Planting The Beech Tree

I dream of  having my own bookshop.   Time and circumstances have made it that I may never get an opportunity to  actually have a bookshop, so I thought “Why not have a blog where I can write about the books I’ve read and create my own little community bookshop, where I’m not selling anything but where I can create the feeling of sharing my love of books?”    I suppose it’s really about doing what I love, which is writing and reading. 

My little bookshop, the one I’ve been dreaming about for many years now, has gone through many transformations in my mind.   But these are the constants:  It’s crammed with books, new ones and used ones, and people mill about for hours, sitting in comfy chairs, standing in aisles, reading and talking to each other, getting another cup of coffee from the coffee bar.  There are Tiffany lamps here and there, reading lamps by the chairs, the storefront windows are bare to the street, letting in the sunlight on nice days, and the pale comfort of grey misty rainlight on the not-so-nice days.  Soft music accompanies the turning pages, the unhurried browsing, the hushed conversations.   The wooden floors and bookcases play off the muted reds and burnished golds of the walls and lounging chairs, so that everything comes together to invite the greatest pleasure of all:  falling into a book, one that you’re reading, or one that you’re writing, and losing yourself for a while, no rush, no distractions.

 This is not your big chain bookstore where they sell sell sell.  And want you to buy buy buy.  No reference books here.  No How-To manuals.  In my bookshop, I want you to read read read.  The books that line the shelves are books of hope and love, triumph and tragedy, death and desire, life and meaning, poetic justice and grand illusions.   But they all tell a story, one that needs to be read and absorbed.  Classics and moderns, forgottens and rejects.   Novels and poetry, novellas and biographies, series and memoirs, everything under the sun and moon.  These are the books I would stock in my bookshop, books that allow one to dream and live another life, to find meaning in one’s own life, to escape somewhere where there are no diapers to be changed or no deadlines to meet, to realize one’s potential through the eyes of a character, to travel back to that place when one’s life was one’s own,  to discover more about Life than ever thought possible. 

I don’t think my bookshop would make alot of money.   That’s not my intent, in any case.  I would want a place to read, for people to come and read, and if they buy a book, great, if they want to bring their own book and read a few hours, that’s great too.  I know what you’re thinking:  This is what libraries are for. 

But no.  Have you been to your library lately?  I can only speak for mine.   I love my library, it has tons of books, CDs, DVDs, magazines, etc etc etc.  There’s a kid section, there are computers.  Lots of stuff going on.  Librarians playing the radio.  People congregating in the magazine section and talking loud enough that you can’t concentrate on the titles of the books that you’re browsing through.  Kids running around, actually running around.   It’s no longer a place of quiet, nor  a place where you can browse to your heart’s content, or sit reading at a table with others who are doing the same.  Maybe I’m getting old(er). 

My imaginary bookshop I guess is part old-fashioned library, part town square, where people can come to contemplate and revel in their love of reading.   A place that is at once open to the public, but that gives the feeling of being your very own refuge.

So I’ve been thinking of this blog for several months now, ever since I took a hiatus from Ain’t Life Strange?.  I’m almost certain I will return to that place, but I wanted to create something a little different.  I love to write, and that self-imposed exile from writing was difficult but necessary.  Sometimes you need to stop before you can continue on your way.   In these past six months, the idea of The Beech Tree grew, and I felt it a good place for me to write about books and reading and life.  Needing to affirm to myself that writing truly is my passion, that it’s not just a frivolity or a little hobby (even though I don’t ever expect to earn any money doing it), I’m creating this journal with my heart and my drive to live authentically, to be true to myself. 

 And so here it is, The Beech Tree, a virtual bookshop, where I can write about books and share them, where you are welcome to come in and browse, sit in your favourite comfy chair with your cup of tea, read my thoughts and share yours if you so choose.  

I chose the name The Beech Tree, as beech was a common writing material before the invention of paper.  Can you imagine reading something written on beech bark?  The smell of it, the texture, the colour….what an experience it must have been.   For me, holding a book in my hands, the feel and scent of the paper, all of that is such a big part of the enjoyment of reading.  So I thought calling my virtual bookshop The Beech Tree is like bridging an ancient world with a modern one, and creating an umbrella of thoughts woven in with leaves and branches to link my love of books with my love of writing. 

How about another cup of tea to go along with that next chapter?

Chantal