Deni Dietz

I recently ran into a friend who said, "I read your book, Chain a Lamb Chop to the Bed, and I loved it."

Thank you," I said, turning bright red [I always turn bright red when someone says she/he loves my books].

"But," she said.

Uh-oh, I thought, the dreaded but.

"I got it at the library," she said.

I gave her a bone-crushing hug.

For the record, I was a "library kid." Picture a plump Shirley Temple with red curls, emerging from the Bayside [N.Y.] library…hands cradled around books…so many books…so many adventures to share…the top book anchored by my chin.

Now, if you’re an author [published or non], repeat after me: "Librarians are our friends. Despite their hectic schedules, librarians read books. Librarians recommend books. Libraries buy books."

And what’s more, librarians do their best to order a book requested by a patron. It’s true. If everyone who reads this blog requests…oh, say, Chain a Lamb Chop to the Bed, librarians will try and get it for you.

I dedicated Eye of Newt to librarians.

When I saw my first published book in a bookstore, I was thrilled. When I saw it in the library, I lost my breath.  Literally.  Finding my breath, running up and down the aisles, I shouted, "Come! Come! Come! Come!"  As if I were the Pied Piper, people followed me back to the New Book Section.  "Me!" I said, pointing.  "Me! Me! Me!"

And the people smiled.

‘Tis the merry month of May and, as promised [and rib-nudged], Bea will start her serialized suspense story today.  In fact, she’s pushing me aside and reaching for the keyboard right now…

GOLDIE AND THE THREE BEERS
by Beatrice Brooks

Twenty-six-year-old Goldie Locke, named for Goldie Hawn—her mother was watching Private Benjamin when her [expletive deleted] water broke — heard heavy footsteps rounding the [expletive deleted] curve behind her.  The dense, dark forest was deserted, as dense, dark forests usually are in the middle of the night.  Which led to the question: If a Mime fell in the
forest, would anyone hear? Even more importantly, would anyone care?

That very question kept running through Goldie’s head, reverberating like a kettle drum [or, in Goldie’s case, cymbals], as, frightened out of her [expletive deleted] wits, she began shedding stuff in order to make herself lighter.  And faster.  Her [expletive deleted] wallet, her [expletive deleted]
keys, her maxed-out credit cards, her laptop computer, three library books, and, finally, her [expletive deleted] clothes.

Naked, bosom bouncing, Goldie ran as if her life depended on it…

Tune in next week for the second installment.

Over and out,
Deni