The Slow Medical Drama that is Requesting a Physical Library Book

I do not watch The Pitt. I do not follow other medical dramas. I live them, vicariously and very, very slowly, through the borrowing of physical books from my local public library.

I will read something. A book. A column about books. Or perhaps someone will mention a book. My interest perks up, and I will reach for the public library app and search for that book. Perhaps fifty percent of the time the library has a physical copy, and I will place it on hold.

There's a slow excitement as the weeks tick by. I was number 129 for The Devils for much of 2025. Oh but how my excitement rose when that shifted into double digits in the first third of 2026. 

Next comes the faster excitement when the book moves from "Not ready" to "In transit." Once the physical book is in that part of the hold, I amuse myself by clicking "Check location availability" to see where the book is.

Most of that time it says, "CHECKED OUT". I can relate to that. I have been checked out of one thing or another for many years. 

Some times it says "TRANSIT HOLD" and I am enamoured of the mystery behind that phrase. Is the book in motion, moving from one location to another? Is the book pinned in one place, held? Quantum states and both at the same time? The more I stare at that phrase the more I assume I resemble Heisenberg's Uncertain Library Patron. I'm both waiting patiently for the book to move to me yet I am affecting its motion by observing it.

Today I learned of two additional status states that physical book might be in. I did not take screen captures of all of them. I wish I had. That would have added depth and verisimilitude to this post. I swear, though, that one book briefly provided its location as my local branch of the public library in my city. 

The next day, though, today, that switched to WORKROOM.

I don't like doing work. I am much better at doing play. The notion that this book, or any book, had a room devoted to work interested me, though. So while I was in my local branch I pestered one of the many very, very patient staff who put up with me.

I understand WORKROOM is where a book is placed when it needs some attention. A cut or a tear, perhaps. A bruised cover. A damaged spine.

I understood immediately. Physical books, like physical people, need physical attention. They need doctoring once in a while. WORKROOM is library speak for "this book is in the ER. We're going to try to save its life, as best as we can."

I nodded as this was explained to me, and returned to the waiting area where civilians must pace while the librarians work to repair the damage this cruel, harsh world inflicts on books. Oh, and people. But mostly books.

Hours later I cried. I have learned of a new status:

The book did not make it. DISCARD is a polite way of saying the book has been sent to the book morgue. Gone, leaving me to my lonely unfulfilled broken heart. It is my hope that the librarians may do a full autopsy and discover why this book died. 

I'm a realist, though, and I know that budget cuts and time constraints mean that sometimes we civilians will never learn what specifically sent this book to the afterlife. All we are left with afterwards is that final status of TRACE, vague and undefined, unknowable, un-located. The physical book has given up the ghost, and the only thing left are the moans and that haunting look from patrons who never got those final three weeks to read the book, then say goodbye. 

Identity, Authenticated by Friends

A friend and I were talking a few Saturdays ago. He mentioned that while he is looking forward to retirement one day, he is not sure what he would do. "My identity is tied to my job."

I do not feel that same way. 

I get what he meant.  Many people put a lot of time and effort into an education and then a career, and some are lucky enough to work at that career for a long time. I know of one man who worked for the federal government for thirty-seven years in more or less the same role, definitely the same department. 

Not all employers are that consistent nor enthusiastic. Not sure I ever want an employer determining when my identity changes.

Identity, tied into one's job, is a common trope. We identify characters in stories by their role as policeman or doctor or carpenter. "What do you do?" is a common enough question at parties when meeting someone. That phrase "what I do for a living" ties together life and action and identity.

I told my friend, "Your identity is not your job. Your identity is every single thing you've ever posted to the Internet, ever." (Hello 👋 government agencies building a file on me!). He smirked.

I do not believe that, either. I also do not believe that my identity is every book I have ever owned, not really. For example: some times a book is a gift, and you read it, and you think I really did not like that. The book doesn't reflect your values nor your interests. Is that still part of your identity? Is "negative identity" a thing, where one is identified by what one does not participate in? Is part of my identity the ideas I reject?

Substitute for book other story vehicles and art forms. My identity is not every song I have listened to, every movie or T.V. show or video clip I have every watched, every poster I have ever collected. All that stuff contributes to identity, of course. I know the lyrics and tune to O Canada much better than Ще не вмерла України і слава, і воля. That's tied to my identity as someone who went through the public school system in Canada and not Ukraine.

