I wrote about something today. Hours later, I got a call from someone two time zones away asking me if I’d give them details about a particular thing I’d written but not fully disclosed. When I told them no, they accused me of being a bad journalist. After all, why write about something if I wasn’t willing to back it up? I was polite, and eventually the person thanked me for calling back and hung up. I thought about it for a good while after. I realized I’d told them no for several reasons, but only told them about one: that I hadn’t wanted to be the bearer of bad news, at the expense of advancing things faster than other parties were willing. Another, larger reason that swum up from muddier water later on: good as librarians are and excellent as it can be to emulate their virtues, I’m not one. Granted, I’m not paid to be one. I justify what I write to my editors, but I’m not required to open my notebook to anyone who asks. This is something I need to revisit or figure out how to sit with.
Later on, I drove by the old Merritt Bakery and confirmed what I’d seen a few days earlier about the upcoming auction. Town business, man. Town business.