Library appearances and my inner geek

Signing books at a library table fulfills every wish in me

I am the daughter and the granddaughter of librarians. I volunteered in a public library, worked for pay in a college library, and toiled in obscurity in archives as an academic. To say that I love libraries is an understatement.

I love how they feel when you walk in, as if all the ideas are waiting patiently, smiling at you, inviting you in for a chat.

I love how libraries smell, like coming home, like aged trees, like curling up with a book before a fire, like freshly-brewed tea or coffee.

Like hugging a friend.

I love libraries so much, I worked very hard early in my writing career to get my books (and now, audiobooks) into libraries, even against obstacles in the publishing world. So if you're a library user, you're in luck, because I'm going to tell you how you can find my books in your local system before I go into the whole point of this story. <3

To make my audiobooks accessible to more listeners, I distribute them through lending programs like Hoopla (available in libraries in the US and Canada), and libraries can buy my books through a system called Overdrive, with library patrons using the Libby app to read and listen.

Let me explain how this works: Hoopla is a media streaming platform that allows library patrons to borrow audiobooks, ebooks, movies and other forms of digital content on demand. No waiting, no holds - it's like Netflix. Press the button and start reading or listening instantly.

Library card holders from participating libraries (1700+ across the US and Canada, so check your library) get a specific number of borrows per month (typically between 4 and 12).

You can get started with my audiobooks with  Shopping for a Billionaire 1  Or read most of my books in eBook format starting here:  Julia Kent on Hoopla 

Overdrive is different. Library patrons can request that your local library, or regional library, buy my books so you can borrow them. Unlike Hoopla, you can't just pick up whatever you want, when you want. But your librarian can ;).

Look on the Libby app  to see if your library system already has any of my books.

If there are specific books of mine you don't see in libraries, leave a comment on this post and let me know where your library is located, and which book you want them to order. I'll do my best to get it in there.

But this post started as a post about me signing my own books in libraries, so I need to go back to that. If you’ve already navigated away from this page to search Hoopla or Overdrive, bless you. Come back, though.

Last week, I had the pleasure of doing my one and only public appearance in 2023, and it was at the Ashland Public Library in Ashland, MA.

The above picture is from September 2022, and The Boston Globe even covered it! We had perfect weather and everything could be outside. So many readers came for a phenomenal festival with author panels, individual author Q&As, and so much “Fall in New England” fun.

2023 was a bit different:

Left to right: Julia Kent, Kristan Higgins, Janet Stevens, Sandra Kitt (back, behind Loretta), Loretta Chase, Sarah McLean, Caroline Linden, Jamie Beck, Regina Kyle, Nicholas X, Megan Frampton.

First of all, it rained. Poured. So we couldn’t be outside.

It’s also quite obvious that I’m a wee bit different from every other author, and I don’t mean being the only one wearing purple LOL.

A few days before this event, my youngest child had to go to Dana Farber Cancer Institute’s “Jimmy Fund Clinic” for a half-day appointment. We’re still waiting testing results. I’m immunocompromised myself and mask indoors, but the added concern for my 13 year old took it all up a notch.

(On a side note: being in an outpatient clinic for babies and children going through cancer treatments is an incomprehensible combination of grueling optimism and tragic pain, with a heaping dose of intense empathy for parents who are keeping it together and being positive for their kids.)

Anyhow, back to libraries…

Meena Jain is the library director who runs these fabulous events, and I’ve known her since 2017, when she reached out to ask if I would sit on a panel about romance novels for the Massachusetts Library Association annual conference, which happened to be located in the town I was living in at the time (Framingham, Massachusetts).

No idea what we were laughing at, but it must have been hilarious. I’m guessing Caroline and her dry wit played a role…

The panel was Caroline Linden, me in the middle, then Suzanne Brockmann. I felt very, very out of my league! Two powerhouses in romance with me sandwiched in between. The audience was nothing but professional librarians, and we had such a nuanced conversation about the massive popularity of romance among patrons, but the lack of respect for it.

That theme came up at RomCon 2023, too, so it sadly persists as an issue.

BUT LET US MOVE ON FROM ROMANCE STIGMA AND TALK ABOUT ME.

And my love of libraries.

One of my earliest memories of libraries goes all the way back to around age three. I know I had to be three, because my baby brother was there, and we are 2 years, 9 months apart. My poor mother had 3 kids under the age of five, all while my father was a US Air Force officer (20 months of those 5 years spent in Vietnam). He also worked on his master’s degree during my early childhood *and* was a volunteer paramedic and firefighter.

I get the never-endingly busy gene from him.

While my mother was, shall we say, an imperfect parent (man, am I being diplomatic…), she was committed to taking me to the library on a regular basis. Story time was cherished, and we had a routine in my early years of going to the local one, checking out a tote bag full of books, then playing at a playground — in the early 1970s, that meant I played with other kids, not that parents played with us LOL — while she smoked her Lark cigarettes, jiggled my baby brother’s carriage to soothe him, and stared out into space with a mile-long gaze I didn’t really understand until I had two kids of my own, ages newborn and three LOL.

Minus the ciggy and the absentee, commandeering husband who insisted on military-wife conformity.

Again, I digress…

When I was five, I was deemed “old enough” to go with my grandma to her library whenever we visited, three and a half hours from where we were stationed in southern Ohio.

Yeah. Her library. My grandma’s name used to be on a plaque at her library in Fairlawn, Ohio. It used to be called the McDowell branch of the Akron Public Library system, though it’s now the Fairlawn-Bath branch, and the old building was torn down in 2003. I haven’t been there in years, but from the age of five until my early twenties, that place was such a source of joy, acceptance, and validation.

Librarians got me.

When I was five, Grandma had me alphabetizing cards in the card catalog, or patron cards (this was all loooooong before anything was computerized). You got an actual plastic library card with raised lettering, like a credit card, and the library had a metal machine with carbon copy paper. You placed the card in a little frame, the carbon copy paper over it, and pulled a top portion across, then back, to make the copies.

One copy went in the book, one in the files, and we stamped the due date on the ubiquitous yellow library “Due Date” cards in the books.

I helped in the back office. I was paid in cookies from Hough Bakery, which was inside O’neil’s Department Store in the Summit Mall. I can still taste my favorite pink cookies, light and fluffy, with a thin band of chocolate in the middle. Like a Mint Milano, only better!

By the age of nine, I’d read every single book in the children’s and YA section. Yes, every single damn book. It was in my file. I begged and begged and begged to get an adult card (you had to be ten or twelve to get one, if I recall correctly) but alas, I had two choices:

1. Wait.

2. Convince Grandma that if she took books out on her adult card for me, I’d be sooooo much more educated.

Thankfully, she bought that, and I got to read without limits.

Every time I take my kids to a library, borrow books for me, or chat with a librarian about my own books now, I’m transported through a memory portal that stretches back nearly five decades. Time folds like emotional origami, all the books I’ve read instantly there with me, hanging out like old friends who know you so well you can chill with each other without saying a word.

So signing my own books at a table in a beautiful library feels like coming home.

Thank you, librarians. You’ll always have my support, no matter what.

---

My Husband, My Alpha Reader

Clark is my very first reader of every single book I publish. His comments are incisive and excellent at keeping me on track, expanding a storyline, giving a plot richer layers, and he’s my go-to for anything involving sports.

Having him edit my manuscripts really improves the quality of the end result.

But this page takes the cake.

Honey. Honey! Ouch.

And then there’s this:

Generally an optimistic, encouraging alpha reader, his little comments give me flashbacks to my first year of graduate school.

The end result of this set of edits is the book I Will Find You, which releases on June 13.

It’s going to take you on a thrill ride!

---

Gimme more of that untitled One Night Stand book

My last post included the first 2, UNEDITED chapters from my untitled One Night Stand book. So many of you left comments and oh, boy, did I get a TON of emails, all begging for more.

Ask and ye shall receive!

Here’s the next chapter:

Chapter Three

Sarah

No.

No no no.

Mr. Never Mind is here?

Mr. Never Mind is my yoga teacher?

Mr. Never Mind is wearing tight yoga shorts that remind me of last night. My taste buds retrieve the memory of Mr. Never Mind's nicely-outlined, uh...

