Research is the ground upon which all my
books sit. It is hallowed ground. Back when we were living in Key West full
time, I would grab my notepad and a few pens and hop on my conch cruiser, pedal
out of Aronovitz Lane, up to the Green Parrot, turn right, go against the
traffic and head on over to the library on Fleming Street.
It would take me three minutes.
Two, if I hit the green light on Duval
and there was no traffic.
The Key West library was a goldmine, not
just on account of the many references books, maps, encyclopedias and
newspapers, but because of the colorful library denizens. The place was full of
them. And the majority were transients. Those souls who slept rough under your
neighbor’s ‘conch style shotgun’ house or illicitly on a front porch, or even
in a bush.
The homeless in Key West loved to read.
Everything they could get their hands on.
They were voracious readers. Especially one chap called Eddie. I first met
Eddie at the Beach at Fort Zachary. Sitting under a tree reading a tattered
Carl Hiaasen. Eddie had lost half his brain in Vietnam – fortunately he still
had enough left to read. Anyway I digress.
Back to the library – the main attraction
for many was its air conditioning and comfy seating.
They also came to doze, dine (generally
out of a paper bag) or debate.
They would come early and stay late.
There were toilets and a drinking fountain.
The library was a serene venue to
research, write and eavesdrop. There was that one librarian though who talked
loudly enough to get through to the hearing impaired. She gave me an alarmed
look when I asked her to “Go sotto voce.”
The library was my office during the day,
and I managed a modicum of work. The internet did exist but it was a third
wheel. To check on one minor fact you had to look at many different
browsers/portals such as Excite or Alta Vista or Ask Jeeves – each one often
giving a slightly different version.
The Bull was my office during the
evening. I didn’t get much writing done, but the research was on a different
scale: I was able to observe the good, the bad and the creepy. All great for
building future characters: a tattooed bald head hanging over the balcony sipping
a dainty mojito, a mousy pale-faced Mid-Westerner twerking on the stage with
the amused guitar player.
Things have changed. I now have Google. I
spend less time in the library, but about the same amount of time at the Bull.
Of course, for me, the internet can’t replace
good, old-fashioned source experts: when I’m writing about women for example
and I need to write some inspiring dialogue or describe their sense of fashion,
I hit up my wife or a fashionista friend I have in north Wales. Her passion is
shoes – from spikes to platforms. And anything with a designer name.
But I do still miss the Key West library
