Queen of the Bondo

You seem like kind of a goofball. Why should I hire you?

First of all, I appreciate your concern. I am actually a very serious person! I take my writing and my enthusiasm for books, libraries and archives, and preserving cultural heritage very seriously.

Working in some challenging, low-morale environments has taught me that having a sense of humor is an essential way to cope with the stress inherent in being a dedicated professional, which my resume makes clear that I am.

Making people laugh is a skill that comes in handy during a recession, when people feel depressed and uncertain. It’s a skill that’s helped me adapt to new and changing work cultures. It’s something that keeps a person flexible and open-minded when times get tough.

Besides, sometimes it’s best to just take The Opposite approach to life:

In other words, I’m just going to be who I really am and not try too hard to look impressive. Remember: what starts off with “My name is George. I’m unemployed, and I live with my parents” ends up with George scoring his dream job with the Yankees.

What does an archivist do? Should I go to library school?

Although it might appear that the archivist’s two main functions are to a) take paper clips out of things and b) try not to get laid off, archivists are actually the unsung heroes of a free society. In a nutshell, we protect history and keep it from getting rewritten.

As far as library school goes, I cannot in good conscience recommend that you go to library school. There are just no jobs. Maybe in 15 years, 100 very enthusiastic, dedicated people should go to library school, but not now. You might as well flush your money down the toilet, or better yet, give it to me.

When you say you are “miscellaneous, undated, and acid-free since 1978,” what do you mean? Were you in rehab?

It’s just archives humor. It’s actually a stupid joke, because how can I be undated since 1978? Also, I am HIGHLY acidic. Don’t put me near your irreplaceable documents, my flesh will destroy them.

I’ve heard that you haven’t driven a car since 2005. Is that true? What’s that all about?

I haven’t owned a car since 2005. I’ve driven about three times since then. At the risk of sounding like an elitist asshole, I just don’t like being in places where you’re totally dependent on cars. I don’t like the hassles and expense of owning a car. It’s not so much that I’m worried about my “carbon footprint” or whatever, but I resent that America has arranged itself in a way that 90% of us are totally dependent on cars, so that you realistically don’t have that precious “choice” that we’re supposed to be all slobbery in favor of. Frankly, being dependent on a car — on something that’s going to cost you a lot of money — doesn’t seem like freedom to me.

So aren’t you kind of limiting yourself? I mean, in terms of where you can look for jobs.

Cheapskates can afford to be choosy. I’ll wait. Public transit is something that’s non-negotiable with me.

Do you ever miss living in New York?

This is, in fact, my MOST frequently asked question. The answer is YES.

So why did you leave?

Don’t ask.

But you love Cleveland, right?

Ah, love. “Love,” W.B. Yeats reminds us, “has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement.” Likewise, Leonard Cohen admonishes, “Love is not a victory march.” If you think love is anything else, you’re either not married, or you’re not very good at being married.

Sometimes Cleveland seems to me like a needy, not-so-bright relative who comes around asking for money a little too often. Sometimes, I feel like telling Cleveland to suck it up and grow a pair. Other times I want to drag a glassy-eyed Cleveland in out of the rain — “Christ, don’t you know you’re gonna catch your death out here?” — tuck it into a Snuggie, and park it in front of the space heater with a cup of hot Ovaltine.

Will you move away again?

I am not closing myself off to opportunities elsewhere. I would most like to go back to New York, to Chicago, or to a city in eastern Canada.

So what kinds of stuff do you write?

Most of the writing I’ve done for money was uncredited abstracting and caption-writing at Facts on File, a job that involved reading encyclopedias and looking at maps, eight hours a day, for two years. Let me tell you, it is hard to distill the Russian-Turkish wars into a 200 word abstract!

