen and Patricia Cornwell. Spokane novelist Jess Walter won the best novel award for his 2005 book “Citizen Vince.”

The kid who once dreamed about life as an author has published under three pen names in a variety of genres.

Berry graduated from Eastern Washington University with a literature degree and in 2012 released her first e-book, “Love is a Battlefield,” as Tamara Morgan.

“I started writing romance when my kiddo was super young,” Berry said. “The only thing I had the mental capacity for was romances and I read a ton of them.”

Her first two contemporary romances were set in the world of the Highland Games.

“They feature burly, strong guys and romance readers go for that,” she said.

More than a dozen books followed before she retired Tamara Morgan and was reborn as Lucy Gilmore.

In 2018, her agent told her doggie romances were selling well – that is, romance novels featuring dogs.

Soon she’d written a three-book series about service dogs in training and two stand-alone romantic doggie comedies.

“I write mainly comedy,” she said.

When she pitched her next romance idea no one seemed interested except for one editor who asked “Can you put a dead body and a cat in it?”

And the Eleanor Wilde mystery series was born penned under Tamara Berry. Wilde is a pseudo-psychic/medium with a penchant for solving crimes.

“I love con artists,” Berry said. “There’s quite a few of them in my books. I’m drawn to the way they manipulate people. They’re interesting characters with a high level of insight and they tend to be more self-aware.”

While the Eleanor Wilde series sold well, the author had a new story in mind.

“I pitched a lumberjack series where a thriller author and her teenage daughter move to Winthrop, Washington.”

Her agent told her what was really selling was book-themed mysteries.

“Could you put a librarian or a bookmobile in it?”

Berry could and did.

“But I got to keep the lumberjack,” she said.

“Buried in a Good Book,” the first book in the cozy mystery series featuring thriller author Tess Harrow, is up for an Edgar award next month. This is the first year the Lillian Jackson Braun Memorial Award will be granted and it’s the only Edgar award that comes with a cash prize.

Braun, who died in 2011, wrote more than two dozen novels in her “The Cat Who…” mystery series. The award named after her will be awarded for the best full-length, contemporary cozy mystery.

Having read lots of Nancy Drew books as a kid, Berry said crafting cozy mysteries is well within her wheelhouse, but the formula is quite different from romance novels.

“There are no steamy sex scenes, no swearing and no gore,” she said. “The violence is hinted at, but not on the page. And of course, you have to have a murder and solve it.”

For Berry, that’s the fun part.

“I often don’t know who the culprit is going to be,” she said. “I get to be as surprised as the reader.”

Cozy mysteries are generally more gentle than hard-boiled detective fiction or grisly suspense thrillers. Think Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple series, or TV’s Jessica Fletcher of “Murder, She Wrote,” as examples of the genre.

Berry said there are two types of writers – plotters and pantsers.

“Plotters sit down and write an outline. Pantsers fly by the seat of their pants. I’m a pantser.”

The prolific author usually writes in bed or on her couch with her two dogs and two cats cuddled up next to her. She writes seven days a week and has a strict 1,000 words per day, daily word count.

“Once I hit 1,000 words I can free myself to do other things,” Berry said.

That includes promoting her latest Lucy Gilmore book, “The Lonely Hearts Book Club.” Due March 28, the lighthearted novel tells the story of the community created by a book club full of misfits including a young librarian and an old curmudgeon who forge an unlikely friendship.

And of course, she’ll be in New York City for the Edgars.

“I’ve been working at this so long,” she said. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s pretty great. If 16-year-old me could see me now, she’d be freaking out!”

Columns

For the love of books

Cindy Hval

Each note felt like meeting a new friend.

The responses to my previous column about how February is Library Lovers month proved once again that book people are my tribe. I asked readers to share their favorite books from childhood, ones they enjoy revisiting. The replies served as a reminder of how important it is to introduce our children to books and to cultivate an appreciation of the value and importance of public libraries.

For example, Ginny Lathem started reading at 5 and said it remains her best form of escape. She had many childhood books she adored, but her favorite was one she received from folks on her 6th birthday–“Mother West Wind Stories” By Thornton E. Burgess.

“I remember the inscription my Dad wrote to me inside. I remembered that book opened up a portal of wonder, amazement, and comfort to me,” she wrote. “I’m 69 and have a rather extensive library even after donating 13 boxes of books. Even now, opening up a new book brings me joy.”

However, one memory doesn’t bring joy.

“When I was in college my Dad remarried. He and his new wife built a home and they decided to give all my books away,” Lathem recalled. “I’ll always remember his response when I asked why they didn’t save them for me or even ask if I wanted them. ‘Why Gin, they were just old books.’ ”

It seems her dad wasn’t a reader.

Tricia Stone had a similar experience. Growing up in the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York, her love of books overrode everything else and libraries offered peaceful reading escapes. Her favorite book was “Strawberry Girl” by Lois Lenski.

“I regret that when we moved to Burbank, CA, books were NOT thought ‘barrel worthy’ and left behind for other cousins,” she said.

Janice Verdugo wrote that her favorite book was “Half Magic” by Edward Eager.

“I’m 70, so it may be out of print!” she said.