I like to think there's a part of me in everything I have ever written. Yet my identity (who I am) is not tied to my writing (the final product, the art I make). My art can get savaged by critics and rejected by agents and I am still me, uninjured. If no one reads what I write, I still exist. (I can tell because I still get hungry, still need to pay for rent, still want to write!) The art can go anywhere, and I have no control over where it goes. It might even burn into nothingness after a hard disk crash during a house fire. I am still writing. I'm still me.

As part of AAA, the Authentication piece I've implemented for some employers is built around three things when determining that Michelle really is who she says she is:

1. Knowledge Something one knows, like a password or PIN
2. Possession Something you have that can be thrown away after a limited time, like a card with a RFID chip as a hardware token
3. Inherent feature Something you have that is a lot harder to throw away, like your fingerprints or your retina pattern or your DNA sequence.

I believe a writer could be somewhat identified using these three items. Only one writer would possess that stack of notebooks with those scribbles and scratch outs. Only one writer would have the knowledge behind why "a lich wizard is restored to health by her fashionable clothing" seemed like a good idea for a story. Even if some other person could forge that knowledge and possess those notebooks, only the first writer would have the inherent tenacity to sit at a desk for two hours every evening for the month of November to produce those notebooks, gaining inherent back pain and RSI for her efforts.

I've been thinking about identity because I have an idea of a story where a wizard decides the path to immortality is to write her identity into a set of books, really smart books. Books smart enough that they start writing their own books, then start rewriting themselves. The wizard passes on but part of her identity remains in her books. These Arcane Intelligences (or AI agents) take on a "life" of their own. Not finished yet, that story.

I told my friend that my identity is constructed out of every good visit / beer / coffee / walk / dinner I have shared with a friend or a group of friends over the years. Later, I realized that all those friends could contribute to a web of trust identifying who I am. A guarantor on a passport helps to prove identity when requesting that hardware token made out of paper and government red tape. In the same way, my drinking pals confirm I am authentically who I say I am. As well as an authentic friend.  

At the time on that Saturday, I was thinking only of how I enjoy all those memories of all those good visits. We toasted each other with our pints and the afternoon was identifiably fine. 

Pick Up

I am a human being. I am not an AI agent. This means I have moods. 

I was walking home from the bus stop today in a mood of disillusionment. Yet again I was ruminating on all sorts of things outside of my control. Will the stuff I write ever be picked up? An agent, an editor, a publisher, beta readers, the mythical critique partner (or partners) who could constructively point out areas to improve and at the same time we encourage each other onward and forward: all of that seems hidden. A paying audience that reads my work with enthusiasm lays further away, dispersed and concealed. 

I mulled that over then imagined a lich, but not an evil one whose powers of resurrection and restoration arise after building a phylactery. I pictured an incredibly devoted and detailed-oriented wizard, well-dressed always, whose clothes put him back together after he died. He was restored to health by his wardrobe. Wardrobe here does not mean the piece of furniture. I mean his extended ensemble of all his fashions ever purchased or gifted or possessed. The Clothes Make The Man.

My disillusionment vanished in a snap.

Back to writing! This next story will be a hit, I am sure of it.

Compelling Writing

I swear this has never happened to me before.

I woke up, walked and fed the dog, started writing. This is the third draft for a first novel. After about an hour I realized I had not yet made any coffee! 

I stepped away, made a mug of my favourite coffee: JJ Bean Railtown. Most mornings are the other way around: I need to make something first, a caffeine key to unlock story mind vault, and re-read what I've done the day before to get everything rolling up to speed before I am caught up in the flow of my story. 

When it happens like it did today, when I am writing and engaged and up from the first moment, I know I have something good here. Cannot wait to share it.

Normally I make my coffee and give it five minutes or so to cool to the perfect temperature. 

The thing that has never happened before is: I made a mug, went back to the kitchen table, wrote for fifty minutes, and then remembered about the coffee on the counter! 

Thankfully my set up of ambient room temperature, thick mug, and great coffee means that even at the temperature the coffee was when I remembered it, it was still good. 

Almost as good as my writing. 