Tab A.

Slot B begins to throb.

Where's the pregnant chick who normally teaches this crazy six a.m. class? Marley? Mona? Something like that. She was a perfectly fine instructor, and friendly enough that I was just starting to pump her for background information on the studio.

Now I have to start over.

Except... not really.

Because Mr. Never Mind and I already started.

And started.

And started...

How many starts did we have again?

“Hey.” He jumps down off the stage like a parkour expert, lithe and lean, muscles pushing him toward me like he's trained them with military precision. “What're you doing here?”

“Not following you! I swear!” The words come out frantic and I want to eat them back up.

He extends his palms in a gesture of supplication, but it looks more like he wants to feel me up.

“Never accused you of that, Sarah.”

At the mention of my name, I realize I don't know his.

At all.

Calling him Mr. Never Mind isn't going to cut it. Mr. Tab A won't, either. Have to fake it, act like I know who he is, not reveal my sickening error.

Who sleeps with guys they meet in bars and then doesn't remember their name?

This girl.

Apparently, this is who I've become. That third glass of Pinot was the devil.

“Right. Good. Um, this is...”

“Awkward.” He leans in. “I'm the teacher today. Filling in for Maisie. Can't say I'm sad about the coincidence.”

“I'm, uh – I've been coming here for a few weeks. I swear I had no idea you worked here.”

“I don't work here.”

“Huh?”

“I own the place.”

And just like that, I know his name. Not because I remember him telling me last night.

But because I've researched the hell out of this company.

“Casey.” I have to work hard not to make it a question.

“I prefer Case, but yes.” The side eye I'm getting from him makes adrenaline shoot through me. Puzzle pieces click into place, details swarming around me with buzzing intensity in my mind.

The text.

The text from... oh, God.

Case.

“You texted me.”

“Yes.”

“I didn't know who it was,” I confess. “So I blocked you.”

“Which means you didn't get my other text, inviting you out for coffee later today.”

“You want to see me again?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I thought one-night stands were just that. One night. Done. Neat and simple.”

“You didn't tell me that's all you wanted last night, Sarah.” His eyes narrow as he reaches for my wrist. “And I don't think that's all you really want.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because after our third time last night, you said so.”

“THIRD TIME? We had sex three times?”

“Mmmm, technically, if you could that thing you did with your tongue, and the other thing I did with my pinkie finger, we could call it four – ”

I cover his mouth with my hand and look around furiously. Brightly amused dark eyes meet mine. Clean-shaven, he showered somehow in the short time between leaving my apartment and this yoga class, smelling like coconut and cotton. I like the feel of my lips on my palm, but I can't tell him that.

Sounds like post-coital, third-glass-of-wine me told him plenty already.

“Do not talk about our sex life in public, Case,” I hiss at him.

“Mmmph mm ufff umph.”

“What?”

He pries my hand off his mouth, laughing. “I said, so now we have a sex life? That's more than a one-night stand. When do we get to leave toothbrushes in each other’s medicine cabinets?”

“What, exactly, did I say to you last night?”

“Well, after you showed me your Polly Pockets figurine collection in your closet – ”

“I did not!”

“Sarah.” His even look makes my stomach sink.

I did. I really did.

“ – and after you told me how unfair it was that iCarly had the best hair – ”

I groan. I groan because this is, sadly, believable.

“ – then you pulled out your 'secret stash' of chocolate and shared it with me because you could tell I had soulmate potential.”

“Oh, God.”

“You talked a lot about Him, too. Or maybe to Him? Because every time I made you come – ”

He gets the palm over the mouth again.

“Look, Case. Can we just forget last night happened? I'm here on ass – ”

Oh, no. I can't admit I'm here on assignment.

“On ass... what?”

“On ass... duty. Ass duty! I need to get this ass toned.” Smacking my own butt, I catch the eye of a few fellow students, two of whom nod in agreement.

“Your ass is absolutely, positively perfect as is,” he says in a crooning voice that makes Slot B heat up so much it's sending smoke signals to Case. “We can talk more about your ass over coffee later today.”

“You're serious.”

“I am. I like you.”

“What?”

