Giraffes at the Zoo: Why I Was "Quietly" Asked to Leave the Library

Let’s go back to a time when my life was a little more crowded and my office was a kitchen table.

Before the high-rise offices and the sprawling family sagas of Firebrook Valley, my husband, our three kids, and I lived in an 850-square-foot house. Calling the small patch of floor in front of our sink and refrigerator a "kitchen" was generous, and calling that table my "office" was even more so. It was loud, it was chaotic, and looking back, it was a time I’ll always miss—even if the fatigue was very, very real.

The Great Escape

Sometimes, the chaos won. Maybe the roof was being fixed, or maybe everyone was home at once, but on this particular day, I needed to hit a deadline. I grabbed my laptop and headed to our local library.

Between writing in my car during my oldest daughter's cheerleading practices or on park benches, I was a pro at writing anywhere. I found a spot, put my headphones on, and completely fell into the story. I was having one of those rare, furiously productive days where the words just flow.

The "Private Room" Offer

I was deep in the zone when a librarian approached me. She asked if I wanted a private room. I pulled back my headphones, looked around at the relatively quiet library, and gave her a polite smile.

"No, I’m perfectly fine writing right here, thank you," I said.

She paused, then asked, "Then I wonder if you would like to write somewhere else?"

That’s when it hit me. She wasn’t offering me a quiet place to focus; she was asking me to go anywhere else but there. My hands went up to my face and I realized my cheeks were soaking wet. The scene I was writing was so emotional that I was sitting in the middle of a public library, sobbing my heart out.

The Giraffe and the Zoo

I was tempted to tell her that I was a New York Times Bestselling author and that libraries are where we belong—it’s like asking a giraffe not to be at the zoo! But then I looked at the quiet, overtly curious people around me and realized I had very publicly lived out the scene in my head.

Mortified, I stuffed my laptop into my bag and practically ran for my car.

The Magic in the Middle

That was the last time I wrote in a library, though I’ve continued to write in cars, at cheer events, and in fields while my daughter rides our horse. I just choose my locations more carefully now, places where if I start laughing because my characters are hilarious or crying because they’re suffering, and nobody cares.

I share this because it was one of my most embarrassing moments, but also because it shows how real these stories are to me. When my characters are falling in love, I’m falling in love right along with them. When they are sad, I am sitting in that space with them.

People say the journey is more incredible than the destination, and that encapsulates writing for me. Reaching "The End" is incredible, and the blank page is scary, but the magic that happens in the middle? I wouldn't want to miss a moment of it.