And Margo Buckles grew up in a family that like mine cherished public libraries. When she left home her father told her to get a library card because it would save her countless dollars over the years.

“Books were always gifts at our house. Everyone in my family read constantly, she said. “My mother read in the bathroom to avoid children and housework. My father read and reread Patrick O’Brian’s books about Jack Aubrey and the British Navy. I think that reading kept him sane after a debilitating stroke in his late 60s.”

Her aunt’s traditional birthday gifts were books.

“I eagerly awaited the package and was rewarded with books like “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” and “The Count of Monte Cristo,” Buckles recalled.

But her favorite is also one of mine.

“My favorite childhood book is “The Secret Garden,” by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The story of two unpleasant children – a spoiled girl and a sickly boy – who find a secret garden where they learn to love nature, themselves and others, speaks to me to this day,” she said. “I read it as a child and have reread it as an adult. It is magical.”

Magic. That’s the essential essence of stories that take us out of our everyday lives and into the realm of pretend and possibilities. So, I wasn’t surprised to learn that other readers enjoyed “The Velvet Room” as much as I did.

“I could not believe you talked about ‘The Velvet Room’ in today’s paper!” wrote Mary Fisher. “My best friend and I read that book at around the age of 10, as well. I became a part of that book, it was the very first book I read that drew me in and made me a reader for life.”

Debbi Irvine-Collins agreed.

“I about fell out of my chair while reading your article today. I was also around 10 years old when in the mid-’60s, I found ‘The Velvet Room’ at the library and fell in love with the story. I wanted to find my own turret library to read in and escape to.”

She discovered a 1975 seventh-edition paperback for $10 on Craigslist.

“I keep it in my nightstand so I’ll never lose it. Thank you for bringing back such a great memory. I’ll read it again.”

The book she found was the same as the copy I’d purchased at the Scholastic Book Fair in 1975.

Imagine my delight when last week, the day before my birthday, I received a well-read book fair copy of “The Velvet Room” in the mail!

Becky Luther from St. Maries said her sister had stored her copy for years and she was happy to send it on to me.

Tears filled my eyes when I opened the envelope and found my favorite childhood book. It felt like my long-lost best friend had returned.

If you’re a reader, you know exactly what I mean. And honestly, shouldn’t every month be Library Lovers Month?

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

For the love of libraries

Cindy Hval

An email announcing February is National Library Lovers Month, prompted memories of my favorite childhood book and my lifelong love affair with libraries.

I blame the library for my unfulfilled longing to live in a house with a turreted room crammed with books and a cozy window seat draped with red velvet curtains.

At 10, I checked out a copy of “The Velvet Room” by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. I quickly lost myself in the world of Robin, the middle child in a family of migrant workers traveling across California in their Model T during the Great Depression.

When her family finds work on a ranch, Robin is befriended by Bridget, a kindly old woman who gives her a key to an old, abandoned house. There Robin discovers a beautifully furnished library with a window seat. She gathers books, curls up in the window seat, pulls the drapes around her and finds respite from the harshness of her unstable life.

The book captivated me so much, I begged my parents to buy me a copy when I found one at the Scholastic Book Fair. They agreed, but foolishly as a teen, I gave my treasure away to make room for more sophisticated fare.

That email about Library Lovers Month came from Brainly, an online learning platform and homework help community, and it also featured fun bookish words, like the following:

Bookarazzi: A book lover who excitedly takes photos of the books they read and posts them online. (That’s what #bookstagram on Instagram is all about.)

Shelfrighteous: The feeling of superiority about one’s bookshelf.

Readultery: When a book lover cheats on one book by reading another book simultaneously.

Bibliobibuli: Not a “book bully” just a person who reads too much. (Pretty sure there’s no such thing as reading too much.)

While searching for a replacement copy of “The Velvet Room,” I came across the perfect quote from it for Library Lovers Month.

“There was that special smell made up of paper, ink, and dust; the busy hush; the endless luxury of thousands of unread books. Best of all was the eager itch of anticipation as you went out the door with your arms loaded down with books. Libraries had always seemed almost too good to be true.”

I guess I did find the velvet room I longed for as a child – it just wasn’t in a boarded-up mansion. Instead, I discovered it among the shelves, in quiet corners of public libraries.

All Write

Shop Small and Buy Books

Cindy Hval

One of my favorite days of the year! Come shop small at Auntie’s Bookstore on Saturday and hang out with local authors. I’ll be there from 2-3 with Joseph Edwin Haeger and Jess Walter.

They even have copies of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” in stock and I’ll be happy to sign your copy.

Books make the best presents!

Check out the full line up of authors below.

❄️11am-12pm❄️

Ty Brown

Lucy Gilmore

❄️12pm-1pm❄️

Mark Anderson

Karen Mobley

Shawn Vestal

❄️1pm-2pm❄️

Jess Walter

Jack Nisbet

Bethany Bennett

❄️2pm-3pm❄️

Jess Walter

Joseph Haeger

Cindy Hval

❄️3pm-4pm❄️

JT Greathouse

Shann Ray

Sharma Shields

❄️4pm-5pm❄️

Lora Senf

Trent Reedy