“I said, I like you.”

We're already looking at each other, but the gaze deepens. Direct and no-bullshit, Case means it. He's telling me how he feels about me. There's no subterfuge.

Who does this?

Apparently, Case does.

“I – I like you too.”

“See? That wasn't hard. And you didn't even need that third glass of Pinot Grigio to do it.”

“Hey! How did you know... Oh. Right.”

“I was there. I saw you before you drank it.”

“You were watching me from afar?”

“That's a lovely way to say it. You and your friends came in. I liked you the second I saw you.”

“You did?” I reach up for my messy bun. “Me?”

He strokes my cheekbone with one finger. “Yes. You. Now, I don't know if you've noticed, but we have an audience.”

Looking around, I see what he means. Twenty students are now watching Case's finger on my jawline, and I count four women and two men who look pretty pissed about what they're seeing.

“Ahem.” I step out of his magnetic reach. “I'll go take my position over there.”

“I like when you take positions.”

My glare just makes him laugh.

Slinking to the back of the class, heart racing and Slot B now ready to secede from my body like it's Quebec, I unroll my mat, set my water bottle next to it, and start to stretch.

Ignoring all the curious looks.

“So help me, Moira, if that newbie over there bags Case, I'm going to scream. She can't even touch her toes with a straight leg!” I overhear as I instantly change my pose, the back of my knee rebelling against the flesh touching the plastic mat.

Maybe it doesn't like BPA.

Yeah. That's why I can't stretch all the way.

I have no idea who said that, but if reading faces is any indication, almost a third of the class hates me for seeing Case touch me like that.

Great.

So much for being inconspicuous.

Good investigative reporters fade into the background. They don't get intimately close, in public, to the very person they're investigating.

I've really, really screwed up, haven't I?

And gotten screwed, too. Three times, apparently.

Four, if you count whatever Case described, which sounds like it got the Slot B Seal of Approval.

“Good morning, everyone!” Case says into the mic attaches to his ear. “Welcome to Chakroga123, and our morning hot yoga class. We're at capacity today, with thirty-five determined souls coming here to access the inner divine, improve your physical being, and kick some yoga ass.”

He winks at me.

My ass approves.

And then he leads us in a series of slow stretches, my eyes on him nonstop. Case has a body honed by true dedication, long lines, thick muscles, and core strength beyond belief. You know those guys in videos who do pole dancing, but they can defy gravity? He's like Zac Efron in The Greatest Showman, only stronger.

Bigger.

Hotter.

I feel like a water buffalo in an aerobics class as I mimic his moves, until he's standing on one leg, the other pointed to the sky, his hand holding his ankle.

Tab B is on display and oh, my.

It's like SpaceX ready for launch.

It's getting hot in here.

And not just because the goal temperature is 9X degrees.

“Hey, kid.”

I turn toward the voice to find the old dude – John? – looking wobbly.

“Yeah?”

“Got water I can drink? I left my bottle at home and I'm, uh...” In warrior pose, he crumples, fortunately hitting his mat. Quicker reflexes than I realize I possess kick in, and I get my hand under his head just before it hits the ground.

Pandemonium ensues.

Case looks down, rushes to stage left, and jumps in a grand arc off the edge, like a stuntman in an action-packed thriller, except this is real. John’s fainted, in my hands, and thank goodness Case is holding a small First Aid box. As he gets closer, I see it's an AED, for jump-starting hearts.

Except John is opening his eyes now, gaze coming into focus quickly.

“Damn it,” he mutters. “Anyone have juice? Need juice.”

“Diabetes?” I ask, my brain trawling through memory to find Junata Gordon, a fourth grade classmate, being allowed to eat from our teacher’s secret stash of chocolate as she waited for the school nurse to arrive..

John nods, eyelids fluttering, deep wrinkles sagging over bright blue eyes.

He reminds me of my grandpa back in Scranton.

“Here.” I thrust my bottle at him. “It's coconut water.” Carefully supporting his head, I help him lift up and take a sip.

“Need more sugar,” he mutters.

“Good luck finding that here,” one of the yogaletes mutters.

“We're getting an ambulance,” Case says, crouching down, reaching for John's hand. “You okay?”

