While at the New York Public Library during the Hi-YAH tour, a library clerk reshelved two books by my good friend Libby Koponen right in front of me. It was a neat moment, though at the time I wasn't sure why. It's only now, after reflecting (being able to stay consecutive nights in my own home helps me think), that I realize the magic of it. Libby's books were being reshelved, which meant they had been taken out. So, Libby's books were being read.
This may seem inconsequential, but it's really an accomplishment to marvel at. For, in the end, all an author wants is for their book to be read. Our books are like seeds, bursting with potential--but only blooming when it connects to a reader. A book only comes alive when someone reads it. It's really the miracle of life, for a book.
I feel like I should send Libby some cigars.