Long before my bright hair and seat behind the reference desk at this library, I was a hazelnut-haired kid who loved to read and spend time daydreaming.

The tub is still alive and well at my childhood library in North Dakota! Though it has a new paint job since I was a kid.

I did a lot of both at my childhood library, which had an antique claw-foot bathtub in their children’s area. It was empty, of course, except for the piles of pillows. Someone had the ingenious idea to repurpose the tub into a cozy reading nook and I, around five years old, would diligently and meticulously select a stack of books and climb into the tub-nest to pore over them until Mom came to fetch me.

One of the first things I noticed here after the remodel was the reading nook near Youth Services—somewhat reminiscent of a hobbit hole. Not quite the same as an old bathtub, but just as popular with the young visitors to our library. I see kids cozied up inside the reading nook almost every time I pass by, and I often wonder what magical stories they’re reading, what wonderful worlds they’re exploring in their minds, or what make-believe they’re creating.

I wonder what these library kids will grow up to be, and what stories their lives will weave.

When I was a kid reading in the literary tub, I would get lost in the stories I was reading, placing myself in the middle of the adventure. One of my favorites in particular was The Berenstain Bears Blaze a Trail.

The first page of “Patty Beaver and The Storm,” one of the stories I wrote in childhood.

I would read that book over and over, full of anxious excitement, following the bears along in their (mis)adventures. I imagined all the adventures I could take someday, all the places I could explore, and all the things I could do.

And then I discovered I didn’t want to just read about exciting animals and places—I wanted to write about them too.

I would hunch over our big wooden table, pencil in hand, and scrawl out elaborate stories; next, I’d color pictures to accompany them: fuzzy bears and flashy butterflies, smiling suns and blooming blossoms, people of varying sizes and smiles—some round, some tall; I’d draw as much detail as my little mind could conjure (and my pudgy fingers could keep up with). I decided then, I was going to be a writer when I grew up.

Fast forward a few decades, and here I am: a writer, working in the public library. I am surrounded by possible adventures and magical worlds every day, inspired to keep weaving words of my own in many ways. This desk and chair may not be quite the same as an old clawfoot tub, but if it keeps me connected to worlds of words, it’ll do.