A Precious and Rewarding Morning Spent Writing

I am lucky enough to have a dog at home, and for the past nine years the dog has been very clear that she wants to go out early in the morning.

The birthday of my only child is this week, so I have taken the week off work. My child is asleep as I type this, still. I woke before six, walked the dog, then made a mug of Railtown coffee and took one biscotti from the tin, a cocoa biscotti with chocolate coating. My partner went back to sleep and I went downstairs, but not to the room I work in for my employer. I sat at the kitchen table, cleared of all flatware, with Pieces Of Novel spread everywhere. One happy fed dog retreated to her nap.

I am very thankful to have spent the last two and a half hours working out the first chapter of my next novel. The world is quiet, the neighbours' dogs are not barking, the lot down the street has all chainsaws and wood chipper and the backhoe silent, a brief respite in the ongoing [de | con] struction. Time to think, time to write, without interruption, when the day is fresh and full of potential. When anything might happen.

I hope you have a chance to get what I had this morning.

I know I am looking forward to morning after morning like today's morning.

The Storyteller's War by J.C. Corry

Go out and get your copy of The Storyteller's War by J.C. Corry published by Black Rose Writing! Whether you are a student of medieval studies, a lover of literature, or (like me) all of the above, this collector's item will improve your bookshelf.

In The Storyteller's War: Geoffrey Chaucer Reluctant Spy, Corry pulls enough detail from the age to ground his tale of espionage and personalities without halting the momentum of what is a compelling story.

At the time of the major battle in Chapter Thirty-One (3 April 1367) Chaucer is about twenty-four years old. More than twenty-four years ago, when I was younger than twenty-four, I studied Chaucer's words (yet only a small bit of his life). I wish I had had this book then.

The family of Chaucer has connections to both the wine trade and King Edward's court. This, plus Chaucer's ability to meet notables of the age then pull stories out of these captivating characters, makes for a solid spy tale. Young Geoffrey Chaucer's faults and foibles add dimensions. These strengthen the work.

On The Consolation of Philosophy has a close place in my personal history. As I hold my own copy and consider what this book meant to me, I am cheered to see the place Boethius' work holds in this story of Chaucer as well.

I really enjoyed the interactions between Chaucer and Pippa, how their desires and worries collide, mix, and form witty wordplay. The relationship between Chaucer and Pippa seems vivid and alive. I found their scenes compelling, riveting, and engaging.

I loved the exotic castles and palaces of Zaragoza, Olite, and other places in the Iberian peninsula.

The capture of Ayala is very moving. I don't want to give anything away, but the lines about "Chaucer and Ayala...  side by side, two storytellers bonded by fortune, fate and courage" pulled much of the novel together for me.

Corry adds a depth to the life of Chaucer I have never read about before.

I learned a great deal about Chaucer's life, about historical fiction as a genre, and about writing a novel from enjoying The Storyteller's War. I anticipate the next novel in the series: The Storyteller’s Reputation.

I seek the publisher of Title Undetermined

My local public library lists new books.

Each new book usually has both a title and a cover.

Sometimes a new book has only a title and a grey rectangle substitutes for the cover.

The new book at the bottom left intrigued me:

Now, that is an interesting way to market a new release! I thought. 

Intrigued, I clicked on the rectangle. 

The mystique increased:

Who is the author behind “Title Undetermined”?

Did that person have a title in mind and argued with the publisher over it, then both sides gave up but decided to print it anyway? Or did the author never determine the title, ever? How long did the author slave away at a work without even a working title? (Is this work created by AI and the title was not part of the parameters?)

Setting aside authorial intent and the marketing team's effective yet murky method of hyping this book by obfuscating the title,  I really want to learn more about any publisher who decided to go ahead with promoting a book called “Title Undetermined”.

Perhaps this is a publisher I could work with!

I pulled up the Full details and scoured the Original record for this work:

Obviously the author and the publisher value their privacy. In today's digital age, when so much information is out there, I can respect this. 

Still, I remain very intrigued, and decided to place a hold on this work.

Here, I became devastated:

It appears that both maximum secrecy and minimum utility have been achieved.

I am not able to secure this work using the app.

I intend to seek it out In Person at my local public library branch. 

If I successfully determine Title Undetermined I will update this post.