Right now I’m working on fiction, which is the writing equivalent of playing the Scratch-n-Match. What kind of fiction do I write? I write absurd Rust Belt Tales, because  living in Cleveland is like living in The Onion. (Take a look at the Plain Dealer, and you’ll see that I’m often right). I also write ghost stories and vampire-free epic YA fantasy. I read a lot about myth and North American folkore and that informs a lot of what I write. Sense of place is really important to me. I think a lot about what America would be like during a Dark Age, an Age of Heroes like Mycenaean Greece. I think a lot about icons and celebrities, and what they would be like if they were Gods. I think a lot about how secrets kept by our parents and grandparents linger and haunt us.

What is your favorite book? How about your favorite band? Your favorite movie?

I like Harry Potter, the Sandman series, and His Dark Materials. Please see my last.fm profile to get an idea of what kind of music I like. My two favorite movies are Rocky and It’s a Wonderful Life. “You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids!” Classic.

Who or what are your biggest creative influences?

All the books and films about kids finding hidden doors or treasure maps: The Goonies, an obscure out-of-print book called The Mine of Lost Days that my fourth-grade teacher read to us. All the terrible B-movies that Superhost used to show on Saturday afternoons, like Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. Tasha Tudor. Philip Glass. His color wheel animation was the most profound thing I’d ever seen when I was four. All of the short films from classic Sesame Street. Epic historical adventures with a hint of the supernatural: The Mysterious Cities of Gold, Indiana Jones. All the music I loved as a surly adolescent: The Cure, Morrissey, Depeche Mode. The books I clung to and loved to death as a surly adolescent: Franny and Zooey, Kurt Vonnegut, The Grapes of Wrath. Doctor Who, Star Trek, Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules, Red Dwarf. My English teacher Mr. Fawcett who told me I had the power to change people’s lives with words – he meant well but it turned out that was too big a charge for me and I freaked out and didn’t write for 15 years. Barbara Kingsolver, particularly Animal Dreams. Like Water for Chocolate. W.B. Yeats, Emily Dickinson, “The Lady of Shalott.” The late Sheila Schwartz, who said I had a gift for capturing the horrors of adolescence. All the books I read in Montana, when I realized I liked reading. Whatever they were. Harry Potter and His Dark Materials. The late Rob Maisch, who was my friend in library school. David Lynch, Strangers with Candy, The Office, 30 Rock, The Sopranos, Carl Hiaasen. Drew Carey. Bill Moyers. Joseph Campbell. Neil Gaiman. Persian traditional music. Art Nouveau. Crooked River Burning. Inspector Morse, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple. Lee Murdock, Stan Rogers, Bruce Springsteen. My friends Camilla Grigsby and Bridget Callahan and whatever they’re reading, watching, and listening to.

Didn’t you used to have a blog called NexGen Librarian? Whatever happened to that?

Yes. I started NexGen Librarian as a listserv for Gen X/Y librarians in 2003. The response was overwhelming, which was great! By the end, there were so many people and so many offshoots, the nature of how people interacted online was changing, people were becoming more connected, I think it had just run its course. Most importantly, I think I accomplished my mission in making the “young librarian” more visible. I don’t think there’s any doubt in the library world today that the “next generation” is vital to the future of libraries.

Also, what about Really Bad Cleveland Accent?

RBCA also ran its course. I used it as a way to stay involved with the local community in Cleveland while I lived elsewhere, to sort of let people know that the Brain Drain casualties were still out there thinking about the home front. Looking back over the first few years, I feel like I succumbed to chirpy marketing-speak a lot. Since I moved back here, my relationship to Cleveland has matured. I didn’t feel like it was the right venue for my voice anymore. Plus, I didn’t want to pigeonhole myself as someone who just talked about Cleveland, especially since I might need to move away again someday.

Do you still have a Cleveland accent?

It’s funny you should ask. Someone just asked me the other day whether my sister, who has lived in England for seven years, had lost her accent. My answer was, “she sounds funny, except when she gets mad. Then she sounds pretty Cleveland.” So ditto for me, I guess.

What is that a picture of on your masthead?

That is a picture of Boldt Castle, in the Thousand Islands region of New York. A Gilded Age millionaire started building it for his wife, who promptly died. So he left it unfinished, decaying on a private island that he never visited again. That’s just the sort of thing that captures my imagination.