Shayne Halliday

I’m an author without a bookshelf. This feels like something I should have been asked to sort out before publishing my first book, but apparently there’s no inspection.

Wayne and I travel full-time in our motorhome, Big Bob. We have room for the things we need, although “need” becomes an interesting discussion when you’re trying to find somewhere to put another book.

I’m still trying to get a bookshelf built. Meanwhile, the books are finding their own accommodation, and some of their choices are inconvenient.

There are books under my feet in the passenger seat. I wouldn’t recommend this as a library arrangement, although it does keep my reading material close. Choosing something to read now involves looking down and considering which book I can retrieve without requiring assistance.

Others have taken up residence on the grandkids’ spare bed.

That works quite well until a tall grandchild comes visiting. Then we have to accommodate both a person and a growing collection of literature in a space originally intended for one of them.

The grandchild has a reasonable claim to the bed. The books, however, got there first.

I can hardly tell anyone to stop growing, so the books have to move. Finding somewhere for them is the difficult part, because every available spot in a motorhome usually has something in it already. You move one thing to make room for another, then discover you’ve simply relocated the problem.

People might imagine an author surrounded by bookshelves, with a comfortable chair nearby and perhaps a little lamp for reading.

I have the chair. It came with a seat belt, and the library is underneath it.

There is something quite funny about writing books while wondering where on earth I’m going to put them. You’d think I would have considered the storage implications before choosing this particular retirement activity. Something involving fewer physical objects might have been sensible.

But I like books. I like having them nearby, even when “nearby” means they’re interfering with my feet or waiting to be evicted by a visiting grandchild.

Living in Big Bob means being selective about what we keep. When we sold our house, we sold or gave away most of our things. There’s only so much room, and I understand that perfectly well until I’m holding a book I want to keep.

Then I become remarkably interested in unused corners.

The bookshelf will happen. I’m still working on it, and I look forward to the day I can put the books away without first checking whether anyone needs somewhere to sleep.

Until then, I remain an author with a collection scattered around her motorhome. If you come visiting, you’ll be very welcome. If you’re tall, we may need a little notice to clear the library off your bed.

Where do your books end up when the shelves are full? Please tell me someone else has had to move a stack before accommodating a family member.

Shayne Halliday

Life’s a Mess. Laugh Anyway.