I think I have always loved libraries and I am not ashamed to say that the appreciation was probably first realised when I saw Ghostbusters. I know sad but true, not for the ghostly feel but for the vastness of the building, the history and the peace. A library is a public building, it welcomes in people from all situations, on lunch breaks from work, retired, mothers and toddlers and yet it is still respected as a quiet place for thought and concentration.
When I was a student I used the libraries as a second home. My accommodation was too noisy and distracting for study and I developed the love for these buildings from noticing the architecture, the furnishings, the old majestic surroundings. I had once also believed that I have a love for learning. I have spent the last twenty years studying for one qualification or another but now I realise it is not a love for academic study so much as a love for writing. I like the detective work of discovery, the researching something new of interest. The shaping and polishing of the findings. The creation of words to float over the pages. The end result of a delectable read of expression. Even better is the formation made under the same roof as other scholars, other readers and solitude finders in for a purpose or in from a storm. Libraries collect not only books but minds. The building attracts the inquisitives, the searchers, the daily fantasists and literary feeders looking for action, relaxation, knowledge and development. And the writer looking on for the inspiration.