Big White Elephant on a Diet: A Budget Crisis Post-Mortem

December 16, 2009 at 4:25 pm (fundraising, humor, news, personal, philosophizing, professional development)

All’s well that pauses well.

Because, of course, this isn’t the end.  It’s merely the beginning.  But what a beginning.  People got upset.  Protests were held.  Letters to the editor were written.  Facebook groups were formed, and then combined to create a veritable Voltron of library advocacy.  Questions were asked, some nicely, some not-so-nicely.  Taxes were proposed, and roundly decried.  A short-term solution was ultimately found.  Additional state income from table gaming was proposed, and then approved.

Meanwhile, inside the library, the rowdy team of intellectual gymnasts I’ve come to know and love held down the fort. This was not always easy. It was a very emotional time. I suspect we managed because we had each other. It is the absolute heighth of corny to say that the people you work with are like your family. That being acknowledged, well…slap me in a bucket of Jiffy-Pop and light the burner, because it’s true. We’re very fortunate in that we don’t have to look too far for a sympathetic ear, an encouraging word, or an e-mail with a LOLcat, complete with (in)appropriate caption.

Because my crunchy, cynical exterior hides a soft, creamy romantic center (much like a high-quality truffle!), I can say without a trace of irony that it was indeed both the worst of times and the best of times.  I really couldn’t talk about it much. Not because I didn’t want to. Not because I was afraid of transparency, or seeming unprofessional (you all know me far too well by now for that). Not because there wasn’t plenty to say. No. What kept me quiet was this: for the most part, there wasn’t a blessed thing I could do about any of it, so there was no point nattering on and on and on about it.

We often have very little control, not just at work, but in life in general. In this particular instance, I had no control over a long list of things that started with public opinion and ended with the library board’s decision. The only things I really had any control over while my library’s fate hung in the balance were:

a) my attitude, and
b) my job performance

That can be a hard, hard lesson to learn, and the discernment process of figuring out just what you have control over, and what you don’t, can be an arduous one. Luckily for us, we have Janet Jackson for comic relief, er, an aural cue. The shadow side of that, of course, is that my determination to be one of the people at the table for these bigger-picture control issues just redoubled. Heaven help us all.

There are no extra laurels awarded for behaving well, of course. This is part and parcel of professionalism. It’s called “being a grown-up,” and the only reason I mention it is because, again, it would be rather silly to blog merrily along without acknowledging the whole affair.

All that being said, my sense of relief is palpable. We’ve bought another year, and there’s so much to do. I have a lot of ideas and questions and thoughts and philosophical ramblings about things we could do in the hopper, many of which I’ll share with you in 2010.

Best of all, nobody is going to lose her/his job; given that the proposed layoffs would probably have disproportionately affected the blog team, this relieves me more than I can say. My blog team rules. They represent a bright future for library science, and I didn’t want to lose any of them. Color me super-relieved.

And now, honestly? I’d really like to stop talking about it. Because there is. So. Much. To do!  And so many other things to write about, such as:

  • big, fat scary ideas
  • coffee and libraries
  • your holiday presents (you’re welcome :) )
  • the MILLION DOLLARS IN FINES people owe us (oy)
  • a neat library resource
  • the best committee ever (no lie)
  • yet another crazy idea for 2010

Can we squeeze it all in before the end of the year?  We shall see.  If not…well, there’s no rush, is there?  Of course not.

See you next week.

2 Comments

The August Wilson Leadership Academy (Patent Pending)

December 14, 2009 at 6:59 pm (Learning 2.0, access, creativity, innovation, intellectual freedom, leadership, management, nonfiction, philosophizing, professional development, reader's advisory, reviews)

Previously-scheduled train of thought sidelined by a random idea!

I believe in fair wages for all.  I also believe that folks who are in business for themselves have the right to decide for themselves just what constitutes “fair” and charge for their services accordingly.  My blue-collar roots rankle, however, whenever I get a catalog that pitches leadership seminars for $1200 a pop, not including transportation / accommodation costs.

And it’s not because I begrudge them one iota.  Nope.  Successful people inspire me, because if they can achieve their dreams–often despite major hardships–then I pretty much have no excuse, given the relative privileges and advantages I possess.  However, narrowing the gap between where I am (namely, unable to afford a $1200 seminar) and where I would like to be (able to afford the $1200 seminar but doing something else with that money instead) is what proves tricky.

Ergo, while leafing through Yet Another Pricey Catalog and muttering invective under my breath, I decided that what I’ve now come to call the August Wilson Rule applies just as much to leadershp as it does to anything else in life:  if you can’t afford it, use the library.

I’ve sung Mr. Wilson’s praises before, but here’s a quick summary for those of you who haven’t heard that particular tune:  while attending a Pittsburgh high school, playwright August Wilson was unjustly accused of plagiarism.  As a result, he dropped out of school and decided to educate himself at the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh.  He came in every day and got himself a world-class education with our collection, and for his efforts he received a diploma.  Currently, he is the only person in the world with an educational credential from CLP.

I’d like to be #2, but let’s not get carried away here.  At least, not just yet.

Okay, let’s get just a little bit carried away, shall we?  Here’s something I’ll try in 2010 to see how it works out:  I will read at least one current book on leadership every month, and review it here at Alchemy.  Then I’ll add it to a page called “The August Wilson Leadership Academy (Patent Pending)” so that you’ll be able to skim the list and see whether or not it would be a good fit for your own lifelong learning endeavors.

And just to make it interesting, I’m not going to necessarily pick the books on library leadership.  Nope.  We’re a little odd here at Alchemy, with our strange notions about trying to incorporate what’s useful from the Outside World into library practice.  Besides, there are plenty of other bloggers reviewing the library literature – it will be much more fun for me to try to critically analyze the larger body of leadership writings and try to separate the wheat from the chaff for my peers.

I know, I know – I have some strange ideas about what constitutes a good time.  My girlfiends and I are working on that one, I assure you.

Let me know what you think – I have a couple of drafts in the hopper, so we will hopefully get back to the other things I wanted to talk about before year’s end.  I also had another smashing idea for 2010 that I want to run by you before I vanish for my long New Year’s vacation (I actually forgot to take my three floating holidays this year – somebody, please, save me from myself!).

Tonight is the library board meeting in which the fate of the branches are decided, so I suppose it would make sense to talk about the big white elephant next, once the dust clears.  Stay tuned.

6 Comments

Sunday in the Library with Alchemy

December 11, 2009 at 4:38 pm (Meta, Poetry, access, catalog, humor, philosophizing, traditional library services)

Apologies to Stephen Sondheim.

I like to joke with my peers that if I didn’t work at the library, I’d be there all the darned time anyway.  In fact, I’d probably be one of those people sitting on the front steps fifteen minutes prior to opening, valiantly resisting the urge to bellow, “I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!  OPEN UP!”  I have, in fact, storyboarded an entire music video based on this concept, and will hold an open casting call for interested (read “shameless”) library staff as soon as I secure some grant funding for the project.

[Yes, I know I could make it for free.  I'd probably have plenty of volunteers, too.  I strongly believe, however, that all library work deserves a fair living wage.]

All joking aside, however, I usually don’t follow through on that threat promise, mostly because I’m still pretty serious about that whole “having a life” thing.  It is, however, valuable to get that patrons-eye-view of your library and the way it works.  So from time to time I drop by to do things, and make mental notes on my observations.  Here are some random thoughts from my last Sunday jaunt to CLP Main.

  • I’m not sure if there wasn’t any signage for the poetry reading, or if I just didn’t see the signage that was there because I knew where I was going.  There was probably signage–First Floor’s really good about that.  If I’m not looking for/at signage, is the average person looking for/at signage?  Is that a fair comparison?
  • I’m a sucker for a table with little program flyers all over it.  Is that a librarian thing, or an everybody thing?  Could our promotional pieces be any cuter?  Do people notice how cute they are, as compared to, say, the handmade things that can be just as lovely provided somebody other than me makes them (graphic design is not one of my talents)?  Will people keep them, the way I do, or throw them away / recycle them?
  • Could we record the poetry readings and keep a digital archive on our website?  Would the poets agree to that?  Would the patrons be interested in that? 
  • Time for a caffeine fix.  How on earth did we ever get by without coffee in the library?  I was a patron here, and started my career here, in the pre-coffee era – how did we survive?  I wonder how much damage is actually done by food and drink in the library – are we keeping track of that?  How would you keep track of that? 
  • Could there be a few more people here who I know?  Do I know a lot of people, or am I just more likely to be friends with people who enjoy libraries because I’m a librarian?  What about all the people I know who aren’t here – what are they doing today?  What would it take to get them into the library?  What about all the people I don’t know?
  • Do we have The Paris Review?  Is our catalog easy to use, or is it just easy to use because I know my way around it?  Is this one of the display journals?  I guess I’ll have to go up there and find out.  I know where I’m going, but would a patron?  It’s not a display journal.  Darn.  Do I go bother one of my already overburdened peers, or do I slip into the closed stacks myself?
  • Why was it entirely too easy to get into the closed stacks in my civilian garb?  Is it because of my confident demeanor and brisk stride?  Is the “staff only” sign on the stairwell gate not visible enough?  Or do people just know me by sight and figure I know what I’m doing?  Should I have brought my badge from home?

Quite a lot to think about right there.  But the day became more interesting when I was approached by a regular patron while I was curled up in the magazine room with my journal, working on an assignment for my fiction class.

Now, mind you, there were three reference librarians in proper professional garb not ten feet away from where I was sitting.  They had badges, and welcoming demeanors, and–as I know well from working with them on the daily–mad search skills at their disposal.  This brings us to the eternal conundrum:  why do certain patrons become fond of particular librarians?  If all other elements are equal, what it is that makes people fonder of some staff members than others? 

That’s not a complaint, mind you.  I love helping my regulars, and I’ve been passed over myself so the patron I was helping could get assistance from “their” librarian.  I do reserve the right to find it amusing, though, that no matter how professionally we behave, sometimes our patron interactions boil down to irrational, illogical, emotional components.    This is, I think, what some people find offputting about public library service, even as others relish and welcome it:  the emotional factor is the ever-present wildcard.

Incidentally, the poet who prompted this Sunday speculative adventure is one of our own staff members, the luminous, multi-talented Renee Alberts, whose latest collection, No Water, would make a fetching holiday gift for the literary-minded on your shopping list.  You can make the purchase at her blog, where you will also find intriguing photos of other projects in progress; those of you enjoy poetry read aloud might like this podcast of Renee reading from No Water on an episode of Prosody, the weekly poetry show aired on WYEP FM.

Do you visit the library where you work on your days off?  What sorts of things bring you into a library, despite the fact that you spend the bulk of your time there already?

More next week .  Be safe, well, and warm.

1 Comment

Science / Silence: Notes on a Media Fast

December 4, 2009 at 5:39 pm (Facebook, creativity, fiction, humor, news, personal, philosophizing, professional development, reader's advisory, reviews, traditional library services)

One of my favorite short stories is Ray Bradbury’s “The Pedestrian.”  In a future world, where everyone lives for television, Leonard Mead likes to go walking alone at night.  During one of his pedestrian jaunts, he is arrested and sent to the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.  After all, why would anyone wish to be out in the moonlight, drinking in the air, when s/he could be inside staring at a shiny box?

Perhaps I’m exaggerating just a bit for effect, but I felt a little bit like Leonard Mead last week when I gave up media consumption, for science.  If embracing technology is progressive, and eschewing it is regressive, I wanted to create my own little Center for Regressive Tendencies and see what horrible things would happen as a result of stepping out of the lifestream for a little while.

I’m pleased to report that nobody died, and nothing caught fire.  I did, however, learn a lot about my media consumption patterns, including a few things that surprised me.  And, because I’m human, I totally fell off the wagon on one memorable occasion…but in an unexpected way.

Positive effects

Overall, it was a relief to step away from the near-constant stream of news and information modern culture provides.  While I missed the psychological rituals around reading a print newspaper, for example, doing without the actual content made me feel lighter and happier.  Not once was I tempted to skim news online.  Co-workers, most of whom didn’t know I was media fasting, clued me in on everything important happening locally and nationally, so I was still able to discuss current events with patrons. 

When I did engage with job-related technology functions, I did so with a critical eye toward how much time I spent doing it, and whether or not it was to my ultimate benefit.  After two days of analyzing job-related newsreading, I was able to unsubscribe from a lot of services, as they were either repetitive or not adding value to my workday.  I found out I could fuss over Eleventh Stack and CLPicks much less than I do, and still maintain high standards.  Best of all, I felt a lot less frazzled and a lot more clear-headed.  It’s one thing to know, logically, that you can’t process all the information that’s out there; it’s another thing entirely to feel the practical effects of voluntarily limiting what you consume.

At the reference desk, I turned the media fast into a creative challenge:  how many questions could I answer without turning to the world wide web or a database?  Many of them, as it turns out.  Never underestimate the power of the humble dictionary, thesaurus, almanac, phone book, and encyclopedia to get you what you need.  At my library, we also keep Consumer Reports (including the buying guides), Morningstar and ValueLine at desk reference too, and with good reason, because they’re asked for a lot. 

[What's interesting there is that even when we let people know they have web options for accessing these materials, 9 times out of 10 they still prefer print - just life in the magic print-centric bubble that is Pittsburgh, I reckon...but I digress.]

Overall, I found myself slowing down more, paying closer attention to things, and, as a result, becoming a lot more efficient and effective.  I was even able to make time to do things I’ve been trying to do for months, like reorganizing my work space.   This tendency carried over to personal projects I’d been working on, allowing me to win National Novel Writing Month three days early, finish a number of other writing tasks, and spend a lot more time with my family, friends, and cats. I walked for miles and miles, because I could, and I even made homemade pizza crusts for the first time in years (until you’ve tasted my homemade pizzas, you simply cannot understand what a boon this is to humanity).

Loveliest of all, I read a lot of books.  Slowly.  In print.  I savored every moment I could spent with a physical text object in my hands, curled up in a comfy place, with coffee by my side.   Here’s a partial list:

The Adept, Kurtz/Harris. First in a series. Fantasy fiction, but with a tone like Alexander McCall Smith’s Isabel Dalhousie series. If you like your magick high, crispy and historically accurate, you might enjoy this one.

The Ancient Mysteries Reader, Haining, ed. Poe! Machen! Bulwer-Lytton! Love! Er, that is to say, if you fancy rare 19th-century gems of fact and fiction, this is your book.

Rainbow’s End, Vinge. This one’s singular: loads of conspiracy theory and politics wrapped around medical advances that incorporate technology with humanity. Oh, and a white rabbit. A lovely, head-scratcher of a novel for those who like their sci-fi complicated and a touch pessimistic.

The Stories of John Cheever. For my fiction class, but no less lovely for all that. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed classic stories like “The Enormous Radio” and “The Swimmer.” It was lovely, too, to discover just how deeply his gifts ran through the canon of his work. They don’t write ‘em like that anymore.

Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos, various. Some Clark Ashton Smith stories that were “new to me,” as well as My First Machen (and if that’s not yet a stuffed animal, look out patent office, because here I come). Lovecraft is okay, I suppose, but I’m far fonder of what his friends and literary descendants did with what he gave them.

The Complete Stories, O’Connor. Also for my fiction class. When you read Flannery O’Connor, you can feel the genius rising up from the page. What’s most beautiful about this collection is the arrangement, which follows the order of original publication. Best of all, the first story in the collection, “The Geranium”–which appeared as part of O’Connor’s MFA thesis–grows and blossoms into “Judgement Day,” a revision she published near the end of her life. Beautiful fiction, bookended by the growth of genius. Also, peacocks!

Desert Gothic, Waters. This prizewinning short story collection caught my eye by virtue of its title, and kept my eye by virtue of its attention to characterization. Rarely does one care so much about the people one meets in short stories, but I found myself almost believing they were real (no mean feat, given my cynical, critical eye). “Mr. Epstein and the Dealer” and “Mineral and Steel” are the standouts here, but the whole collection is a solid way to pass the time, if you like quality short fiction.

The Elegant Gathering of White Snows, Radish. Reviewed this for Eleventh Stack. I have nothing to add but this: sisterhood is powerful.

I’ll spare you the non-fiction picks. Interested parties please ping – if I took the time to list them, we’d be here all night! Suffice to say, with so many good books to read, being without technology was mostly no problem. There were, however, one or two glitches in the system.

“Negative” Effects

Perhaps “uncomfortable” is a better word. See for yourself.

While most of the media fast proved beneficial, there were some less-than-pleasant aspects to it.  For one thing, about four days in, I started really missing Facebook.

When you get to be my age–suffice to say I’m one of those people over thirty you’re not supposed to trust–you know a lot of people.  Not as many as those of you further along in life, but a lot.  And, the economy being what it is, not all of them live in Pittsburgh.  Thanks to Facebook, I’m in close contact with people from grade school chums through library school peers.  Having them all in the same place is even better, because then they get to meet each other; it makes me deeply happy to know that I’ve introduced tons of people who originally had nothing but me in common, and now have solid, established friendships of their own.

So, solitary creature that I am, I still enjoy being social, on my own terms, and Facebook made that easy.  Without it–even though I had a pretty full social calendar–I still felt disconnected from a lot of people I care about.  Avoiding it was psychologically challenging, and when I logged in at the end of the week, I felt re-connected…even though, technically, I hadn’t missed anything life or career-changing.

I also missed YouTube like crazy.  As, I suspect, a compensation for my extremely poor eyesight, I’m very sensitive to sound, highly musical.  There’s always a tune in my head, and I like to listen to music while I do mundane tasks.

A little silence was wholesome and beneficial for me, to be sure.  The funny thing about silence, though, is that the more you have of it, the more clarity you achieve in certain areas…and that cuts both ways.  I had a number of epiphanies, both bright and dark, and learned quite a few things about myself that I didn’t even realize I was covering up by having a constant soundtrack.  Ultimately this is for the good, but it was a somewhat uncomfortable process to go through.

Finally, I did fall off the wagon once, in a very big way that I did not expect.

My dislike of television is legendary around here.  I don’t own a set, and I’m really fussy about what series I check out on DVD.  This could be because, television-wise, I’m a serial monogamist.  I like my Dr. Who old-school, my X-Files episodes with no UST whatsoever, and my vampires non-negotiably non-sparkly, kthnxbye. I am, in short, a television snob.

And then, straight out of left field, Torchwood.

I’d been on hold for this forever, as the wait list was very long. I had no way of knowing my number would come up during my media fast. I was just going to watch one episode anyway, to be polite, and not hurt a co-worker’s feelings. So I figured this would be no big deal, a teensy little rule-break.

I didn’t expect to fall in love with the darn thing. Much like meeting the perfect romantic partner when you least expect it, watching Torchwood hit me like a ton of bricks, and I am now an unapologetic, unabashed Capt. Jack Harkness fangirl.

Darn you, sir. Darn you all to heck! You know who you are. :)

In all seriousness, this isn’t really a bad thing either. Quality television shows are rare, and since nobody will sell me an a la carte package with just BBC America in it, I’m always grateful to get the scoop on the good stuff. But do I really need to get sucked into another television show? What about all the writing I need to do, and all those as-yet unkneaded homemade pizza crusts?

Sigh.

Outcomes

I’ve come away from this little experiment more convinced than ever that there are definite benefits to putting limits on one’s media intake and social technology consumption.  At the same time, I’ve also come to realize just how much I depend on certain media for some things, and am actively questioning whether or not that’s what I really want.

In other words, moderation and critical thinking, two things that seem sorely lacking from many fields of discourse these days.  It’s unfortunate that moving more slowly on some matters, or exhibiting  a degree of skepticism and/or scientific inquiry, is perceived as regressive.  I’m a huge fan of changes and advances, but, I would argue, those changes and advances should be playtested.  Anything embraced uncritically, and without limits, has the potential to do great harm.

Indeed, I think, it gives us societies like the one that scorned poor Leonard Mead.  Enchanted by the glow from their television sets, the deluded populace probably never stopped to consider the moon.  Let us hope that, as library scientists, we can apply the same standards to our own media participation, keep what is useful, and reject what is, ultimately, distracting us from the other valuable realities all around us.

In other words, seriously, you need to try one of my homemade pizzas.  Just call or text before you come over; I might be watching Torchwood.

Things I want to write about at some point include:

  • the day I spent at my library as a patron instead of a worker
  • how a library vibe differs from a coffeeshop vibe, IMHO, and why the twain should not necessarily meet
  • a news update from the big white elephant, who was recently put on a diet (whew)

Until next week sometime, however, I remain your cheerfully irreverent alchemist.  Have a good weekend!

6 Comments

Straight to Pink, Fade to Black

November 20, 2009 at 7:00 am (humor, personal, philosophizing, professional development)

Part the First:  Keeping Up Apperances

In a perfect world, we would never be judged by our appearances, ever.  In the world in which we operate, we run the risk of not being taken seriously by our professional peers if we look too far afield of whatever passes for the norm in our library.  Public librarians tend to have a bit more latitude in this regard…depending, of course, on where their library is.  Two phrases that inevitably pop up whenever the discourse runs down this track are “professional demeanor” and “community standards.”

My own theory on this point is that, if you choose a look that’s out of the mainstream, you’d better be prepared to work twice as hard to demonstrate what a great worker you are.   Unfair, perhaps, but unavoidable.  Alas, I lack empirical evidence with which to back up this theory.

That’s where you come in.   Participation in the “Straight to Pink” poll will, hopefully, net a cross-section of opinions and experiences from which we can hope to derive some sort of consensus…or at least start an interesting discussion about something different for a change!

So, for science, here’s your poll:

I tried to take into account all possible scenarios, but if there’s an angle I’ve overlooked, I’d love to hear about it in the comments field.  And please note that I don’t really have a dog in this particular race; with me, it’s not a question of whether I’ll be outrageous, but, rather, when.  I’m thinking, for example, that the time to switch to an astonishing haircolor is after achieving a major goal, and not before.

Part the Second:  Media Fasting

Next week’s experiment is a media fast, as described here.

In some ways this will be “easy.”  I’m already TV-free (gotta love library DVDs), and on the rare occasions I listen to the radio, I listen online.  All I really had to do was cancel my newspaper for a week, and set up parameters for internet usage:  I can use the web for anything job-related, but nothing personal.  The only exception I’m making is updating my NaNoWriMo word count, since I’d already committed to doing that this month.

Again, this is for science.  You see, I remember the time before, when we didn’t have all of this fun stuff.  I want to create a little wayback machine and see if I can rediscover how I spent my time before Facebook, RSS feeds, Twitter and, heaven help me, all those online games I play.  I suspect I read more books, completed more craft projects, worked more crossword puzzles, and spent more time with my friends.  We shall see.

But LAV, you might protest, why would you do that to yourself?  We have all this shiny stuff now, and it’s marvelous!  For the most part, yes, that’s true.  We have some great shiny stuff, and it IS marvelous.  However, it is not the only thing in life that is marvelous.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  while I’m open to innovation and change, I fear that, culturally, we are throwing out the baby with the bathwater, privileging certain kinds of experience over others that still have much to offer.  I want empirical evidence about how I spent my time when the technology is not an option.  I want to see if I experience “technology withdrawal” or not, and I want to see what, if anything, I really miss by being away from the whole shebang for a week.

I’ll report back on the 30th, or thereabouts, and tell you how it went.  In my absence, I hope those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving have a lovely holiday.

4 Comments

Library Workaholics Anonymous: Notes on Work and Play

November 17, 2009 at 3:59 pm (blogging, humor, philosophizing, presentations, professional development)

“I wake up every day torn between the desire to save the world and to savor the world.  This makes it hard to plan the day.” –E.B. White

My name’s LAV, and I’m a library workaholic.

By this I mean I have a hard time saying no to anything.  I get to work early, I stay late, and I have to be reminded to take my time back.  I struggle to make time for breaks and lunch, and sometimes I’m so involved with what I’m doing, I forget to eat.  I volunteer for things no matter how many things I’ve already volunteered for, and I’ve never met a committee assignment I didn’t like.  Every day I get at least twenty brilliant ideas that are going to inevitably result in more work for myself, so of course I try to do them all at once.  Finally, whenever I try to set boundaries, say no to assignments,  and delegate tasks to other people, I end up caving faster than a master spelunker the first time I meet any resistance. 

Behold, the shadow side of finding your life’s work:  the inability, sometimes, to let it go and get a life. 

I imagine this would trouble me more than it does, except for one thing:  I play just as hard as I work.  And I’m always looking for opportunities to incorporate play into my work.  Let us take, for example, the presentation I gave last week at The School of Information Sciences at the University of Pittsburgh:

A quick flip through those slides tells you something about my sense of humor, but also demonstrates my commitment not to take any of this too seriously.  I love our electronic resources, and I want to do a good job, but I want to make sure I keep the work within its proper perspective.

Did you wince at that, just a little?  Me too.  It sounds…sacreligious, almost, the idea that we could take anything we do too seriously.  And yet, there it is in a squirmy nutshell, the need to be devoted and passionate without becoming a monomaniac, the kind of person people avoid at parties because they can’t stop talking about library service for five seconds.

Hence the silence here at Alchemy:  there’s been a lot of other work to do, and I’ve sacrificed library blogging in favor of play.  This year I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month, colloquially known as NaNoWriMo, and I’m having the time of my life. I just crossed the 30K word count over the weekend, and I can’t even begin to tell you how liberating it feels to cast aside the fear of “not being good enough” and just let the words ripple out.

In fact, I feel taller, somehow, and much more confident about my library workload.  After all,  if I can write a 50,000 word novel in a month (albeit a bad one), what else can I do?  Heaven only knows.   And NaNo actually has a whole plan for library programming, so it’s not all that far afield from library work after all – ah, those slippery slopes!

Reading Zen Habits has also proved helpful in my never-ending quest to balance work and play.  If you’re looking for a kinder, gentler productivity blog, try sampling its advice on taking action, cleaning up your workspace, and even the whole workaholic thing at large. It’s even good for a hearty laugh from time to time (of all possible workplace challenges one could face, that one never crossed my mind).  The overriding theme of the blog is achieving more by letting go, which sounds counter-intuitive.  I suggest, though, that you approach this notion the same way you approached the last Library 2.0 innovation you tried – test it out for a month, see how it works, discard if necessary.

How do you know if you’ve got the work-play fulcrum set right for you?  You’ll know.  You’ll know because, in spite of everything, you will feel joyful, even when you are not always happy.  If library work doesn’t make you feel joyful at the core, well…that’s a blog post for another day.

I’ll have a quick update on Friday to announce my next crazy little experiment, and there will also be a poll in which I ask your opinion on a matter of critical import.  Stay tuned.

2 Comments

10 Things I Will Do When I’m A Library Director

October 28, 2009 at 5:03 pm (blogging, creativity, ethics, humor, innovation, intellectual freedom, leadership, management, philosophizing, professional development, social justice)

I think about the future a lot.  The present is a good place to be; some would argue it’s the only place to be.  But I also believe in lifelong learning and growing, and I already know that, someday, I want to be a library director.  So I spend a goodish chunk of my time thinking about that goal, and how I will get there.

Part of said thinking involves visualizing myself in certain situations.  What would I do if X, Y, or Z happened?  How will I interact with my board?  With my community?  With my patrons?

The result of all that thinking is this somewhat idealistic list of things I solemnly swear I will do when I am a library director.  Those of you who currently wear that hat may smile or correct me as you please, but these are my thinks based on my perspective in the here-and-now.

