(Sarah enjoys a relaxing evening in her favorite recliner)
By Margi Washburn
The store on the south side of town many of us still refer to as The Book Emporium had it right.
There were books, of course, including new releases, paperbacks and used. The lottery was available there, and I’m not sure if that was a good or bad thing, but it was popular. Folks could get greeting cards, ornaments and other knick-knacks. I’m convinced, though, that the most popular attraction was the wide variety of magazines.
Along with weekly news magazines, one could find subject matter of all kinds. Titles pertaining to astronomy, dogs, cats, crafts, TV, celebrities, hunting and dozens more filled the display alongside an entire wall.
My favorites were the writing magazines. Writer’s Digest and The Writer were always available, and they were positioned where I could reach them. The reasons I bought a new edition every month were many, but the main one was that I wanted to learn how to write better.
Friends and family had their own special interests. An uncle always checked out the latest news about car races, hunting and guns. Hubby loved the astronomy section, and our youngest perused the music magazines.
Those days are gone, but our craving for special reading materials is still alive and well. The local library carries quite a few magazines, but they can’t afford what we became used to.
It’s funny, but if you’re a published writer or a budding one, I don’t think you’ll find what you need around here. And here’s one time I hope I get corrected about something; if I’m mistaken, call or write and let me know where I can find my two favorite writing magazines for sale in Kewanee.
Know what else is funny? I’ve stopped in at several Waldenbooks stores and stood staring at their magazine selection. My eyesight leaves a lot to be desired, but I could not find a single writing magazine in their racks. Occasionally a clerk will ask if they can help me find something, and here’s how that goes:
Me: “Do you have any writing magazines?”
Clerk: “Right here.” This is when they point to the motorcycle and car section.
Me: “No, writing, not riding.” And this is where I pretend to write something on the palm of my hand, which leads the clerk to shake their head and walk away.
See how funny that was? Here you have an entire bookstore that is soundly based on people writing what they’re selling, and they have no magazines to inspire and teach us.
Oh, here’s another funny example of irony. I once worked in a library, and their hours were a tad odd. There were many ideal hours that the place could be used to hold writing seminars, critique groups, that sort of thing. I decided to approach one of my bosses and ask if I could set something up. Her answer left me dumbfounded.
I was told that the library could not be used for a writer group of any kind, but she was certain that a building down the block would be fine. She pointed out that the $10 per-use fee could be collected from any participating writers. Isn’t that special?
As the door clicked shut behind her, I picked my chin up off the front counter and sat down. Thousands of books lined the walls all around me, written by men and women from all walks of life, writers who poured their hearts out onto pages that our grandparents, parents, children and grandchildren read. If writers were not allowed to meet in a library, of all places, then where?
I did end up renting a building, and I paid the fee, but we only met once. It was too discouraging to continue and impossible to explain to everyone why we weren’t in the obvious location.
So here I am, in my mid-50s, and I want to continue learning. We should all aim to improve our minds, keep our skills sharp and up-to-date. I happen to gravitate toward writing, but I’ll bet there are a whole lot of folks reading these words who would love to see the selection we used to have in that nifty little store on the south side. Until something changes, I guess we can always fill out that handy subscription card, but it won’t be the same.
The store on the south side of town many of us still refer to as The Book Emporium had it right.
There were books, of course, including new releases, paperbacks and used. The lottery was available there, and I’m not sure if that was a good or bad thing, but it was popular. Folks could get greeting cards, ornaments and other knick-knacks. I’m convinced, though, that the most popular attraction was the wide variety of magazines.
Along with weekly news magazines, one could find subject matter of all kinds. Titles pertaining to astronomy, dogs, cats, crafts, TV, celebrities, hunting and dozens more filled the display alongside an entire wall.
My favorites were the writing magazines. Writer’s Digest and The Writer were always available, and they were positioned where I could reach them. The reasons I bought a new edition every month were many, but the main one was that I wanted to learn how to write better.
Friends and family had their own special interests. An uncle always checked out the latest news about car races, hunting and guns. Hubby loved the astronomy section, and our youngest perused the music magazines.
Those days are gone, but our craving for special reading materials is still alive and well. The local library carries quite a few magazines, but they can’t afford what we became used to.
It’s funny, but if you’re a published writer or a budding one, I don’t think you’ll find what you need around here. And here’s one time I hope I get corrected about something; if I’m mistaken, call or write and let me know where I can find my two favorite writing magazines for sale in Kewanee.
Know what else is funny? I’ve stopped in at several Waldenbooks stores and stood staring at their magazine selection. My eyesight leaves a lot to be desired, but I could not find a single writing magazine in their racks. Occasionally a clerk will ask if they can help me find something, and here’s how that goes:
Me: “Do you have any writing magazines?”
Clerk: “Right here.” This is when they point to the motorcycle and car section.
Me: “No, writing, not riding.” And this is where I pretend to write something on the palm of my hand, which leads the clerk to shake their head and walk away.
See how funny that was? Here you have an entire bookstore that is soundly based on people writing what they’re selling, and they have no magazines to inspire and teach us.
Oh, here’s another funny example of irony. I once worked in a library, and their hours were a tad odd. There were many ideal hours that the place could be used to hold writing seminars, critique groups, that sort of thing. I decided to approach one of my bosses and ask if I could set something up. Her answer left me dumbfounded.
I was told that the library could not be used for a writer group of any kind, but she was certain that a building down the block would be fine. She pointed out that the $10 per-use fee could be collected from any participating writers. Isn’t that special?
As the door clicked shut behind her, I picked my chin up off the front counter and sat down. Thousands of books lined the walls all around me, written by men and women from all walks of life, writers who poured their hearts out onto pages that our grandparents, parents, children and grandchildren read. If writers were not allowed to meet in a library, of all places, then where?
I did end up renting a building, and I paid the fee, but we only met once. It was too discouraging to continue and impossible to explain to everyone why we weren’t in the obvious location.
So here I am, in my mid-50s, and I want to continue learning. We should all aim to improve our minds, keep our skills sharp and up-to-date. I happen to gravitate toward writing, but I’ll bet there are a whole lot of folks reading these words who would love to see the selection we used to have in that nifty little store on the south side. Until something changes, I guess we can always fill out that handy subscription card, but it won’t be the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment