This book is dedicated to Alice, Harriet, Ramona, Winnie, Harry, Frodo, Bella and Edward, The Gingerbread Man, Little Red

Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, and all the characters who ever opened their hearts and lives to us in a library book.

This book is dedicated to Alice, Harriet, Ramona, Winnie, Harry, Frodo, Bella and Edward, The Gingerbread Man, Little Red

Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, and all the characters who ever opened their hearts and lives to us in a library book.

Anna Hays . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Erika Caswell . . . . . . . . . . 6

Larisa Rodriguez . . . . . . . . 9

Cory Higgins . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Lucia Ribisi . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Ian Irizarry . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

Kerry Madden . . . . . . . . . . . 16

Prudencia Gonzalez . . . . . . . 18

Norah Madden-Lunsford . . . 19

Azul Niño . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Rachel Lester-Trend . . . . . . 22

Taylor Powell . . . . . . . . . . . 23

David Garcia . . . . . . . . . . . 25

Amy G. Koss . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Fiona Stockdale . . . . . . . . . 28

Clotilde Hidalgo . . . . . . . . 30

Eileen Kang . . . . . . . . . . . 31

Lilian Sanchez . . . . . . . . . 34

Jeanette Bernabe . . . . . . . 35

Bohdan Nickerson . . . . . . 36

Nareh Hovhannisian . . . . . 38

Anna Hays . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Erika Caswell . . . . . . . . . . 6

Larisa Rodriguez . . . . . . . . 9

Cory Higgins . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Lucia Ribisi . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Ian Irizarry . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

Kerry Madden . . . . . . . . . . . 16

Prudencia Gonzalez . . . . . . . 18

Norah Madden-Lunsford . . . 19

Azul Niño . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Rachel Lester-Trend . . . . . . 22

Taylor Powell . . . . . . . . . . . 23

David Garcia . . . . . . . . . . . 25

Amy G. Koss . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Fiona Stockdale . . . . . . . . . 28

Clotilde Hidalgo . . . . . . . . 30

Eileen Kang . . . . . . . . . . . 31

Lilian Sanchez . . . . . . . . . 34

Jeanette Bernabe . . . . . . . 35

Bohdan Nickerson . . . . . . 36

Nareh Hovhannisian . . . . . 38

contents contents

44

A N N A H A Y S A N N A H A Y SAnna Hays Anna Hays

To The Los Angeles City Council and Mayor Villaraigosa

Los Angeles is a city built every day by big dreamers. I’m trying to imagine a Los Angeles without libraries. It breaks

my heart to think that even one piece of our intricate library system, which has been so thoughtfully and lovingly crafted together and that benefits our community more than even words can describe, would be compromised even in a small way.

I write books for children and teens. I also create storytelling experiences for theme park attractions, toys, and all kinds of crazy media. The world that I live in is about designing experiences to inspire children, inviting them into new worlds that excite their imagination and minds, and waking them up to the possibilities within each and every one of them. When I visit schools and libraries around the city to read my work, I also lead writing workshops. My biggest rule for the students in these workshops is to think outside the box. That’s where the magic happens. When we push ourselves beyond the obvious and conventional to tell stories that only we can tell. When we leave a piece of our heart on the page.

On a picture perfect sunny afternoon with orange blossoms in full bloom and rush hour traffic crawling down the 101 like a

To The Los Angeles City Council and Mayor Villaraigosa

Los Angeles is a city built every day by big dreamers. I’m trying to imagine a Los Angeles without libraries. It breaks

my heart to think that even one piece of our intricate library system, which has been so thoughtfully and lovingly crafted together and that benefits our community more than even words can describe, would be compromised even in a small way.

I write books for children and teens. I also create storytelling experiences for theme park attractions, toys, and all kinds of crazy media. The world that I live in is about designing experiences to inspire children, inviting them into new worlds that excite their imagination and minds, and waking them up to the possibilities within each and every one of them. When I visit schools and libraries around the city to read my work, I also lead writing workshops. My biggest rule for the students in these workshops is to think outside the box. That’s where the magic happens. When we push ourselves beyond the obvious and conventional to tell stories that only we can tell. When we leave a piece of our heart on the page.

On a picture perfect sunny afternoon with orange blossoms in full bloom and rush hour traffic crawling down the 101 like a

55

giant metal caterpillar, Erika Caswell, the Los Feliz Branch young adult librarian, and I gathered a group of teens and ‘tweens along with a couple of local young adult authors at the library to share library stories. The stories, poems, and pictures that were created that afternoon were created for you. Some are real and some are imagined. But what is real is the dream inspired by all of them. The shared citywide, deep-inside dream to keep the sacred, warm, necessary, inspirational walls of the public library and its staff safe from bottom line cuts.

Erika and I, and the writers of this book, all Angelinos to the core, ask that as you evaluate the city’s budget and make the difficult decisions that lie ahead, that you think outside the box, tap into your imagination, remember the feeling you had when you checked out your first library book . . . and to dream big with us. To dream a world, a Los Angeles, where stories are told, books are read, children are listened to and inspired, and all the unique voices of our city are heard.

giant metal caterpillar, Erika Caswell, the Los Feliz Branch young adult librarian, and I gathered a group of teens and ‘tweens along with a couple of local young adult authors at the library to share library stories. The stories, poems, and pictures that were created that afternoon were created for you. Some are real and some are imagined. But what is real is the dream inspired by all of them. The shared citywide, deep-inside dream to keep the sacred, warm, necessary, inspirational walls of the public library and its staff safe from bottom line cuts.

Erika and I, and the writers of this book, all Angelinos to the core, ask that as you evaluate the city’s budget and make the difficult decisions that lie ahead, that you think outside the box, tap into your imagination, remember the feeling you had when you checked out your first library book . . . and to dream big with us. To dream a world, a Los Angeles, where stories are told, books are read, children are listened to and inspired, and all the unique voices of our city are heard.

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E R I K A C A S W E L L E R I K A C A S W E L L

Working with teens is like corralling cats. They’re wary, distant, and like cats, they get to know you on their own terms and on their own time. But once they trust you, they reveal all sorts of strange and wonderful things about themselves. My teens have talked to me about their romantic woes, problems with their families, and their hopes and dreams about life after high school. One volunteer and I even discussed her doubts about the existence of God. Reading these essays has reminded me why I do this job, and I have recommitted myself to working with teens.

As a young adult librarian, I play a unique role in their lives. I am not their parent nor their teacher. I’m not their peer or even a friend. I’m an advocate, a counselor, and a mentor. I try to make them feel welcome and valued in the library. I do this by creating a teen-friendly atmosphere, selecting books and other materials that support their school curricula as well as their personal entertainment, and developing after-school programs that are fun and engaging.

I never intended to become a librarian. I wanted to be an archeologist. I thought it would be glamorous and exciting digging

Working with teens is like corralling cats. They’re wary, distant, and like cats, they get to know you on their own terms and on their own time. But once they trust you, they reveal all sorts of strange and wonderful things about themselves. My teens have talked to me about their romantic woes, problems with their families, and their hopes and dreams about life after high school. One volunteer and I even discussed her doubts about the existence of God. Reading these essays has reminded me why I do this job, and I have recommitted myself to working with teens.

As a young adult librarian, I play a unique role in their lives. I am not their parent nor their teacher. I’m not their peer or even a friend. I’m an advocate, a counselor, and a mentor. I try to make them feel welcome and valued in the library. I do this by creating a teen-friendly atmosphere, selecting books and other materials that support their school curricula as well as their personal entertainment, and developing after-school programs that are fun and engaging.

I never intended to become a librarian. I wanted to be an archeologist. I thought it would be glamorous and exciting digging

77

around in the dirt uncovering ancient mysteries and treasures. But somewhere along the way I was seduced by the stories of the living away from the lives of the dead. Instead of excavating ruins and tombs, I spend my days tracking down information in the library catalog, databases, and on the Internet. A librarian is, in essence, a problem solver. Our main task is to find more than one way to skin a cat. We often do not have all of the resources that we, or our patrons need, so we have to find ways to satisfy their needs with what we have.

I am asking you to join me in trying to find more than one way to skin the budget-crisis cat. I am asking you to be creative problem solvers. I am asking you to help me nurture the talents and skills of our young people so that they can grow up and find their own path. For me the library is not a building full of dusty books, but a place that represents hope and promise and opportunity. Now I see that the treasure that I once sought cannot be found in the soil of some foreign land—the treasure is these children. Don’t turn your backs on them. I certainly won’t.

around in the dirt uncovering ancient mysteries and treasures. But somewhere along the way I was seduced by the stories of the living away from the lives of the dead. Instead of excavating ruins and tombs, I spend my days tracking down information in the library catalog, databases, and on the Internet. A librarian is, in essence, a problem solver. Our main task is to find more than one way to skin a cat. We often do not have all of the resources that we, or our patrons need, so we have to find ways to satisfy their needs with what we have.

I am asking you to join me in trying to find more than one way to skin the budget-crisis cat. I am asking you to be creative problem solvers. I am asking you to help me nurture the talents and skills of our young people so that they can grow up and find their own path. For me the library is not a building full of dusty books, but a place that represents hope and promise and opportunity. Now I see that the treasure that I once sought cannot be found in the soil of some foreign land—the treasure is these children. Don’t turn your backs on them. I certainly won’t.

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D r a w i n g B y V I O L E T W I L L I A M S D r a w i n g B y V I O L E T W I L L I A M S

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L A R I S A R O D R I G U E Z L A R I S A R O D R I G U E Z

Untitled!

So there once was this little girl.

Let’s just say that her life wasn’t as stable

As all the other little boys and girls she knew.

Constantly moving she didn’t have lots of friends.

Being really shy didn’t help much either.

So where else was the little girl to go?

She then found something on a shelf.

A hard book cover with pictures and words within,

And away she went into a world of her own.

No longer did moving homes trouble her.

For she could just open a book

And run away to her own little world.

Eventually her life became stable,

And she wasn’t a little girl any more.

She had finally grown up.

Yet she didn’t quite part with books either.

She still loves to read and she constantly goes to libraries

Just waiting to be whisked away.

That little girl is me.

Untitled!

So there once was this little girl.

Let’s just say that her life wasn’t as stable

As all the other little boys and girls she knew.

Constantly moving she didn’t have lots of friends.

Being really shy didn’t help much either.

So where else was the little girl to go?

She then found something on a shelf.

A hard book cover with pictures and words within,

And away she went into a world of her own.

No longer did moving homes trouble her.

For she could just open a book

And run away to her own little world.

Eventually her life became stable,

And she wasn’t a little girl any more.

She had finally grown up.

Yet she didn’t quite part with books either.

She still loves to read and she constantly goes to libraries

Just waiting to be whisked away.

That little girl is me.

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As a young child at Thomas Jefferson Elementary School, I was lost and without purpose. But before I get into that, I must say that I didn’t enjoy reading or going to libraries. So when my third grade class went to its weekly trip to the library, I would go in the back and nap or go on the computers. This had become a routine—walk in the door and head quickly to the darkest corner of the room. My teacher knew but did nothing to change my routine.

One day a new librarian was hired, Ms. Jackie Ferris, a middle-aged woman with big round glasses that would continually fall to the very tip of her nose. I remember thinking, “She would look so much better if she would only wear contacts.”

Anyways, she came up to me and said that sitting in the corner pretending to read would get me nowhere. She took the book I was pretending to read from my cold, clammy hands and read the title, How To: A Book on Nuclear Physics. She looked at me and said, “There is no way you are able to read this and understand it, and if you do, we better let your mother know that you are a prodigy.”

I remember asking her, “What is a prodigy?,” which only proved her point.

Then she asked that question, “Why don’t you read?”I could only say, “I find it boring and hard.” She asked if I knew

As a young child at Thomas Jefferson Elementary School, I was lost and without purpose. But before I get into that, I must say that I didn’t enjoy reading or going to libraries. So when my third grade class went to its weekly trip to the library, I would go in the back and nap or go on the computers. This had become a routine—walk in the door and head quickly to the darkest corner of the room. My teacher knew but did nothing to change my routine.

One day a new librarian was hired, Ms. Jackie Ferris, a middle-aged woman with big round glasses that would continually fall to the very tip of her nose. I remember thinking, “She would look so much better if she would only wear contacts.”

Anyways, she came up to me and said that sitting in the corner pretending to read would get me nowhere. She took the book I was pretending to read from my cold, clammy hands and read the title, How To: A Book on Nuclear Physics. She looked at me and said, “There is no way you are able to read this and understand it, and if you do, we better let your mother know that you are a prodigy.”

I remember asking her, “What is a prodigy?,” which only proved her point.

Then she asked that question, “Why don’t you read?”I could only say, “I find it boring and hard.” She asked if I knew

C O R Y H I G G I N S C O R Y H I G G I N S

1111

how to read and I said, “Yes. I just don’t find it worthwhile.”Her reply was, “That is your problem. You read as a chore and

not for fun.” She then asked me what interested me, and I said, “Dogs and having fun.”

She told me to follow her. She took me behind the tall, large desk in the front of the room and pulled out a book with a tattered old cover. The words “The Box Car Children” in big gold letters stared me in the face. Ms. Ferris told me to read the first two chapters and if I still hated reading after that, I would never have to read again. I agreed and went back to my corner.

Two hours later, I returned to the desk and said I want to read more. She handed me the next book in the series, and the next thing I knew my tradition had changed. Everyday at snack time and at lunch, I was in the library reading. I grew close to Ms. Ferris. She helped me through the good and bad, until the worst. My parents got a divorce and I was forced to leave. Ms. Ferris just looked down through those ugly glasses of hers and handed me a book and said, “It will get you through it.”

On my way to my new home and new life, I read the book over and over. Ms. Ferris was right. I was ready to take on a new life with my new book.

how to read and I said, “Yes. I just don’t find it worthwhile.”Her reply was, “That is your problem. You read as a chore and

not for fun.” She then asked me what interested me, and I said, “Dogs and having fun.”

She told me to follow her. She took me behind the tall, large desk in the front of the room and pulled out a book with a tattered old cover. The words “The Box Car Children” in big gold letters stared me in the face. Ms. Ferris told me to read the first two chapters and if I still hated reading after that, I would never have to read again. I agreed and went back to my corner.

Two hours later, I returned to the desk and said I want to read more. She handed me the next book in the series, and the next thing I knew my tradition had changed. Everyday at snack time and at lunch, I was in the library reading. I grew close to Ms. Ferris. She helped me through the good and bad, until the worst. My parents got a divorce and I was forced to leave. Ms. Ferris just looked down through those ugly glasses of hers and handed me a book and said, “It will get you through it.”

On my way to my new home and new life, I read the book over and over. Ms. Ferris was right. I was ready to take on a new life with my new book.

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L U C I A R I B I S I L U C I A R I B I S I

Intelligence can grow in a library,

All people big or small, short or tall, any color,

Are always welcomed at the library,

Friends are made in libraries,

Vampires can fall in love in libraries,

A little girl can fall down a rabbit hole

Into a wonderful land in a library,

Wonderful moments and inspiration

Come from libraries every day,

I hope the library is here to stay.

Intelligence can grow in a library,

All people big or small, short or tall, any color,

Are always welcomed at the library,

Friends are made in libraries,

Vampires can fall in love in libraries,

A little girl can fall down a rabbit hole

Into a wonderful land in a library,

Wonderful moments and inspiration

Come from libraries every day,

I hope the library is here to stay.

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D r a w i n g B y L U C I A R I B I S I D r a w i n g B y L U C I A R I B I S I

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I A N I R I Z A R R Y I A N I R I Z A R R Y

Memory Surrender

I was hit by a limousine as a child and it affected my memory. I can’t remember who I am for days at a time. The only way I can assemble an identity for myself is to construct one from outside stimuli that I see. However, if I see something new, it becomes . . . problematic to my current self-image.

Yesterday I saw a commercial for that cereal where the dog steals cookies from the caveman with the mustache. Since I don’t have a mustache, it made me think I was a burglar. I stole some cookies from a bakery and fled into a building full of books. I realized too late that it was the local library. Like I said—problematic.

The first section I came across was the cooking section. It caused me to believe I was a baker, so I quickly ate my cookies and entered a baking contest in the state fair. I won second place, losing to an overweight woman with carrot sticks in her hair. It’s okay because I feel my meat-flavored toaster pastries could have been better. I needed a new cookbook, so I went back to the library.

The entrance was overcrowded by a mass of Japanese school children, so I went through the side. I grabbed a book with the Statue of Liberty on it and thumbed through the pages. I realized that it wasn’t about American history, but the British punk movement. I

Memory Surrender

I was hit by a limousine as a child and it affected my memory. I can’t remember who I am for days at a time. The only way I can assemble an identity for myself is to construct one from outside stimuli that I see. However, if I see something new, it becomes . . . problematic to my current self-image.

Yesterday I saw a commercial for that cereal where the dog steals cookies from the caveman with the mustache. Since I don’t have a mustache, it made me think I was a burglar. I stole some cookies from a bakery and fled into a building full of books. I realized too late that it was the local library. Like I said—problematic.

The first section I came across was the cooking section. It caused me to believe I was a baker, so I quickly ate my cookies and entered a baking contest in the state fair. I won second place, losing to an overweight woman with carrot sticks in her hair. It’s okay because I feel my meat-flavored toaster pastries could have been better. I needed a new cookbook, so I went back to the library.

The entrance was overcrowded by a mass of Japanese school children, so I went through the side. I grabbed a book with the Statue of Liberty on it and thumbed through the pages. I realized that it wasn’t about American history, but the British punk movement. I

1515

grabbed a discarded bicycle lock from outside and chained it around my neck. By the end of the day, I was the singer for a punk band called Poor Lice Fatality, and we had won the local battle of the bands. I had to run from the awards ceremony because I was wanted in connection with the stolen cookies, but I still felt all warm and fuzzy about myself.

The next day, I decided it was time to reclaim my true identity. I still couldn’t remember who I was, but the process of elimination was slowly helping me figure it out. I flipped through a book on tracing your family tree and discovered that I used to be a lumberjack. I headed for Canada to reclaim my heritage. That month I spent in the wilderness protecting indigenous North American wildlife was really good for my upper body development.

It had been two months and I still didn’t know who I was! I hitched a ride back to the United States on the back of a big truck and ended up in front of the library again. By this time, Poor Lice Fatality’s debut live album had gone platinum and I never had to worry about money again, but it was a hollow victory. I gingerly shuffled into the hallowed halls of learning and wondered which book held the key to my salvation.

Have you heard of “option paralysis”? It’s when you have so many potential choices that you don’t know which one to make, so you do nothing. Well, that’s what happened to me. I keeled over the reference desk, foaming at the mouth. I heard someone yell about helping a famous rock star and then lost consciousness. That’s the last thing I remember.

I’ve been awake for some time now, and I’ve almost mastered the controls of the hospital bed. The doctors say I should make a full recovery by Friday. Even better, I think I’m beginning to remember about my life! The doctor asked me who I am, and I said I’m me. He asked me what I did, and I said I read. He asked me what I do for money, and I said constructing identities. He asked me if I was a writer and I said yeah, I guess I am.

grabbed a discarded bicycle lock from outside and chained it around my neck. By the end of the day, I was the singer for a punk band called Poor Lice Fatality, and we had won the local battle of the bands. I had to run from the awards ceremony because I was wanted in connection with the stolen cookies, but I still felt all warm and fuzzy about myself.

The next day, I decided it was time to reclaim my true identity. I still couldn’t remember who I was, but the process of elimination was slowly helping me figure it out. I flipped through a book on tracing your family tree and discovered that I used to be a lumberjack. I headed for Canada to reclaim my heritage. That month I spent in the wilderness protecting indigenous North American wildlife was really good for my upper body development.

It had been two months and I still didn’t know who I was! I hitched a ride back to the United States on the back of a big truck and ended up in front of the library again. By this time, Poor Lice Fatality’s debut live album had gone platinum and I never had to worry about money again, but it was a hollow victory. I gingerly shuffled into the hallowed halls of learning and wondered which book held the key to my salvation.

Have you heard of “option paralysis”? It’s when you have so many potential choices that you don’t know which one to make, so you do nothing. Well, that’s what happened to me. I keeled over the reference desk, foaming at the mouth. I heard someone yell about helping a famous rock star and then lost consciousness. That’s the last thing I remember.

I’ve been awake for some time now, and I’ve almost mastered the controls of the hospital bed. The doctors say I should make a full recovery by Friday. Even better, I think I’m beginning to remember about my life! The doctor asked me who I am, and I said I’m me. He asked me what I did, and I said I read. He asked me what I do for money, and I said constructing identities. He asked me if I was a writer and I said yeah, I guess I am.

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K E R R Y M A D D E N K E R R Y M A D D E N

My Mother and the Library and a Few Other Tales

I moved all the time when I was a little kid. I lived in ten states, which meant I was ALWAYS the “new girl” in school. We moved to football towns in the South, Midwest, Northeast, and back to the South again, because my dad was a football coach. The first thing my mom did in each town was to get each of us four kids a library card with our new address on it. She wanted us to feel like we belonged to the new place and to learn to call it home. She also let us check out all the books we wanted, and the library came to feel like home to me, even if the town didn’t. I also had to spend many HOT summers in Kansas, but the town library in Leavenworth was so cool, with big marble walls and cowboy westerns on Saturdays for kids. I checked out stacks of books on my grandmother’s card, and I’d bring them home to read, and she’d fix me a plate of supper to eat under a tree in the front yard so I could keep reading and reading. I grew up to write a story about a bookmobile lady who drove books through the mountains for folks to read. I interviewed

My Mother and the Library and a Few Other Tales

I moved all the time when I was a little kid. I lived in ten states, which meant I was ALWAYS the “new girl” in school. We moved to football towns in the South, Midwest, Northeast, and back to the South again, because my dad was a football coach. The first thing my mom did in each town was to get each of us four kids a library card with our new address on it. She wanted us to feel like we belonged to the new place and to learn to call it home. She also let us check out all the books we wanted, and the library came to feel like home to me, even if the town didn’t. I also had to spend many HOT summers in Kansas, but the town library in Leavenworth was so cool, with big marble walls and cowboy westerns on Saturdays for kids. I checked out stacks of books on my grandmother’s card, and I’d bring them home to read, and she’d fix me a plate of supper to eat under a tree in the front yard so I could keep reading and reading. I grew up to write a story about a bookmobile lady who drove books through the mountains for folks to read. I interviewed

1717

many people who used to walk miles to get to the bookmobile, and they would bring wheelbarrows with them to tote the books back home again. One old lady named Dot said her favorite chore was watching to make sure the cornbread didn’t burn, which meant she could also read her books by the old wood stove. So many librarians in so many places took the time to help me find books and stories and to listen. The librarians are the LAST people who should be facing cuts or threatened with job losses. They help us find our stories, our jobs, and sometimes even our lives as the library is the place we go to discover what we dare to dream.

many people who used to walk miles to get to the bookmobile, and they would bring wheelbarrows with them to tote the books back home again. One old lady named Dot said her favorite chore was watching to make sure the cornbread didn’t burn, which meant she could also read her books by the old wood stove. So many librarians in so many places took the time to help me find books and stories and to listen. The librarians are the LAST people who should be facing cuts or threatened with job losses. They help us find our stories, our jobs, and sometimes even our lives as the library is the place we go to discover what we dare to dream.

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P R U D E N C I A G O N Z A L E Z P R U D E N C I A G O N Z A L E Z

I came to live in this area in 1996. In that time I had three kids—two girls and one boy. I would take them to the local library three times a week. For me it was a turning point in my life, because my children were attending school too. Between the school and the library, I’ve dedicated my time to my children. There are many other children in our community who depend on our local library for many reasons. The libraries play a big role in all our children’s lives.

I came to live in this area in 1996. In that time I had three kids—two girls and one boy. I would take them to the local library three times a week. For me it was a turning point in my life, because my children were attending school too. Between the school and the library, I’ve dedicated my time to my children. There are many other children in our community who depend on our local library for many reasons. The libraries play a big role in all our children’s lives.

(Translated from Spanish by Jeanette Bernabe) (Translated from Spanish by Jeanette Bernabe)

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N O R A H M A D D E N - L U N S F O R D N O R A H M A D D E N - L U N S F O R D

I Remember

I remember walking into the library on a hot day and feeling the cool air and the smell of books. I remember dragging my mom into the children’s section so she could help me find a new book, a new world, a new experience. I remember the day that I moved from picture books to chapter books to young adult. I remember the ending of each exciting book. I remember rereading each book from the library that I had just finished. I remember asking for a fantasy book and finding a new one each time.

I remember.

I Wonder

I stare into an empty lot full of weeds and blocks of cement. I wonder how the library could have disappeared so quickly. I loved the library and all the librarians’ smiling faces. I wonder where all the books went. I wonder what happened and how it happened so quickly. All the rocks that my brother helped me hop on from one to the next had vanished. All of it gone. I am horrified and amazed at how quickly the library disappeared; the nearly empty ground fenced in and weeds growing over its grave.

I can’t believe that my childhood haven is gone.

I Remember

I remember walking into the library on a hot day and feeling the cool air and the smell of books. I remember dragging my mom into the children’s section so she could help me find a new book, a new world, a new experience. I remember the day that I moved from picture books to chapter books to young adult. I remember the ending of each exciting book. I remember rereading each book from the library that I had just finished. I remember asking for a fantasy book and finding a new one each time.

I remember.

I Wonder

I stare into an empty lot full of weeds and blocks of cement. I wonder how the library could have disappeared so quickly. I loved the library and all the librarians’ smiling faces. I wonder where all the books went. I wonder what happened and how it happened so quickly. All the rocks that my brother helped me hop on from one to the next had vanished. All of it gone. I am horrified and amazed at how quickly the library disappeared; the nearly empty ground fenced in and weeds growing over its grave.

I can’t believe that my childhood haven is gone.

2020

ÑA Z U L N I N O ÑA Z U L N I N O

The Hero of Darkness

In the depths of darkness a man stood up to save the Holder of Books. The Holder of Books was a building where twelve people stayed. They protected it from the Army of the Dead. The great Army had taken control of the Holder and tried to destroy them.

The man had a sword for a hand and no face. He was the Hero of Darkness. This hero walked many miles and fought many bad guys to get to the Army of the Dead. Finally that day arrived and the hero walked into the Holder of Books. That day was the longest day ever. Their battle lasted for seventy-seven hours. The hero won and restored happiness in the end.

The Hero of Darkness

In the depths of darkness a man stood up to save the Holder of Books. The Holder of Books was a building where twelve people stayed. They protected it from the Army of the Dead. The great Army had taken control of the Holder and tried to destroy them.

The man had a sword for a hand and no face. He was the Hero of Darkness. This hero walked many miles and fought many bad guys to get to the Army of the Dead. Finally that day arrived and the hero walked into the Holder of Books. That day was the longest day ever. Their battle lasted for seventy-seven hours. The hero won and restored happiness in the end.

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D r a w i n g B y A Z U L N I Ñ O D r a w i n g B y A Z U L N I Ñ O

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R A C H E L L E S T E R - T R E N D R A C H E L L E S T E R - T R E N D

Oh how fun it is to be,

Deep within a library.

Safe behind the walls of books,

Protected from judgmental looks.

A place where safety has no cost,

A place where all concern is lost.

Home of lovely helpful souls,

Without the need of soaring tolls,

Where all the folks are unique,

Where all are sheltered, free of leaks.

If this refuge were destroyed,

How would we still avoid,

Destruction? Sadness?

Death from above?

If we kill this place we love?

Oh how fun it is to be,

Deep within a library.

Safe behind the walls of books,

Protected from judgmental looks.

A place where safety has no cost,

A place where all concern is lost.

Home of lovely helpful souls,

Without the need of soaring tolls,

Where all the folks are unique,

Where all are sheltered, free of leaks.

If this refuge were destroyed,

How would we still avoid,

Destruction? Sadness?

Death from above?

If we kill this place we love?

2323

T A Y L O R P O W E L L T A Y L O R P O W E L L

Lily

My older sister was a library person. She loved getting lost in the books there. She loved the quiet time away from our home. She loved being able to sit in a corner and just be. It was a reflection place for her.

Unfortunately I wasn’t as willing. When I was younger she’d beg me to go with her and see all the excitement, but I always rejected. “That’s your thing,” I’d say, making up an excuse, “Maybe next time.”

I remember how she would beg and plead, “Claire! I know you’ll love it!” But still I rejected. I remember the last time I saw her. She was going to the library. Again, as always, she asked, “Claire, will you come with me? I’ll come home after I go to my friend’s house to pick you up.” And for once, I said, “Yes.”

Unfortunately though, this time she didn’t come home. Car accident. She died instantly. When my mom told me, she was on her knees crying. I was twelve and I couldn’t breathe. I ran and kept running. My parents screamed, “Come back. Where are you going?” But I couldn’t go back and I didn’t know where I was going. I just cried and ran.

Lily

My older sister was a library person. She loved getting lost in the books there. She loved the quiet time away from our home. She loved being able to sit in a corner and just be. It was a reflection place for her.

Unfortunately I wasn’t as willing. When I was younger she’d beg me to go with her and see all the excitement, but I always rejected. “That’s your thing,” I’d say, making up an excuse, “Maybe next time.”

I remember how she would beg and plead, “Claire! I know you’ll love it!” But still I rejected. I remember the last time I saw her. She was going to the library. Again, as always, she asked, “Claire, will you come with me? I’ll come home after I go to my friend’s house to pick you up.” And for once, I said, “Yes.”

Unfortunately though, this time she didn’t come home. Car accident. She died instantly. When my mom told me, she was on her knees crying. I was twelve and I couldn’t breathe. I ran and kept running. My parents screamed, “Come back. Where are you going?” But I couldn’t go back and I didn’t know where I was going. I just cried and ran.

2424

I missed her and I wanted to be with her again. At last I ended up in the place my sister loved best. The library. I walked inside and felt her spirit. I felt the peace and knew I was home. “I love you, Lily,” I whispered.

Now the library is my reflection place. It is my sanctuary and my place to be with my sister. I can’t imagine a life without those books. Those worlds. Those stories. Those escapes. Please don’t take Lily away from me. Please don’t take that home from me.

I missed her and I wanted to be with her again. At last I ended up in the place my sister loved best. The library. I walked inside and felt her spirit. I felt the peace and knew I was home. “I love you, Lily,” I whispered.

Now the library is my reflection place. It is my sanctuary and my place to be with my sister. I can’t imagine a life without those books. Those worlds. Those stories. Those escapes. Please don’t take Lily away from me. Please don’t take that home from me.

2525

D A V I D G A R C I A D A V I D G A R C I A

The library has been a place for me to go since I was little. It is a place to go with friends or family. You can use their facilities if you’re poor or rich. The library is a place with multiple resources to use for entertainment, studying, and lots more things.

Libraries also have fun clubs to go to or sign up for in the summer. I join them every year. There are also yearly book sales that contain your favorite books for reasonably cheap prices. They’re also great for doing your homework and getting help with it. Besides reading books for free and free Internet services, they have movies and music too! The best part about the library is that all of the amenities are free!!!

So I say, “Why close something this great!?” I don’t want to live in a place where I have to worry about not having the right book for a homework assignment or not being able to use the Internet for research. Apart from that, we will lose places where friends and family could just go and hang out.

The library has been a place for me to go since I was little. It is a place to go with friends or family. You can use their facilities if you’re poor or rich. The library is a place with multiple resources to use for entertainment, studying, and lots more things.

Libraries also have fun clubs to go to or sign up for in the summer. I join them every year. There are also yearly book sales that contain your favorite books for reasonably cheap prices. They’re also great for doing your homework and getting help with it. Besides reading books for free and free Internet services, they have movies and music too! The best part about the library is that all of the amenities are free!!!

So I say, “Why close something this great!?” I don’t want to live in a place where I have to worry about not having the right book for a homework assignment or not being able to use the Internet for research. Apart from that, we will lose places where friends and family could just go and hang out.

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D r a w i n g B y B R I A N S I E R R A D r a w i n g B y B R I A N S I E R R A

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A M Y G . K O S S A M Y G . K O S S

Use Us

All are welcome.Our doors are open.Use us.Look through our shelves. Thumb through our books.All ages, subjects, languages.Take them home. Yes, take them home with you.For free.

Use our computers.Borrow our movies, our music, magazines, newspapers.We got them for you.It’s free.

Sit in our chairs, dry, warm, quiet, safe.Use our clean bathrooms.Relax.Bring your babies. We’ll read to them.We’ll have puppet shows and magic shows for them. For free.

Please come.Use us.All are welcome.As long as our doors are open.

Use Us

All are welcome.Our doors are open.Use us.Look through our shelves. Thumb through our books.All ages, subjects, languages.Take them home. Yes, take them home with you.For free.

Use our computers.Borrow our movies, our music, magazines, newspapers.We got them for you.It’s free.

Sit in our chairs, dry, warm, quiet, safe.Use our clean bathrooms.Relax.Bring your babies. We’ll read to them.We’ll have puppet shows and magic shows for them. For free.

Please come.Use us.All are welcome.As long as our doors are open.

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F I O N A S T O C K D A L E F I O N A S T O C K D A L E

A Day with Sir Jacks-A-Lot

Once I had a friend named Sir Jacks-A-Lot. He told me he wasn’t from my time. He told me his story. Now before I tell you his, let me tell you mine.

It was biology class, and as usual I was falling asleep while Mr. Zowski was talking about molecular connections—the most boring subject ever. I didn’t really have any friends so I went to the Los Feliz Library, my favorite place to get away from all the commotion at school. I did my homework, and then once again I walked home alone.

As I was sitting in my room reading the new book I checked out from the library, something strange happened. Out of nowhere, rainbow sparkles started popping out of my wall. Then after a few seconds, a large spinning circle of light formed on the wall. Then a leg popped out. It was wearing pointy shoes, tights, and puffy pants. Once the whole figure was inside, I saw a man. Another hand popped out and the man shook it. The hand went back in and the hole closed up. By then I was standing in the corner grinning. This was science—but way cooler than the one Mr. Zowski taught.

A Day with Sir Jacks-A-Lot

Once I had a friend named Sir Jacks-A-Lot. He told me he wasn’t from my time. He told me his story. Now before I tell you his, let me tell you mine.

It was biology class, and as usual I was falling asleep while Mr. Zowski was talking about molecular connections—the most boring subject ever. I didn’t really have any friends so I went to the Los Feliz Library, my favorite place to get away from all the commotion at school. I did my homework, and then once again I walked home alone.

As I was sitting in my room reading the new book I checked out from the library, something strange happened. Out of nowhere, rainbow sparkles started popping out of my wall. Then after a few seconds, a large spinning circle of light formed on the wall. Then a leg popped out. It was wearing pointy shoes, tights, and puffy pants. Once the whole figure was inside, I saw a man. Another hand popped out and the man shook it. The hand went back in and the hole closed up. By then I was standing in the corner grinning. This was science—but way cooler than the one Mr. Zowski taught.

2929

“Hello, Jamie,” said the man. “I am Sir Jacks-A-Lot.”“Hi,” I said. “I see you already know my name.” He nodded. “I

have come to escape!” He declared.“Well, if you want to escape, you might want to change your

clothes,” I said giggling.So over the weekend I took Jack shopping. I told him

everything—he was my best friend by then. I even shared my love of reading with him. We would always go to the Los Feliz Library. Jack then told me his story. He was from the 1600’s. A wizard sent him here to me to be safe. Jack was a prince and another man was going to kill him to take his place.

The next day I woke up to find him gone—all his belongings taken—and a little note left behind. The note said I was his best friend and he will never forget me, but he had to go back and face his business. Then it said, “P.S. Look inside your drawer.”

Inside my drawer, there were pieces for the game of jacks. I giggled and said, “You’re a funny guy, Sir Jacks-A-Lot.”

“Hello, Jamie,” said the man. “I am Sir Jacks-A-Lot.”“Hi,” I said. “I see you already know my name.” He nodded. “I

have come to escape!” He declared.“Well, if you want to escape, you might want to change your

clothes,” I said giggling.So over the weekend I took Jack shopping. I told him

everything—he was my best friend by then. I even shared my love of reading with him. We would always go to the Los Feliz Library. Jack then told me his story. He was from the 1600’s. A wizard sent him here to me to be safe. Jack was a prince and another man was going to kill him to take his place.

The next day I woke up to find him gone—all his belongings taken—and a little note left behind. The note said I was his best friend and he will never forget me, but he had to go back and face his business. Then it said, “P.S. Look inside your drawer.”

Inside my drawer, there were pieces for the game of jacks. I giggled and said, “You’re a funny guy, Sir Jacks-A-Lot.”

