Libraries, Giveaways, and the Pursuit of Whimsy

Hiya chickadees and chickadoos,

Spring is a strange season for me. In all fairness, I end up thinking this as each new season takes over, whether that’s through a slow creep or by kicking down doors, but Spring is a season of growing pains, and that feels amplified here in Western North Carolina.

As I’ve talked about before, last September my area of Appalachia was rocked by Hurricane Helene. We just had the six month anniversary of the landfall and resulting destruction, but many of the wounds have just started to scar over. Everyday on my short drive to work, I see the piles of debris and destroyed buildings and destroyed forests. I’ve also noticed that patients are finally wanting to talk about what happened. In the weeks and months following Helene, patients would only briefly touch on the tragedy we experienced, and always with a sense of awe and gratitude. The common script was “… but at least I have…”

People would tell me about the businesses they dedicated their lives to destroyed, their homes filled with lifetimes of memories demolished, their cars crushed by trees. Days trapped without support or the ability to get food/water/medications. They would recount their combination of these horrifying losses, but always quickly add, “but at least it was only three trees on my house,” or “at least none of our pets were hurt,” or “at least it was only my work truck that was totaled,” and “at least I still have my life. That’s all that really matters.” And while all of the things are absolutely reasons to be grateful, that doesn’t negate all that was lost, and now, half a year later, patients finally seem to want to talk about those losses and the pain still felt from that. Just like the seasons change, grief does too, and this season seems to be one of opening up and acknowledging what hurts.

This winter served as a constant reminder of just how devastating that storm was, seeing the felled trees and decay everywhere we looked. But as Spring makes her entrance, she’s reminding us that nature carries on—flowers bloom and birds build nests and trees bud all without our help or our say or even our awareness.

I’m sure I’m reflecting/lamenting on all of this because of the book I’m currently reading called Hope in the Dark, which delves in to the concept of hope as a rebellious act in the face of an uncertain future. One quote really stuck out to me. “… [A] disaster is a lot like a revolution when it comes to disruption and improvisation, to new roles and an unnerving or exhilarating sense that now anything is possible.” During the electrical and cellular (and water) black out that immediately followed Helene, I saw some of the most beautiful demonstrations of community that I really believed changed me as a person. Most of us had no electricity, no running water, no way to get news about disaster relief or escape routes or what was even happening. And we came together. We shared food and information and kindness. The biggest hub that I saw this was at the Buncombe County library in downtown Asheville. While the library wasn’t open it was, for some reason, the only building in the area that had functioning wifi. Hundreds of people gathered outside it all day every day, trying to get a signal, find out what’s happening, get in touch with family and friends. When they’d connect, they’d share their devices, offer news, shout out what places had food and what places had water and offer to help get others there and back, and console each other. It was an incredible and tangible moment of compassion and community, and it was thanks to the library.

This week is National Library Week, and I want to take a moment to discuss how imperative they are to the health of communities. Libraries are the nervous system of community care. They are resources that grant you access to computers, news, and books. So many books. Banned and challenged and vilified and adored—the library is a place to find them all. It’s a free, open door to expanding your mind and understanding and comprehension of the world we live in. They are places of resources and fun programming and entertainment and warmth. Libraries matter. And they’re under attack. Funding cuts are harming this invaluable asset and actively undermining a free place to find knowledge, belonging, and care. Libraries are pillars of freedom of thinking and existing and being. We need to protect them like the precious resource they are.

As I’ve done in previous years, I’m hosting a giveaway in honor of National Library Week. To get people engaging with their libraries—a proven tactic in demonstrating their worth and providing tangible data to defend their funding—I’m offering a signed bundle of all my books, including an advance reader copy of Well, Actually. More info on how to participate can be found here. But there are so many incredibly meaningful ways to support our libraries this week, and the American Library Association has a great round up here. Whether you have one minute, five, or a few hours, the organization Unite Against Book Bans has a comprehensive toolkit on what you can do today (and every day) to support our libraries. Book bans are an infringement of freedom dressed up in moral fear mongering, and it’s an incredibly slippery slope on what is deemed acceptable and what’s not. As readers, I believe we have an obligation to stand up and defend the books we love so much.

The Pursuit of Whimsy

If the emotional rambling above didn’t make it incredibly obvious, life feels a little rough and tumble right now. One thing I’ve been doing to amplify brightness in life is searching for and cultivating whimsy. That means I’m going out of my way to do tiny acts of frivolous, fanciful play. I pick every fluffy dandelion I see and make a wish. If a grocery store aisle is empty, I push my cart down it and hop on the back bar like I’m driving a drag car. When I’m running and have a downhill coming up, I blast the part of Defying Gravity where Cynthia Erivo belts, “It’s meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” so I feel like I’m flying. It’s silly things for silly’s sake. There’s something very freeing about doing something pointless just because it makes you smile.

What do you do to add some sparkle to your day? Big, small, I want to know it all!

Upcoming Events

Summer is just around the corner and that means book festival season is almost here! I have a few that I’m so excited to attend, and I hope to see you there!

A Meet (& Greet) Cute: Saturday, June 21, 2025 | Knoxville, TN

Romantically Yours Convention: August 22-23 | Orlando, FL

Romance Con: September 5-6, 2025 | Milwaukee, WI

The [Horrifying] GIF

Here’s this thing:

The End 🤡

I’d like to leave you with one final quotation from Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit: “To hope is to gamble. It’s to be on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk.”

All my love,
Mazey ❤️🧠🦷