The Book Shop

I can’t even begin to tell you when I first started coming to this bookstore. I love books – all kinds of books, but especially mysteries. Somehow esoteric and meaphysical books seem to find their way to me too. These are worlds that I can easily inhabit, that fold themselves around me and shut out the “real” world. But then, which of these worlds is real, and which is not? A good book, a good cup of coffee, and I can be lost for hours. Or is this where I really find myself, and the lost part is the day to day world? I don’t think that I want to know.

(c) June 2021 Bonnie Cehovet

Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

Doing No Wrong

People never question books – they are part of the background, seen but not seen. I like it that way. No one thinks to question what I am reading, why I am reading it, or how it fits into my life. What for some is entertainment is the foundation of who I am. I can be many people and do many things. Books help me enter other worlds and control mine. People and things appear and disappear, whenever I want them to. I slip between worlds, growing stronger every day. Don’t ever think that you really know me, because you don’t.

(c) April 2020 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission from the author.

The Library

As a child, I used to love to be in my grandparents library. There was a small ladder there, so that I could take books down from the shelves. I would take them over to the window seat to read in the summer, and in the winter I would curl up in the big chair in front of the fireplace, warm and cozy.

As I got older, I did my homework in this room. I even began to write short stories, taking the images out of my mind, and placing them on paper. This was helpful, because once on paper they no longer haunted me. They lived in a world of their own, and left me alone.

I eventually left my grandparents home to live in the city. I still visited often, and spent most of every summer there, but my life was in the city. By this time I was a writer in my own right, making a living from my words. The images that I placed on paper came from my imagination – they were creations of my own inner self. They were powerful, but not frightening.

That was the power that the library gave me – the power to leave those haunting images behind, and walk in worlds that were gentle and supportive. I no longer think of the gun held in my father’s hand as he shot my mother, and then himself. They were self absorbed people, and I never really was a part of their world.

(c) December 2011 Bonnie Cehovet

The Diary

I stood there, with the diary in my hand. One whole year out of my life – one whole year! Each day nicely annotated- this project finished, this project started. Lunch meetings here, dinner meetings there. A few days spent on the California coast, a few up in Canada. Good times with friends, old and new. Networking with new contacts, in a new field. This was the fun stuff – something that I did because I enjoyed it. It was not my field – I really had no business working in it. But my strengths came into play here – my ability to research, my ability to write a good letter.

And so it was, that over the course of the year, I developed a solid presence in this new field – a very small cog in the larger scheme of things, but one that kept things moving smoothly.  A site that was respected became more so – it’s voice heard on an unobtrusive but consistent basis,accurately reflecting the world that it moved in.

The projects undertaken – each of them successful in their own right. Two books published, another on its way. Radio shows, speaking engagements,  book signings – they all became part of life. A very new and different life.  Still, a low profile was maintained. Still, it all seems like a dream.

Is my new house real? Did I actually move back to a city that I had spent seventeen years in? Am I finding what I expected to here? Am I happy here? Okay – define happy! Does lack of unhappiness indicate happiness? Does having work that you lo ve to do make you happy?

If I throw the diary away,does that wipe away the traces of this past year? Am I back at square one, in my old house, in my old life? Does the contract sitting on that table over there vanish too? The one that wants me to write a trilogy? If there is no evidence, was the life still well lived?

There is a lot of pain in that diary, along with the good times. The joy is balanced with the sorrow, the path at times not well lit. Let me place this diary with all of my other diaries. They are my touchstones, my proof that there was a life. Someday someone may want to know that.

Image from the “Tarot Lovers Diary 2011”, Karyn Easton,

(c) February 2011 Bonnie Cehovet