If you’re a writer, you’re a reader. And readers explore their libraries.

Here are some of my favorite memories of my childhood library. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, but whenever we went for groceries, we stopped at the library to drop off what we’d read that week and pick up something new (or beloved re-reads).

I still love the smell of an old library — the sharp tang of old pages bound between real leather. I love the silence, the solitude of searching the tall shelves for that special book. I love seeing all the books stacked up together, worlds yet to be entered, words yet to be read.

I remember the moment I’d read all of the children’s section … well, all I wanted to read, that is … and wandered over into the adult section hunting for something interesting. The poor librarian, assuming I’d gotten lost, gently steered me back into the children’s wing. I had to argue to convince the lady I meant business, but I came home with what I believe was a couple of horse stories and maybe a Nancy Drew mystery or something similar. I did go through my horse phase about that time, so Billy and Blaze shifted smoothly into The Black Stallion.

I remember the many happy hours spent reading in libraries while waiting for Mom to shop or work on her own assignments in the adult section (she put herself through college after we were in school and out of her hair during the day). Nothing except the soft buzz of fluorescent lights as you quietly turned page after page, forgetting the time as you swung through the jungle with Tarzan or searched for the criminals with The Three Investigators.

What are your favorite library memories?