Thursday, July 19, 2018
After work I went to the local high school and sorted books for the library's annual book fair. I handled poetry, lots of poetry -- including self published works, poetry in Spanish, and a collection of Keats and Shelley. Scholarly books that I'm pretty sure won't sell, like a study of the intersection of law and medicine and a volume that compares/contrasts existentialists. Bodice-ripping romances set against the backdrop of war (the wars change but the cleavage on the cover remained the same).
When bending and carrying began to bother my knees, I switched to stacking empty boxes. After an hour, I went home. I'll go again over the weekend. After all, it's estimated that 100,000 books will make their way to the sale tables.
Every day that I work, I get "paid" with the paperback of my choice for 25¢.* I didn't see anything that called out to me especially at the biography/memoir table, and I didn't even peek at the mystery section. There's time for that between now and July 27.
*The volunteer coordinator told me with a wink that hardcovers are "negotiable."