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Obviously, I can't leave her alone, because she needs someone to hand the books to her every five minutes when they slide off her lap. But she's so engrossed in her reading that she doesn't care to converse with me. So, I sit on the step-stool she uses to reach the sink, and I plow through the boxes of magazines.

I started the reading issue of the Oprah magazine on Wednesday, when Clara Jane was balancing that entire library on her lap. The timing couldn't be better. I was reading a piece titled "Shelf Awareness", which asked several well-known writers how they manage their book collections.

I'm not a book collector. As much as I love to read, I can't concentrate if I feel like I'm drowning in clutter. More books equals more clutter equals less reading, for me. I rarely even buy books anymore. I stopped because we have access to two excellent library systems. If I'm not dishing out money for books, I can be more free with what I read, more apt to venture into books that go beyond the stuff I know I'll like. But in my book-buying days, I rarely held on to books. I'm a book-lender, and I never expect to see my books again. I don't want to see them again. I like the feeling of setting them free.

The article mentioned that Steve Almond was the only author interviewed who still uses the library. "The important thing is to keep the book in your mind, not on your property." I like that. And even though it cuts into his bottom-line, I hope he doesn't mind that I borrowed Candyfreak and My Life in Heavy Metal from the library when I read them last year.

As a writer, it's probably really bad financial karma for me to either buy all of my books used, or borrow them from the library. Answer me this: in these days of the music and movie industries losing their shit over file-sharing, why is it still not only okay, but accepted for written arts to be borrowed? And not just borrowed, but borrowed from institutions that are taxpayer-funded? Not that I have a problem with this, obviously. It just strikes me as odd.

Anyway, I was reading this article, thinking about my book-keeping habits. And then I looked at my daughter with nine books piled on her tiny lap, and another in her hands. For well over half an hour, she kept her little legs stretched with her feet up to keep them balanced, whining when any of them slid to the floor.

It seems that while my daughter is following in my book lust footsteps, our storage styles are going to be vastly different. She has a new bookcase in her room. A few weeks ago I gathered the piles and piles of her books from around the house and arranged them in the case. I threw some big, comfy pillows on the floor, thinking that she'd love to have her own little reading nook. And she does love it - she loves to sit there and admire the spines of her books, but she won't remove them from the case.

Not only have I created a book-reader, I think I've created a book-hoarder.

Clara Jane begs to go to the library. Not that she has to beg too hard; I take her twice a week at the bare minimum. B. often takes her in the evenings, too. We have two branches we go to so often that most of the librarians know us by name. They also turn a blind eye to our fines and overdue books, and we love them for that. We go to storytime at least once a week. The other trips are just for browsing. She has her routine: she browses the shelves on her eye level and brings books to me one at a time. I'll read the book to her, then she places it on the cart to be reshelved. Repeat. She could do this all day, every day. I can't recall a single instance where Clara Jane asked to leave the library. More often than not, we have to drag her out. Crying is often involved.

She's getting selective about what books she checks out. On Monday, we made a quick stop at the library, only long enough to read four books. When it was time to leave, she pulled one book from the pile we'd read to take home. I didn't have to suggest, ask, or insist. She knew which one she wanted.

For the record, it was "Otto Goes to School" by Todd Parr. Not that this surprised me. When we arrived at the library she told me, "I want to read an Otto book". And who could blame her? The Otto books are great stuff. This one made me cry when we read it at the library a few weeks ago.

Clara Jane's love of books and reading makes me so proud and happy. I may lack a lot of things as a mother. I may let her watch a little too much TV and eat a few too many tortilla chips. I may be a bit too impatient with her, especially as we enter the second hour of Pottyrama. But if I've done anything right, it's that I seem to be doing a good job of raising a reader.

The entire Harper Lee letter should be read by every reader, but there was one part that really struck me:

Now, 75 years later in an abundant society where people have laptops, cellphones, iPods, and minds like empty rooms, I still plod along with books. Instant information is not for me. I prefer to search library stacks because when I work to learn something, I remember it.

Maybe that's the real reason why I've been unmotivated to blog, or even read anyone else's blog this week. It's too easy and therefore not as fulfilling as, say, plodding through 528 pages of The Whole World Over. Right now, I'm craving that fulfillment.

But that doesn't mean that I'm throwing the iPod away. I'll shuffle between chapters and potty breaks.

1. Hello Mr. Heartache - Dixie Chicks
2. Loose Translation - The New Pornographers
3. Linstead Market - Dan Zanes
4. I Got Love if You Want It - Slim Harpo
5. This Love Affair - Rufus Wainwright
6. The Swimmer - Sleater-Kinney (which has shuffled up roughly 26 times this week; must be time for a reset)
7. I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl - Nina Simone
8. Supposed to Be - Jack Johnson
9. It Ain't Supposed to Be - Exene Cervenka & the Original Sinners (For the record, I'd pay good money to see Exene and Jack in a cage match, fighting over whether it's supposed to be or not supposed to be. My money's on Exene smashing a surfboard over his head.)
10. Disco Blackout - ControllerController