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C L O T I L D E H I D A L G O C L O T I L D E H I D A L G O

The Library

The library, a place where one can escape into another world.

The library, a place that changes your life completely.

The library, a place where a person can hang out with her friends

and have fun safely.

The library, a place where a person can find out about college.

The library, a place where a person can relax.

The library, a place where a person can check out DVDs and CDs.

The library, a place where a person saves a lot of money.

Without the library, where will we go, and what will happen to

our lives?

The Library

The library, a place where one can escape into another world.

The library, a place that changes your life completely.

The library, a place where a person can hang out with her friends

and have fun safely.

The library, a place where a person can find out about college.

The library, a place where a person can relax.

The library, a place where a person can check out DVDs and CDs.

The library, a place where a person saves a lot of money.

Without the library, where will we go, and what will happen to

our lives?

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E I L E E N K A N G E I L E E N K A N G

I Enjoyed It

Marilyn sat in the car and thought about life. While doing so, she asked herself question after question. Do I like my life? Since two weeks ago, yes. Do I now love books? Since two weeks ago, yes. Then she asked herself the biggest question. What did I think of life before two weeks ago?

This is her story . . . “I hate life!” Marilyn thought as she sat in the car with her

belongings. “I always did and I always will,” she declared without thinking. Her father peered at her through the rearview mirror. Marilyn sank down in her seat and glared at passing cars for a long time. Then she fell asleep.

Marilyn woke up just as her father pulled the car into the driveway. Her mother got out of the car. Marilyn groaned and got out of the car too, lugging her suitcase. She looked at her house and groaned again. The house was painted pink and blue. She lugged her stuff inside the house and fell onto the couch in the living room and

I Enjoyed It

Marilyn sat in the car and thought about life. While doing so, she asked herself question after question. Do I like my life? Since two weeks ago, yes. Do I now love books? Since two weeks ago, yes. Then she asked herself the biggest question. What did I think of life before two weeks ago?

This is her story . . . “I hate life!” Marilyn thought as she sat in the car with her

belongings. “I always did and I always will,” she declared without thinking. Her father peered at her through the rearview mirror. Marilyn sank down in her seat and glared at passing cars for a long time. Then she fell asleep.

Marilyn woke up just as her father pulled the car into the driveway. Her mother got out of the car. Marilyn groaned and got out of the car too, lugging her suitcase. She looked at her house and groaned again. The house was painted pink and blue. She lugged her stuff inside the house and fell onto the couch in the living room and

3232

then fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until the next day.That next day, Marilyn woke up to find herself on a bed in a

room that was painted hot pink with pink hearts and pink flowers. She found a note on her bedpost and read the contents:

Marilyn, Your mom and I had to go find jobs. There is a library across the street. Why don’t you go there? Dad

Marilyn frowned and went outside, and of course walked to the library. When she walked in, a lady with brown eyes and frizzy red hair popped out of nowhere and began talking to her. “Hi! My name is Brin! I see you’re new. Can I interest you in some mind books?”

Marilyn just stood there, bewildered. Then she grinned like a loon. Brin smiled right back. “Sorry!” She babbled. “I have a habit of popping out at people!”

Marilyn went into a whole new world that day. With Brin the librarian, her guide at her side, she fell in love . . . with books! Neither she nor Brin realized that in just two weeks they’d have travelled to millions of new worlds. And in just two weeks, they’d also have to say goodbye.

Marilyn still loves books to this day. Now you can hardly find her without her nose buried in one. Books brought her the love of life.

then fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until the next day.That next day, Marilyn woke up to find herself on a bed in a

room that was painted hot pink with pink hearts and pink flowers. She found a note on her bedpost and read the contents:

Marilyn, Your mom and I had to go find jobs. There is a library across the street. Why don’t you go there? Dad

Marilyn frowned and went outside, and of course walked to the library. When she walked in, a lady with brown eyes and frizzy red hair popped out of nowhere and began talking to her. “Hi! My name is Brin! I see you’re new. Can I interest you in some mind books?”

Marilyn just stood there, bewildered. Then she grinned like a loon. Brin smiled right back. “Sorry!” She babbled. “I have a habit of popping out at people!”

Marilyn went into a whole new world that day. With Brin the librarian, her guide at her side, she fell in love . . . with books! Neither she nor Brin realized that in just two weeks they’d have travelled to millions of new worlds. And in just two weeks, they’d also have to say goodbye.

Marilyn still loves books to this day. Now you can hardly find her without her nose buried in one. Books brought her the love of life.

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D r a w i n g B y B R I A N S I E R R A D r a w i n g B y B R I A N S I E R R A

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L I L I A N S A N C H E Z L I L I A N S A N C H E Z

When I was young, I remember my mother taking me to the children’s section in the library. She would read Spanish-to-English books to me. They were very fun! There was one time when I was a child that a granny reader read to me. She read me The Gingerbread Man. I couldn’t read yet but loved how she read the book to me. I will never forget that day; I remember all the pictures. ‘Till this day I go back and look for that book and read it to myself. Even though I’m too old for that book now, I don’t care—I love that book.

Now I go to the Teen Club. As a shy person, I’m amazed how other people read the same books that I do. I love to compare their point of view with mine. The library helped me discover myself, and I wish future children could discover themselves too. This sanctuary should not be taken from children that haven’t yet seen the wonders of the library.

When I was young, I remember my mother taking me to the children’s section in the library. She would read Spanish-to-English books to me. They were very fun! There was one time when I was a child that a granny reader read to me. She read me The Gingerbread Man. I couldn’t read yet but loved how she read the book to me. I will never forget that day; I remember all the pictures. ‘Till this day I go back and look for that book and read it to myself. Even though I’m too old for that book now, I don’t care—I love that book.

Now I go to the Teen Club. As a shy person, I’m amazed how other people read the same books that I do. I love to compare their point of view with mine. The library helped me discover myself, and I wish future children could discover themselves too. This sanctuary should not be taken from children that haven’t yet seen the wonders of the library.

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J E A N E T T E B E R N A B E J E A N E T T E B E R N A B E

My Sacred Haven

A sanctuary for all ages.

A world safe by a hard cover.

A shield that blocks the world, to be engulfed by the pages.

Many places to go, just by walking through the rows.

Entranced by the adventures that one person can have by

coming into this haven.

Feeling welcomed to a home everyone wishes for.