  1. I will know the first and last names of everybody I work with.  Yes, even if it’s a big library.  Yes, from the person who cleans the toilets to the president of my board.  I will take an active, genuine interest in their lives, seeing them not merely as employees, but as people with hopes and dreams who, properly cultivated, can make the organization more excellent via their personal growth and development.
  2. I will treat everyone on my staff with dignity and respect.  If I am wrong, I will apologize.  If I have to do something unpopular, I will explain why, and clearly.  I will communicate with them clearly and frequently, and I will respect everyone’s inherent worth, regardless of race, religion, gender, class, or favorite sports team.
  3. I will nurture and encourage innovation and change.  I will support my staff when they have wild and crazy ideas, give them the opportunity to test out their theories, even–perhaps especially–the ones of which I’m skeptical.  I will trust that they love the library and the community too, and that they have its best interests at heart.  I will actively seek out staff and volunteers who can help me create a 21st-century library for 21st-century patron needs, and I will be fearless about trying new things and making mistakes.
  4. I will pitch in and help with whatever task needs done, no matter how big or small.  Something that left a big impression on me as an undergraduate was an event the college president organized every year during homecoming.  He called it “Lance Cooks,” and it means exactly what it says:  he cooked and served food in the cafeteria line, and made conversation with everybody who passed through.  It blew my mind that the college president would do that, and it made me feel good about the future of our campus.  It also makes me want to be the director who opens the front doors every morning, a la Will Manley, or who works the circulation desk regularly.
  5. I will live in the community I serve, and become an active, engaged member of it.   No ridiculous commutes for me.  I want to be right up close to the action, shopping in the community’s stores, volunteering at its other non-profits, and getting to know its people in all sorts of situations, not just director-patron ones.  If my job is to lead a library, then I want to do it in the most accessible fashion possible.  The title of “director” should be a bridge, and not a barrier.
  6. I will dress up like a pirate on Halloween.  Okay, to be fair, I’m already planning on doing that anyway–but that’s not the point!  Leadership is a very serious business, especially during difficult times.  However, I don’t ever, ever, ever want to lose sight of the fact that, despite its difficulties, life has plenty of fun things to offer, and I will bend over backwards to create an atmosphere of fun, trust, and bonhomie in my library.
  7. I wil bend over backwards to make the arcana of librarianship transparent and comprehensible to my board.  Face it:  there are going to always be some things that only librarians care about, and that would make the community’s eyes glaze over if we tried to explain, no matter how much we prettified it.  That being said, we ARE degree-holding professionals with a particular skill set and particular rationales for why we do things.  Sometimes, that will need to be explained to a board, cheerfully, and with patience.  This is the area where I have the least expertise, but I’ve served on one strategic planning committee, and got a good introduction there to the scope of the task ahead.
  8. I will be a loud, aggressive, passionate, fearless advocate for libraries.  I will blog.  I will write collection development policies that uphold the community’s freedom to read.  I will podcast.  I will take advantage of every traditional and emerging technology to get the word out about the value of my library.  I will cultivate relationships with my local and state senators and representatives.  I will work with my Friends Group.  I will get more deeply involved at the state and national levels of library advocacy.
  9. I will embrace transparency whenever possible.  I will make it easy for community members to contact me.  I will have an open-door policy with the staff.  I will hold open houses and community meetings, and I will communicate early and often about any service changes that might come along.  I will be candid about library finances.  I will ensure, whether or not I’m actually responsible for website maintenance, that my library’s website contains the most up-to-date information about the library, its policies/procedures, and its resources.
  10. I will stay humble, grounded, and focused.  I will constantly question whether or not the actions I take are in the best interests of my staff and the community.  I will earn my salary with blood, sweat and tears, down to the last penny.  I will surround myself with intelligent people who will gently, but firmly, correct me if I am drifting off course.  I will network with other library directors and learn from their expertise, not just when I’m a newbie, but for as long as I have the privilege to lead.  I will aggressively pursue continuing education opportunities, and my default setting will be that there is always, always something more to learn.  And finally, I will be open to the lesson in all life experiences, including the gut-wrenching, painful ones.

That’s a tall order, I know.  Break it to me gently, if you must disabuse me of my idealistic notions.  But I would argue, once again, that if we give up our ideals, we are lost.  Even if they are impossible, it is in the striving that we will become better library leaders.

Er, right?

But what about the fundraising part, you ask?  Ah, fundraising.  That’s a whole post in and of itself.  Given that I’ve wanted to be a fairy godmother since I was a child, it’s yet another one of those things I muse about all the darned time.  If I get a breather, we’ll discuss it.

23 Comments

In Praise of Silence (But Not Shushing)

September 10, 2009 at 7:43 pm (Facebook, Library 2.0, Twitter, humor, intellectual freedom, personal, philosophizing, traditional library services)

Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear. What senses, then, do we lack that we cannot see and hear another world all around us?”

–Frank Herbert, Dune

The reference room is quiet tonight.  The sound of my fingers flying over the keys is probably the loudest, although there are other typists.  Readers rustle pages.  Pencils skitter across notebooks.  Occasionally someone asks a question, and your alchemist tries to answer in her indoor voice.  Call it 4′ 33″ 2.0, if you will.  Just don’t call it a scandal, or a sign of irrelevance, because it’s actually quite beautiful, if you open yourself up to it.

There have been a number of high-profile news articles lately about old-school vs. new-jack libraries; excitement and razzle-dazzle vs. “musty” books, and people with “strange attachments” to them.  I ask, once again, why we must have an either-or library.  I wonder why we cannot have both.

I am, as ever, biased.  My craving for silence makes Jean Valjean’s bread-lust look downright tame.   But we are now, for the most part, hyper-connected, 24/7, and working with technology makes me grow weary of it, occasionally.  It is challenging, sometimes, to drag myself away from the tweets, the status updates, the never-ending flow of information and hype, and carve out space and time for quiet reflection.

What would we hear, I wonder, if we were more open to and accepting of silence in our libraries?  Is it possible that the silence that’s become so reviled and scorned of late has something to teach us?  That it gives shape to the sounds?  What if we had libraries with warmer, more animated spaces for the extroverts and cooler, quieter places for the introverts?  Just because you noisy lot outnumber us 3 to 1 doesn’t mean we don’t get a vote!

Perhaps that’s a stretch.  Still, the concept of a media fast, as articulated by Julia Cameron and Gregg Levoy, is starting to sound awfully attractive to me.  One week with no newspapers, no internet, no texts, no tweets, no cheeps, no beeps, not a single lux-ur-ee.   Status update:  unplugged.  Achievement:  serenity? 

Let’s take that heretical thought and stretch it a wee bit further:  could you go 40 days, say, with no e-mail, no cell phone, no emerging technologies?  Would you feel alienated, disconnected?  Or would you trust that the news you needed to know would find you?

A moment of silence, for silence, please.  It’s an endangered species in a loud, crazymaking world.  I am all for progress in the form of cheerful, welcoming spaces, and our libraries should most definitely have those.  I would argue, however, that excising our remaining quiet sanctuaries is equally unwelcoming.  If the user experience is meant to be paramount, then that should include all users, not just the ones who prefer noise.

I know, I know.  Worst librarian 2.0 EVAR!  My defense is that I’m aiming for 3.0. :)

Have the rowdy or restful weekend of your choice, and we’ll talk again soon.

7 Comments

She shoots, she scores: goals ‘an @

September 8, 2009 at 5:07 pm (Learning 2.0, leadership, management, personal, philosophizing, professional development, religion)

Goals:  they’re not just for hockey anymore!

