“How the Books on My Bookcase Help Tell the Story of My Life”
We have a number of bookcases in our home, and the stories they tell extend far beyond what’s printed on the pages of their books. Each shelf, series, and genre offers glimpses into the chapters of my life. They remind me of my childhood; the schools I’ve attended; the cities I’ve lived in; the neighborhoods I’ve walked through; and the dwellings I’ve called home. I see the covers and dust jackets of my books and I recall the places where I purchased them, along with the Christmas Eves, Christmas mornings, and birthdays when I received them. I remember the people, past and present, who gifted and recommended certain books to me, as well as how those same people influenced me as a person and a writer throughout all the ups, downs, and winding roads of the journey. I think back to the things I was doing and the priorities I had when I read my books, and the images that come to mind play out before my eyes like a frame-by-frame reenactment of a high-definition movie. On the fortunate occasions when I choose to reread my books, the contentment I feel reconnects me to my past in a way that’s just as unique as the stories on their pages, regardless of the perceived statuses of their authors, or the acclaimed quality of the writing.
There’s a pattern to the way my memories form when I think back to the times I’ve read my books. Not surprisingly, it carries over into my work as a writer.
When I pick up a book from my bookcase, I’ll try to imagine where I was when I first read it. An image forms in my mind, and as I continue thinking, additional puzzle pieces will zoom in from the sides to connect to it. A series of questions begin to enter my mind: how old was I when I read the book? What phase of my life was I in? What were my priorities? How did the book end up in my hands? Why did I decide to read it? Time. Place. Situation. These are all important elements to developing a focal point. The process by which I reconstruct memories of reading books is very similar to how I think when I’m writing. Whether I’m looking through a window to my past, or through the eyes of one of my writing characters, I’m putting myself in a position where I’m having to make certain considerations. What do I/they see? What are my/their thoughts? Where is the path leading me/them? If I can manage to quiet my other senses, then the substance of what I discover will grow in shape and depth, and if I’m lucky it will end up surprising me with connections to my past, present, and future that I never at first suspected might be there.
The life memories of what I was doing when I read most of my books are just as meaningful to me as the words on their pages (and sometimes even more).
Dean Koontz. Robert Pirsig. Harper Lee. Dan Brown. Mario Puzo. Stephanie Meyer. Suzanne Collins. Stephen King. The Dalai Lama. Sun Tzu. Irvine Welsh. Pat Conroy. Richard Carlson. Tim LaHaye. Jerry Jenkins. Stieg Larsson. Ian Rankin. J.K. Rowling. J.R.R. Tolkien. I have a decent variety of nonfiction and literary fiction, as well as an unapologetically large amount of commercial fiction on my bookcase. Each tells a different story about my past. Here are a few personal favorites:
To Kill a Mockingbird is a book I read in the early 1990s as part of a class project at St. Mary Catholic School in my hometown of Portage, Wisconsin. I don’t recall which teacher assigned it, but I remember thinking it was the first “real” book I’d ever read, along with the live production of the novel that our class would later attend at one of the downtown Madison theaters near State Street.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values brings back memories of peer discussion in my 10th grade English class, as well as the time I reread the book during a trip with extended family that Jen and I took in 2012 to a vacation home on a golf course in Luck, Wisconsin. At the time, our son, Graham, was two years old. He slept in his Pack ‘N Play in our bedroom, and every morning (without failure) he’d wake up at 5:00 a.m., see us, and be ready to run. We didn’t want him waking up everyone in the house, so off we’d go for moonlit stroller walks along the fog-covered golf course and lake, stopping at the elementary school playground in town to look at the geese, to play on the soaking wet playground equipment, and to marvel at the “big vent” sticking out the side of the school.
The Odd Thomas book series is one that I read in my late twenties. The novels tell the tale of a seemingly inconspicuous fry cook who has the unique ability to communicate with the dead and solve crimes. The main character has always reminded me of the eclectic crew of coworkers I toiled alongside during my years in the kitchen at Monk’s Bar and Grill, in downtown Wisconsin Dells. I learned as much working with that particular cast of characters as I have from any in my life, and I’ve often wondered just how many of them, like Odd Thomas, may’ve been hiding superpowers of their own, and using them to live double lives that the rest of us always suspected, but could only imagine they might have.
I have a couple of books (Acid House & Knots and Crosses) written by Scottish novelists Irvine Welsh and Ian Rankin that were given to me by my sister, Ami, and my wife, Jen, when each was a college student in the University of Wisconsin-La Crosse “Wisconsin in Scotland” program. The authenticity of the Scottish terrain in both novels reminds me of my own travel experiences abroad, and the lasting impact that the island-nation’s people and culture have had both on me and on the members of my family.