Making new friends, making a new discovery.

This place is my haven, my home, my friend,

My library.

My Sacred Haven

A sanctuary for all ages.

A world safe by a hard cover.

A shield that blocks the world, to be engulfed by the pages.

Many places to go, just by walking through the rows.

Entranced by the adventures that one person can have by

coming into this haven.

Feeling welcomed to a home everyone wishes for.

Making new friends, making a new discovery.

This place is my haven, my home, my friend,

My library.

3636

B O H D A N N I C K E R S O N B O H D A N N I C K E R S O N

I’ve been going to the library ever since I was a little kid, and I have always loved the librarians who have worked here. I never found any of them to be mean or the slightest bit evil. Every week as a child, I loved to hear a picture book read to me, or play a fun game of chess, or even take a great art class with Laura from Barnsdall.

If these programs were cut, then the special activities that I loved as a child would not be enjoyed by children of today. They would never see the friendly faces of the librarians that I knew when I was young. It makes me sad knowing that we will not be able to share those same memories.

The Los Feliz Branch Library has been a second home for me, and I hope the family that lives in this household will stay intact.

I’ve been going to the library ever since I was a little kid, and I have always loved the librarians who have worked here. I never found any of them to be mean or the slightest bit evil. Every week as a child, I loved to hear a picture book read to me, or play a fun game of chess, or even take a great art class with Laura from Barnsdall.

If these programs were cut, then the special activities that I loved as a child would not be enjoyed by children of today. They would never see the friendly faces of the librarians that I knew when I was young. It makes me sad knowing that we will not be able to share those same memories.

The Los Feliz Branch Library has been a second home for me, and I hope the family that lives in this household will stay intact.

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D r a w i n g B y B O H D A N N I C K E R S O N D r a w i n g B y B O H D A N N I C K E R S O N

3838

N A R E H H O V H A N N I S I A N N A R E H H O V H A N N I S I A N

In seventh grade I had quite a crush. However, it wasn’t so much a crush as a total infatuation with words. He was about four years older than me, and I understood about half the words he used. Luckily, he didn’t go to the same school as I did, so I was able to spend all of lunch with a thesaurus looking up the crazy words from his e-mails before responding back. You better believe that thesaurus was not placed back until after I responded, and quite eloquently to say the least.

After a while, he started suggesting books to read. He would throw foreign sounds like Nietzsche, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoy at me. If it weren’t for the librarian, I would be wandering around the shelves for hours, not even quite sure what I was looking for. The first time I asked her for a book by Nietzsche, she stared at me as if I was speaking click. Realizing I must have pronounced it incorrectly, I went back to the computer to memorize the spelling of it in my e-mail, only to forget it by the time I got back to the librarian’s desk. Finally, I wrote it down on a sticky note and handed it to her. She sighed a sigh of understanding followed shortly by a skeptical curl of the brow. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when

In seventh grade I had quite a crush. However, it wasn’t so much a crush as a total infatuation with words. He was about four years older than me, and I understood about half the words he used. Luckily, he didn’t go to the same school as I did, so I was able to spend all of lunch with a thesaurus looking up the crazy words from his e-mails before responding back. You better believe that thesaurus was not placed back until after I responded, and quite eloquently to say the least.

After a while, he started suggesting books to read. He would throw foreign sounds like Nietzsche, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoy at me. If it weren’t for the librarian, I would be wandering around the shelves for hours, not even quite sure what I was looking for. The first time I asked her for a book by Nietzsche, she stared at me as if I was speaking click. Realizing I must have pronounced it incorrectly, I went back to the computer to memorize the spelling of it in my e-mail, only to forget it by the time I got back to the librarian’s desk. Finally, I wrote it down on a sticky note and handed it to her. She sighed a sigh of understanding followed shortly by a skeptical curl of the brow. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when

3939

she handed me the fresh copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. I could feel my brain grow more capable of intellectual conversation, but that was before I had opened the book. It took about three sentences before I swapped it in for Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky.

Oh, that book . . . I dumped my friends, and the concept of food and water was far, far, away. I was in the library every second of snack and lunch, my nose dug so deep into my book it was often mistaken for my head. In many ways I was a murderer, and I was hiding a cold, bloody secret. I could feel my hair curling with madness. It was much more sick than not hearing a whisper around me—it was skipping a heartbeat and looking around like a lunatic with every sound I heard. It sounds like a not-so-pleasant time, but it was the greatest time of my life. I felt things that were so beyond me. I couldn’t stop reading. I’ve felt the sensation of being a murderer, a circus freak, a philosopher, and a blue-collar man. At the time, I thought I had that boy to thank. But now it’s clear that I should thank the patience of that librarian and the haven of the library, which were so tolerant of my hermit-like behavior.

I would hate for children to miss the opportunity to morph into all the characters they could get their hands on, the way I did.

she handed me the fresh copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. I could feel my brain grow more capable of intellectual conversation, but that was before I had opened the book. It took about three sentences before I swapped it in for Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky.

Oh, that book . . . I dumped my friends, and the concept of food and water was far, far, away. I was in the library every second of snack and lunch, my nose dug so deep into my book it was often mistaken for my head. In many ways I was a murderer, and I was hiding a cold, bloody secret. I could feel my hair curling with madness. It was much more sick than not hearing a whisper around me—it was skipping a heartbeat and looking around like a lunatic with every sound I heard. It sounds like a not-so-pleasant time, but it was the greatest time of my life. I felt things that were so beyond me. I couldn’t stop reading. I’ve felt the sensation of being a murderer, a circus freak, a philosopher, and a blue-collar man. At the time, I thought I had that boy to thank. But now it’s clear that I should thank the patience of that librarian and the haven of the library, which were so tolerant of my hermit-like behavior.

I would hate for children to miss the opportunity to morph into all the characters they could get their hands on, the way I did.

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We would like to thank the parents, grandparents, guardians, and friends who brought our writers to the workshop that sunny afternoon.

We would like to thank the parents, grandparents, guardians, and friends who brought our writers to the workshop that sunny afternoon.

Funds for this booklet were generously provided by the Friends of the Los Feliz Library.

Funds for this booklet were generously provided by the Friends of the Los Feliz Library.

http://826LA.org/ http://826LA.org/

thanks thanks

This book was bound by the folks at This book was bound by the folks at