Sharon Fiffer
In the first act of my life I read books. Constantly. Voraciously. Sneakily. Everywhere and all the time.
In the second act, I read books, collected books, and wrote books.
And now, in the third act, I find myself doing all of the above but also, occasionally, culling books. Not always successfully. I attacked the kitchen bookshelf today ( yes, we have at least one bookcase in every room including the kitchen), thinking I could eliminate a few cookbooks since I pretty much know how to make what I make.
It turns out, however, those stained covers and dogeared pages aren't ready to leave me just yet. I moved on to the middle shelves which hold a mix of quaint old "house-keeping" books I've picked up--early 20th century guides for maids, a Scottish book on how to clean everything, books of mid- twentieth century blueprints, books on 1960s interior design. Pulling out one of those "house" books to flip through, a small piece of paper fluttered out.
Gold.
What I had apparently been using for my bookmark is a visitor's pass from 20 years ago. In 2004, I was in Los Angeles promoting one of my Jane Wheel books, signing and reading at a mystery bookstore. I decided to do a little research for a future Jane Wheel where I planned to get Jane out of Kankakee and off to LA. My friend, also named Jane but no relation, introduced me to her cousin who worked in props at Warner Brothers and told me she could arrange a tour of the studio's prop storage warehouse. For me, a relentless scavenger and insatiable consumer of TV and movie culture, it was better than a behind the scenes tour of the Louvre. I had a small notebook in which I planned to record descriptions of vintage objects and hoped that an object or two would inspire.
Row upon row of lamps, vases, candlesticks, most tagged with TV shows or movies for which they either were used--or might be right for. Floor to ceiling shelves of ashtrays, cigarette boxes, lighters and knickknacks--what-nots and whozits and whatzits. I considered hiding out and living there for a month or so, but alas, I was a guest, and a logged-in one at that.
When it was time to go, I had not pocketed a souvenir, although I had been sorely tempted. I left with something so much better. An idea. If a character killed someone in a fit of rage on a studio lot, where better to hide the murder weapon than on a shelf with hundreds of other letter openers and daggers? Wipe it clean of evidence, but leave the dozens of fingerprints from all the prop people who had looked it over, picked it up and tested its heft.
If my murderer had time, maybe they would even quickly tag it with a popular detective program from a few years ago so it would blend in with the other items. Jane would know that the best place to hide stuff was in the middle of even more stuff. And would she also note that the mystery program the murderer had hastily tagged the knife with wasn't even filmed at that studio?
So, visitor’s pass in hand, I revisited my Jane Wheel mystery writing days, my 2004 trip to California, my visit to Warner Brothers and I even culled a few books. Very few.
I also made a decision. Instead of using the three act metaphor for my life, I'm going with the Shakespearean five act structure. As they say, whether reading, writing or culling: so many books, so little time.