Introducing Salt & Paper: Tales of a Nantucket Librarian

For years, I’ve worked in public libraries—quietly complex places where democracy meets design, where old stories are shelved beside emerging needs, and where people come not only for information, but for belonging. Libraries are far more than their collections. They are shaped by the people who work in them, the communities they serve, and the tension between tradition and change.

This spring, I began a new project that’s been quietly writing itself in the margins for a long time. Salt & Paper: The Nantucket Librarian is a serialized novel set on an island where fog rolls in, secrets rise from the stacks, and the weight of legacy sits just behind the reference desk. At the center is Ava Greer, the director of the island’s historic library. She’s principled and private, drawn to the work but wary of the politics, just trying to hold it all together while the fault lines around her shift—within the institution, and within herself.

There’s a friend who’s confessed love she can’t fully act on.

A charming staff member who may not be what he seems.

A board more concerned with donor optics than real harm.

And a mystery unfolding quietly, in the shadows of the library’s archives.

The setting is fictional, but rooted in the real-world tensions and beauty of public service, coastal living, and the emotional labor of leadership. If you’ve ever worked in a library, loved one, or been changed by one—you’ll find something here.

Each chapter is posted on Substack, where you can follow along, chat, and be part of the story’s evolution. It’s a space for fiction, but also for reflection—about work, desire, ethics, and the stories that resist being shelved.

You can read or subscribe here:👉 https://libraryannie.substack.com

Thank you for reading—and for believing in the power of stories, especially the ones still unfolding.

Navigating Career Transitions

Transitions are part of life—and part of leadership. Sometimes they’re prompted by personal circumstances: an aging parent who needs more care, or a move that can’t be postponed. Other times, they arise from dynamics within the institution itself. A board may not fully understand how to support and retain strong leadership, and the working relationship runs its course. In harder cases, transitions come in the wake of harassment, bullying, or retaliation.

And then there are the moments when an opportunity is simply too beautiful to pass up. Or when you know, deep down, that you need to step back to take better care of yourself or your loved ones. Whatever the reason, change is part of the professional journey. My hope is that what I’ve learned through these transitions might help other librarians find clarity and confidence as they navigate their own.

Know why you're leaving—and what you're heading toward

Transitions come in many forms, but the most powerful next chapters begin when you understand what you’re seeking: more alignment, more support, more peace, more challenge. Clarifying your “why” helps you move forward with integrity—and keeps you from jumping at something that isn’t quite right.

Do your homework—on the library and the community

Look beyond the job posting. Spend time with the library’s website, strategic plans, financial reports, and—if possible—recent board meeting minutes. Try to get a sense of the place: its values, its pain points, its priorities.

If you can, visit the community in person. Ideally off-season, when the pace is slower and more revealing. In seasonal towns, also pay attention to what happens when the population swells and the library stretches to meet the needs of both visitors and year-round residents. How the institution adapts under pressure can tell you a lot.

Trust the people—and your gut

Meetings with staff are more than interviews—they’re previews of your working life. Pay attention not just to their enthusiasm or qualifications, but to how you feel in conversation with them. Do you feel at ease? Energized? Curious? Or do you feel drained, uneasy, or boxed in? Our internal cues often pick up on dynamics before our minds have sorted them out. Trusting those cues is part of trusting yourself as a leader.

Look for alignment, not just compensation

A competitive salary is important—but it isn’t everything. Salaries often reflect the cost of living more than institutional values. And in library leadership, the real currency is clarity and support.

Make sure you understand your responsibilities. Are you setting policy? Hiring staff? Managing the budget? Ask how you’ll be evaluated, and when. If bonuses or retention incentives are on the table, understand the terms. Surprises aren’t inherently bad—but they shouldn’t be contractual.

Understand the power structure

Know how leadership is structured and who holds influence. In a municipal library, that might be the city council. In a county system, commissioners. In a private or association library, donors and trustees may play significant roles.

Find out how decisions get made—and who’s in the room when they do. A healthy governance culture supports transparency, fairness, and leadership autonomy. If you find opacity or power games, be honest about whether you're willing to navigate that.

Give yourself room to rest, if you can

If the timing allows, consider a pause between roles. Leadership transitions are draining—even when they’re good ones. Taking time to reset your nervous system, reconnect with yourself, or just catch up on rest can make a world of difference. A brief break isn’t a detour. It’s part of the road.

Say yes with both feet

Once you know what matters to you, commit to it. Not blindly, but wholly. When a role excites you and feels like a match for your strengths, your values, and your leadership style—go in with your full self.

Libraries need leaders who are present, energized, and real. That kind of leadership starts with knowing yourself, listening to your instincts, and showing up with clarity and care.

Transitions aren’t always easy—but they can be rich with growth and possibility. Whether you’re stepping toward a new opportunity or stepping back to rest, may you do so with courage, purpose, and a deep sense of your own worth.

Faith When Hope is Lost: Librarianship in a time of uncertainty.

For me, public librarianship has always been an act of faith. Faith in the transformative power of knowledge.Faith in every person’s right to access information freely. Faith that libraries serve the public good—offering sanctuary, curiosity, and possibility in an ever-changing world.

But what happens when that faith is tested? When library workers face threats for upholding the very values that define our profession—access, intellectual freedom, equity? When policies, politics, or public pressure seek to dismantle the principles that make libraries a cornerstone of democracy? In those moments, hope—the belief that our actions will lead to change—can feel out of reach.

Standing Firm When Hope Falters

There are times in life and work when something cannot be undone, fixed, or made right—at least not in the way we hoped. Maybe a book ban passes, despite impassioned advocacy. Maybe a job is lost for speaking truth. Maybe a community turns its back on the very people who have served it faithfully.

In these moments, we may still believe in equity and access—but no longer believe that our efforts will change the outcome. That’s what it means to have faith without hope: to hold fast to the ethics of librarianship even when the path is obscured, even when the result is unknown.

This kind of faith doesn’t require certainty or control. It asks us to live with mystery. To surrender outcomes. To trust that our work matters—even when its impact is invisible, even when the fight feels endless.

Our Core Values Are Not Conditional

The Core Values of Librarianship aren’t just ideals we aspire to. They are the foundation of our work. Access. Equity. Intellectual Freedom. Privacy. Community Empowerment. Sustainability. These are not values of convenience. They are not meant to be upheld only when it is easy, popular, or safe. They are meant to guide us—especially in times of challenge.

To remain grounded in these principles, even when it comes at a cost, is to practice faith. Not a passive faith, but an active one:One that shows up.One that makes space.One that bears witness to the right of every person to learn, to question, to decide for themselves.

Choosing Love Over Fear

In moments of uncertainty, we always have a choice. We can choose fear—protecting ourselves at the expense of our values.Or we can choose love. Love for our communities. Love for the transformative power of books and ideas. Love for the mission that first called us into this work.

Hope may not always be available. We may not always see the outcome of our courage. But we can still choose to believe in the worth of what we do. We can still stand in the truth that libraries matter—not just as symbolic spaces, but as living institutions that uphold the public’s right to think, to grow, to imagine a future shaped by knowledge and inclusion.

And maybe—just maybe—that act of faith is enough to bring hope a little closer.