Essay by S. Lorraine Norwood
Oh, yeah. I forgot. I’m not in a cozy bookstore. I’m not even in Barnes & Noble.
Oh, yeah. I forgot. I’m not in a cozy bookstore. I’m not even in Barnes & Noble.
The first bookstore in my life had two wheels and a nasal voice that called out 'Maga-zine! Maga-zine!'
Fresh off a divorce and my mother's diagnosis with Alzheimer's, I took a part-time job in my local bookstore.
The staff of this lovely shop didn’t welcome me with open arms.
My mom and the library conspired to make me into a writer.
Independent bookstores are proxies for the community, a form of literary profiling.