The Left Behind novel series is one that I first noticed in a bookstore while I was working as a fourth-year optometry student at a Veteran’s Affairs eye clinic in Huntington, West Virginia. The internship I was doing at the V.A. took place in fall 2006, and for Jen and I, we would regularly hang out and participate in weekend outings with the clinic staff and other optometry students who worked at the V.A. eye clinic. Whitewater rafting, half-price appetizers at the Marshall Café, Hillbilly Hot Dogs, We Are Marshall post-production events, Mothman Festival, and bag-toss at the Cordii’s house are a few that come to mind. Jen and I have been blessed to share a lot of fun times together, and the two of us would both agree that the three months we spent in West Virginia were some of the best we’ve had. A lot has happened in our lives since them, but every time I notice the Left Behind series I’m reminded of country roads in the West Virginia mountain country, and I’m grateful for the experiences we had there.
The Hunger Games trilogy is one that was recommended to me by my sister, Ami. She sent me the first installment in the mail back in 2009, and I remember trading stories with her on the phone about how I thought the book’s plot would unfold. Ami is an avid reader and talented writer in her own right, and any book series she recommends is bound to be a good one, with the Hunger Games being no exception.
Sometime in 2010, I gave an eye exam to a patient at JC Penney Optical, in Janesville, Wisconsin. I remember her being a very sweet old lady who told me she was a self-published novelist. I informed her about some of my experiences as an aspiring author and she gave me some valuable insight about the writing process that I still remember to this day. At the end of her exam, she asked me if I wanted to purchase one of her books. She just so happened to have a supply of them in her car, and so of course, I agreed to buy one. I remember her asking me what kinds of books I liked to read, and when I told her who some of my favorite authors were, she said she had a suspense novel that I was sure to enjoy. Months later, on a plane trip to Texas I finally got around to reading it. Three pages in and I realized that it was a hardcore erotica book. I couldn’t believe it! Not what I was suspecting from that little old lady. I did read it though, and while I can only imagine where her research came from, she certainly seemed to know her stuff.
I took one Creative Writing class in college, and even though it fell short of my desired expectations, I managed to collect a moderately-sized pile of freebie books on composition and writing exercises that the English department was giving away one day outside my classroom. Structure of Argument. The Writer’s Mind. The Norton Guide to Writing. There were a good number of others, too, and while the subject matter in most of them was admittedly dry, I was able to extract a good amount of useful information. I can recall reading the books in optometry school and jotting down notes in a writer’s journal that I’ve kept for the better part of the past twenty years. I would sit in one of the parks beside Lake Michigan, or, alongside North Pond near our apartment in Chicago when I had breaks from my schoolwork. The people and busyness of a city like Chicago are fixtures to the landscape, but I remember finding just enough solitude on many of those spring, summer, and fall days to enjoy a sliver of peace within the otherwise ordinary backdrop of urban chaos.
Next up: my Stephen King collection. Misery was the first King novel I read. I purchased it when I was 14 years old at a bookstore in Tomah, Wisconsin on the way back from visiting my sister during her junior year of college in La Crosse. Four Past Midnight kept me occupied in study hall during my freshman year of high school in the asbestos-lined walls of the Clough Building on DeWitt Street. I read Skeleton Crew on an eight-hour plane ride to Germany the summer between my sophomore and junior years. I remember being captivated by The Shining on cold winter nights in my childhood home; a book which, at the time and even now, I still consider to be the scariest story I’ve ever read. I was gifted Dreamcatcher by my mom as a senior in college, and I can recall how the bonds of camaraderie between its central characters served as a fun reminder of my own childhood friendships, in addition to the influence that people with special needs have had on my life dating all the way back to my youth. I read The Stand just prior to graduating college; King’s epic tale of the clash between good and evil in a post-apocalyptic world. The book served as one of my earliest and strongest inspirations for wanting to write a novel, particularly one that would be told through multiple characters’ points of view. The Talisman is another book that stands out, as I used to search for it at secondhand book stores while living in Chicago. I was always on the lookout for a decent hardcover copy, and although it would take me years to finally acquire one, I enjoyed the scavenger hunt, and the allure of rummaging through dust-covered troves of dimly lit book chambers in search of the proverbial needle in the haystack. Finally, what Stephen King collection would be complete without some type of Dark Tower reference? Of all the steps along the Dark Tower journey, one of my most memorable occurred on the morning of my wedding. I’d stayed over at my grandmother’s the night before, and I can recall waking up and reading part of Book #7 in her living room. Grandpa Ed had passed away the year before, and I knew it made my grandma happy to have me there, sitting in his chair and reading my book on the morning of my big day while she cooked breakfast. Of all my book memories, this is one of my clearest and, not surprisingly, one of my most cherished.
For all of the books I see on my bookcase, there are also a good number of them missing. No, I didn’t lose the books. The kids took them, and they did it without asking me!
One glance at my kids’ bookcases and I realize how much more I could go on writing. I’ll stop for now, and save the tales of their book-inspired life stories for a follow-up post. This one went longer than I was expecting, but I’ve enjoyed writing it! If you’ve stuck with me until the end, I appreciate your commitment and I look forward to hearing any feedback. What life stories do the books on your bookcases tell you? If you decide to look them over, then I believe you’ll rediscover the connections. Our past is never as far as we make it out to be, so start with a focal point, let your mind go, and see what happens. I can’t guarantee what you’ll find, but I’m certain you won’t regret it.
Until next time,
- Todd
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