“I have spent an absurd proportion of my life in the library. My mother used to take me and my four siblings to the library every week—religiously. She did everything religiously. Especially religion. At the library we would each pick out four or five books, and mum would inspect them to ensure we hadn’t selected anything scandalous, before letting us check them out.”

“When I think of libraries, a flipbook of memories flashes through my mind. My local – the one I grew up with – is Watsonia Library in the north-east of Melbourne, Australia. It’s a low white building plonked right beside a busy train line and directly underneath two enormous transmission towers. Not exactly a dreamy location, but for many years it was my favourite place in the world.”

“I work as a high school librarian now. I still celebrate Banned Books Week every year, but it’s different, because I actually understand it. ‘Did you notice that most of these bans are for books with Black or LGBTQ+ characters?’ I ask the students. I tell them to remember that these statistics are only a small fraction of the story; I tell them that most book bans are insidious, as they were in my former town.”

“The library, to me, was two magical things at the same time: the safest and coziest place on earth with a thousand adventures snuggled up inside of it.”

“The Haunting of Moscow House is many things. It is about a society on the cusp of momentous change, a persecuted group in history now quite forgotten, a female-centric story of survival and the unbreakable bonds of sisterhood that make this possible, an old house with hundreds of years of past and memory. But at its heart, The Haunting of Moscow House is a ghost story.”

“When I was a child, my happiest memories are of my family’s frequent trips to the library. My mom adored the library with a cheerful, vehement passion that was contagious; going to the library triggered that same Pavlovian response as “Hey kids, we’re going for ice cream”—it was a treat!”

“The library was where I learned to love mysteries. Nancy Drew, to be more specific. I have a core memory of the line of yellow books in the kids’ section of my local public library. I read every single one that the library had. I read so many that I started to guess the endings. It probably doesn’t come as a surprise that the protagonist of my novel becomes a kind of detective herself, though her boyfriend is significantly less upstanding than Nancy’s Ned Nickerson.”

I’m a little teary-eyed as I write this, because libraries have played a huge role in my life. I wouldn’t be the person—or the writer—I am today without them. My debut novel, CROSS THE LINE, wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been exposed to books of all genres, had a safe space to explore my creativity in, and experienced the kindness of librarians.

“I could talk for hours about libraries—why I need them, what they provide, what threats they face—but what I’ve learned is that a librarian is the perfect main character for a novel because librarians know absolutely everything about their patrons and their town.”

To me, libraries have always been the best sort of magic. They’re everything we should strive to be as a community; welcoming, diverse, inclusive, and filled with stories. I’m hopeful you’ll find that same magic in the final installment of the Lovelight series.

Parents and caregivers are eager for research-based support on raising kids and teens in the digital age. There are a lot of gloom and doom books out there that basically tell us that “smartphones have destroyed a generation.” My book, Growing Up in Public: Coming of Age in a Digital World, offers a different perspective.

“Crow Talk wouldn’t have come be without the encouragement I received from librarians and library patrons over the last two years. I’m so grateful to the libraries and all they do to support writers like me.”