Yesterday I was privileged to speak to an extended learning class, sponsored by a local university, that is for adults seeking to learn the basics about writing and publishing a book. My goal was to provide information that would be useful to undertaking the writing and self-publishing of a novel or a work of nonfiction. I came out of that classroom feeling as if I’d learned something, too. I learned that I’d accomplished a lifelong dream without even formally setting out to do it. As a child, I’d dreamed of becoming a writer of novels. At a young age I read the classics: The Grapes of Wrath, War and Peace, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, To Kill a Mockingbird, etc. I read those not because I had to but because I wanted to. Books were my adventures. As an adult, I set the goal of becoming a writer aside and pursued a career as a librarian instead. After my library career, I finally took on the challenge of writing a novel, and later, self-published it. After yesterday’s presentation, one of the class attendees told me that she enjoyed my story of attaining my lifelong dream. Yes, I know that I’ve accomplished my dream, but it is still sometimes hard to believe that I actually did it. To the students present yesterday, I hope I imparted to them that it’s never too late to pursue your dream of becoming a writer. I started writing my novel because I was tired of telling myself it couldn’t be done. How can you tell yourself that if you never try?

I was a librarian intern for a year for a facility located in a suburban Los Angeles neighborhood. One of the patrons was notoriously persnickety, demanding, not requesting, recommendations for reading material. I quaked in my shoes when one day I was alone at the reference desk and this woman approached. She demanded that I provide her with a good movie star biography, one that would not be “smutty.” As bad luck would have it, I reached for one that I felt would suit her perfectly, but she said gruffly, “I already read that.” After a few minutes of searching, I finally settled on one that I was confident would not be offensive. She accepted it somewhat begrudgingly. I never received any feedback from her, so I assumed that she was okay with the book–or maybe she never gave me feedback because I did my best to avoid her from then forward.

In library school at UCLA, I took a course, “Reading and Reading Interests,” that was famous for its entertainment value. The instructor, Betty Rosenberg, was known for her witty presentations. She taught us about genre fiction: westerns, romances, science fiction, and mysteries. By the end of the course, we had a good basic knowledge to help us answer the question, “Can you suggest a good book to read?” As my career in libraries progressed, I had little opportunity to recommend fiction reads. I mostly worked in low-income communities where fiction was not as high a priority as educational materials. But occasionally someone would ask for a recommendation, and I would find it an interesting challenge to come up with a suitable title.

Whenever I’m asked by a friend or relative to recommend a good novel, I feel a little nervous about it. I fear that they won’t like what I recommend, and I’ll feel guilty about wasting their time. But it also works the other way. Occasionally a friend has recommended a book that I’ve disliked. One example that stands out is The Bridges of Madison County. Someone passionately recommended the book to me, I read it quickly, I disliked it fervently. My negative reaction was not received well.

Of course our reading tastes are unique and we can’t always judge what even a close family member might enjoy. Still, I welcome recommendations but remain cautious. After all, just because a dear friend loved Fifty Shades of Grey, it doesn’t mean that I will. I think I’ll see the movie instead.