Okay, truth be told, I can’t stand hockey.  Too much fighting, and my poor beleagured eyes can’t follow the puck as it sizzles across the ice.  Come to think of it, though, those two qualities of the sport make it an excellent metaphor for trying to craft goals in an environment of uncertainty. 

It’s quite the conundrum.  You don’t want to come up with something too elaborate, lofty or specific, just in case the budget doesn’t permit it; on the other hand, you don’t want to throw in the towel entirely because, well, the final bell has not yet rung.  It has not rung today, and it is probably not going to ring tomorrow.  Ergo, you try to walk that middle path.

Here are some of my goals for 2010.

Professional Goals

  1. Learn Camtasia!  The First Floor staff are using this, and watching what they’ve come up with is really inspiring.  It could really do wonders for database promotion and training, at the CLP as well as the countywide levels.
  2. Seek out additional leadership training opportunities.  One leadership institute (and two months supervising an intern) does not an expert make.
  3. Submit something somewhere to be published.  I know, could I be a bit more vague?  I’m a little nervous about writing for publication; do I really have what it takes to actually be accepted by a refereed professional journal?  We shall see.
  4. Review in an additional genre, and be accepted as a reviewer by an additional publication.   Why not do more of what I love?
  5. Increase the number of hours I work on virtual reference.  That one depends heavily on which way the budget axe falls, but if you’re going to shoot, shoot for the moon.  I’m writing an open letter to Gov. Rendell about this, in my head, as we speak.

Personal Goals

Wait, what?  In accordance with the holistic principles of Library Alchemy, I cheerfully submit that the chance of achieving the goals listed above increase exponentially in proportion to the care I lavish on my personal development outside my job.  Ergo, personal goals:

  1. Design and complete a course in fiction writing, based on The Portable MFA in Creative Writing.  I’ve actually written up a syllabus and am technically on week two of the course, though, little Hermione Granger that I am, I’m actually a week or so ahead on the assignments.  Those of you on Facebook have already been subjected to lengthy squee about this, so I’ll spare you in this forum, but do feel free to ping me for details if you are interested.
  2. Participate in a spiritual retreat.  Spirituality is an uneasy thing to speak of aloud, not only because people assume you want to convert them to your way of thinking, but also because no words can adequately express what’s going on in one’s heart.  The phrase “I’m a spiritual person” is one of the dumbest-sounding things you can say out loud, and folks who do feel obligated to say such things aloud are usually overcompensating for things they are not really doing.  All that being said, I feel the need to deepen my spiritual practice, and I think taking a long retreat is just the ticket for that.
  3. Start saving up to buy a house/loft/condo.  If it’s in the cards for me to stay here, then I think 12 years of apartment-dwelling is quite long enough, don’t you?  Seriously, I’m starting to feel the need to put down roots, and there are some lovely, affordable homes in this city.  The majority of them even have the hardwood floors I adore (wall-to-wall carpet is for people who actually enjoy housework, IMHO).  Not exactly the greatest time in the economy to start dreaming of nests and feathers, but if you look at it another way, there really never is any time like the present, is there?

So, there’s that.  I’d best get back to the things I’m working on.  I’m pretty pleased that I managed to crank out the agenda for tomorrow’s database meeting this morning, and make all the photocopies ahead of time to boot–usually this is something I’m doing 30 minutes before the meeting while biting my lip to keep from cursing the copier.   However, I have miles to go before I sleep, so I’ll leave you with the promise of another entry, soon.

What are your goals for 2010?

2 Comments

Dances With Vendors: Confessions of a Clumsy Alchemist

August 27, 2009 at 5:43 pm (Facebook, Learning 2.0, databases, ethics, humor, leadership, management, personal, philosophizing, presentations, professional development)

Your alchemist is not the most graceful person on the planet.   Ever since my childhood dance teacher suggested–not unkindly, mind you–that perhaps being a prima ballerina was not in my future, I’ve been a little leery of anything that requires physical coordination.  When I do dance, it’s either in a dark, crowded room where nobody’s really looking at me, or in the privacy of my own apartment, where I can lace up my Doc Martens, crank up something gothtastic on iTunes, and let ‘er rip.

Dancing with vendors is a slightly different proposition, but, I would argue, only slightly.  The same amount of grace and dexterity is required, and there’s certainly plenty of sweat involved.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to pick the best products and services for your library.  This involves setting good boundaries, being able to say no without closing a door to future interactions, should your needs change, communicating your needs clearly, and, from time to time,  letting poor behavior roll off your back.

All things considered, strapping on a pair of pointe shoes again sometimes seems preferable!  That being said, though, I’ve been practicing this particular form of dance for about two years now, and I think I’m starting to get the hang of the basics.  Maybe in a few more years, if this sort of thing continues to be part of my responsibilities, I’ll be able to execute the pas de deux with the best of ‘em (like our former deputy director, who was, arguably, the Martha Graham of database negotiation).

Here are some behaviors that work well for me in the sense of keeping me relatively sane when doing the vendor dance.  I’d also like to offer some suggestions to vendors so that our dances together can be more enjoyable for both of us.

