Wednesday, August 28, 2013
I was upstairs doing a spot of genre fiction shelving in between the eleven lunches I am eating today and I was just sort of in a receptive zone, perhaps due to all the food. Yes, a receptive zone, a kind of hypnotic other worldly openness to the firmament. I think that's the only way to account for the kind of profound inspiration that was visited upon me. And when I say this inspiration was visited upon me I say it because I feel it would be wrong for one lone human, one small library employee, to take credit for such velocity of vision. We are vessels for something greater, or can be, or, well, apparently, I am. And I mention all this to try and temper the vanity that is so easily stoked by dabbling in genius. Yes, I said it. Genius. But I am not a genius, probably, depending on how you define "genius". I am just a simple man plying my trade as best I can, a vessel, a conduit, merely someone chosen. Why was I chosen? I don't know. I was just shelving, quietly, earnestly, devotedly shelving and genius was thrust upon me. Did anyone ask me if I wanted this geniusness? No. Sure, I probably would have taken it, but mostly just to be nice, to help the world. I'm just saying I wasn't clamoring for it. I wasn't begging to be a genius. It happened to me, and I accepted it. And I hope you can accept all this in that vein.
So, anyway, there I am shelving along and suddenly this thought comes unbidden into my head: We should have a policy saying that books are to be shelved alphabetically by the authors' last name.
We do? Really? You're sure?
Hmmm. Good policy. Very sensible. Our policy and procedures manual should totally have one of those thumbs up, +1 kinds of things to click. It is one seriously great idea.