Dance Steps for Librarians

  1. Try scheduling vendor calls.  Your Outlook calendar can be your friend.  If your life is as busy as mine, you can’t always take a call when the vendor wants to talk…and yet, sometimes, you really will be interested in what they have to say.  Offer to schedule a time that’s convenient for you.  This cuts down on random calls, and lets vendors know you’re willing to dance.  If a vendor isn’t willing to work with you on your time, maybe it’s time to rethink that relationship.
  2. Learn to say no.  I know, I know.  If we could all figure this one out, the world would be a magical place full of sunshine and rainbows.  Still, the only way you’re going to get better at this is if you practice.  There are a million ways to say no, and many of them are kind.  “We’re going in a different direction right now” and “This doesn’t seem like the right solution for us at this time” are two examples.  There’s something to be said, as well, for the basic, “No thank you, we’re not interested right now.”  Pick your poison, but pick one (PA residents should feel free to invoke the state budget dilemma)!!
  3. Screen your calls.  This is a sticky wicket for me personally, because I don’t have a personal extension or voice mail.  I hate asking my colleagues to run interference for me and take messages, but the fact of the matter is this:  if you’re the vendor contact, and you take every single call that comes in for you, you will go stark raving mad in short order; in addition, you will never get anything else done.  If you can screen calls, do it!  If you can’t, talk to your boss and colleagues about what a good solution for your office might look like.
  4. Take calls when you can.  Vendors are human beings with a job to do, so you should treat them with the same respect you would ask for yourself.  That means actually taking their calls when you can.  If you aren’t interested in the product, see #2.  If you’re interested, but the timing isn’t right, say so, and suggest you talk again in X number of months, or next year, or next budget cycle. 
  5. Have FAQ information organized and ready.  Vendors often need to know certain things in order to quote us prices accurately.  Often this information includes population served, number of cardholders, city/county population, and/or number of public computers available.  Write these things on an index card and keep it handy.  That way you can make the most of your phone time by being prepared for questions.
  6. Be able to articulate specifically what your users want and need.  By the same token, there are certain things you’re looking for in a product.  Make a list of these and ask about them right away.  If the vendor cannot fulfill your needs, it’s better to find out right up front.  Then you can go straight to #2 for the polite “no.”
  7. Don’t take bad behavior personally.  Selling something for a living–and some folks are solely on commission–can really stink, especially during these economic times.  If you’re working with a vendor who dances clumsily, please try to remember that they did not get up this morning hell-bent on ruining your workday.  A vendor’s job is to sell you things.  That’s just how it is.  If their behavior bugs you, please go find a colleague to vent to, or watch a funny kittens video on YouTube, or make an ice cream run, or whatever will get you through the day.  Just don’t take it personally, because, quite frankly, it isn’t.

Dance Steps for Vendors

Dear library product vendors:  Your job is a tough one, and I know I wouldn’t do it very well, so I appreciate the hard work you do.  Here are some suggestions I would like to make that could improve our relationship all around, and make for better business transactions.

  1. Please don’t send me presents.  I don’t know you very well, and getting a gift from somebody I don’t know is a little awkward and doesn’t feel ethically correct.  On top of that, giving me a present is not likely to influence my purchase decisions, especially if your product isn’t what my patrons need right now.  I’d much rather the money you spent on presents went toward improving your product, and making sure all your employees get a fair wage.
  2. Please don’t call me 3 times in 30 minutes.  If I can’t take your call, it’s because I have another committment.  Working in a large public library is delightfully insane, and it doesn’t make for predictable phone availability.  Repeat calls in a short period of time doesn’t make me enthusiastic about your persistence or your product.  I know you’ve been burned on this one before, but I’d appreciate it if you could trust me.
  3. Please learn to spell and pronounce my name.  It’s a little tricky, I’ll grant you, but it’s not like they call me Chasmodeus Czyrwilmeninczky.  I accept that I’ll probably have to explain it once or twice.  Once we hit three times, however, it just seems like you’re not listening.
  4. Please don’t write me long, friendly e-mails full of chit-chat if we’ve just met.  If I’ve contacted you for information, I’d like just that information.  I know that the current business emphasis on making the customer feel valuable has resulted in a lot of friendly gestures designed to make us feel comfortable with you as people.  A good working relationship, however, is built over time.  If I buy your product, and we work together a lot, a level of informality will grow naturally.  Being overly folksy right out of the gate is somewhat off-putting, however. 
  5. Please answer the questions we actually have.  I know you’re really proud of your product, and you want to tell me everything about how it’s going to change my life.  But if I have a question, I’d really like the answer to just that question, and not an explanation of all the other great things.  If I ask about a feature you don’t have, don’t tell me about the other four features you DO have.  If I have questions about those features, I will ask you.
  6. Please don’t take “no” personally.  If your product isn’t right for us, or we have to cancel your product due to budget cuts, or whatever reason we’re saying “no” at this time…it’s not personal.  You didn’t do anything wrong, per se, and you should take our “no” at face value.  Calling repeatedly to find out the “real” reason why we canceled is kind of stalkerish, and doesn’t inspire a change of heart.
  7. If we ask for a trial, please don’t offer us a live demo.  This is especially applicable to vendors who are just now discovering the library market, and don’t know public libraries or their users very well.  We want to get our hands on your product and playtest it against the realities we face every day.  Live demos can be interesting, but there isn’t always time in the day for them.  On top of that, a lot of time can be wasted in a live demo trying to get you to cut to the chase.  I know you’ve worked very hard on your presentation, but there are certain things we look for that only a good playtesting will assess accurately.  If we have questions, or want a live demo, we will ask for them.  Pinky swear.

Now, all of that being said?  I work with some really cool vendors.  I’m Facebook friends with one of our reps, and she’s been insanely helpful in terms of training, answering questions, tech support, etc.  She also understands the boundaries of our professional relationship and doesn’t feel the need to comment on every conversation I have.  There’s another vendor with whom I wish we were doing business (stupid PA budget) because she’s perfected the art of knowing how often to call to see if our situation has changed, and she’s clearly done her homework on public libraries because she knows what’s important to us and what’s not.  Doing the vendor dance doesn’t have to be a hair-pulling, migraine-headache inducing experience; it can be pleasant, cvil, calm, and–dare I say it?–even fun on occasion.   It only works, though, when we all strive to dance well.

As ever, I would like to hear your take on these things, and I’m open to other perspectives.  Do you work with vendors at your library?  How’s that working out for you?  Do you have any tips for an intermediate, still slightly clumsy, alchemist?

Oh, and I wasn’t kidding about the Docs or the dancing.  Might I suggest A Life Less Lived? To see if it would be your cup of tea, here’s a representative sample:

Happy dancing, and I’ll see you next week.

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