“Hand me my bag,” I say firmly to him, Case reacting instantly, sliding my loose yoga mat carrier at me. Hopeful, I find what I'm looking for.

And start opening the peanut butter cup.

Someone in the background snorts derisively.

“Good thing you're not a purist,” Case says to me as John takes the chocolate disc and slowly starts eating.

“Orthorexia is overrated,” I reply loudly, earning a mix of offended huffs and giggles from the crowd.

Downtown Boston at six a.m. is a surprisingly fortunate place to need an ambulance, traffic light, a crew appearing in minutes, the emergency medical team well-equipped.

Someone in a Chakroga123 purple t-shirt appears with a clipboard, shoving it straight at Case. “Incident report. You know how this works.”

“Of course I do, but let me be human first.”

She snorts. “You know how to play that role?”

“Cut it out, Rory.” Case jogs over to the receding medics as Rory gives me a once over.

“Are you the reason for his porny smile this fine, fabulous morning?”

“His what?”

She shakes her head and walks away.

Case returns with ink written on his forearm in a loose, shaky scrawl, and an intense scrutiny of my face. “You okay?”

“Me? I'm fine.”

“You made all the difference in the world. Catching his head before it fell, having that candy bar – ”

“My secret stash of chocolate isn't confined to my apartment.”

He grins, wide and a little forlorn. “That could have been far worse. John's a regular. Been here since I bought the place. Really nice guy. Thank you.”

“I didn't do anything special.”

He seizes my arm, the touch a bit desperate. “You did. You showed an old man great kindness.”

“And you saved Case’s ass from a liability standpoint,” Rory says as she walks by, carrying a stack of yoga blocks.

“That's secondary,” he snaps her way, turning back to me. “Look, let's upgrade that coffee date.”

“We never had a coffee date planned!”

“Fine. Twist my arm, then. It's a dinner date now.”

“I didn't – what are you – ” I sputter.

“Pick you up at seven tonight. I know where you live,” he says with a wink before jogging off, back on stage, clapping his hands to get the crowd calmed down.

So much for being inconspicuous.

I've failed at Investigative Reporting 101.

But as Case resumes warrior pose, gorgeous ass in profile, it hits me:

My one night stand is my yoga teacher. My target for my big journalistic break.

And...

My dinner date for tonight.

I've either done something really, really right, or –

Horribly wrong.

***

Want more of Untitled One Night Stand book? Leave a comment!

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Fun Stuff You Need To Know About

When readers email me, it’s normally about my books, but I’ve gotten a decent amount of reader feedback telling me you love this section of my new newsletter! Well… I’ll keep on going, then. Nothing makes a geek happier than to spread cool info! <3

Abbott Elementary: this has become my absolute favorite show for the last few months. Clark and I wait until there are two new episodes and then we watch together. It has so much heart, and is funny like The Office, but doesn’t make me cringe. I love everything Quinta Brunson has done with this very modern, clever, take-no-prisoners comedy that really cannot be compared to any other show. It’s that original.

Biobot Wastewater COVID Monitoring: so, here’s the cool things about this. Poop doesn’t lie. It doesn’t omit. It’s just in the water and people with science and engineering degrees figured out a way to measure how much COVID is in a community based on testing the sewer water. Good for them! That’s a shitty job, but someone has to do it. As an immunocompromised person protecting my immunocompromised family members, I use Biobot to get an overall picture of COVID rates in a given area and to make decisions about public exposure from there.

TickReport: we live in Lyme disease country, so we’re constantly finding ticks on us and on our dog, Walter. We literally live in the woods (8.5 acres of them…). Our 21 yo got Lyme disease when he was 13 and it has had a profoundly negative impact on his health, so we are vigilant about Lyme. That means if a tick bites any of us, we remove the tick, save it, and send it to TickReport, located at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, campus. You find out IF the tick is carrying any diseases, which can change treatment protocols for tick-borne diseases. FYI if this helps you!

Harvard University Recycling and Surplus Center: if you live near Cambridge, MA, this is a place to get FREE furniture from Harvard! I worked as a faculty assistant at Harvard Law School many, many moons ago (oh, the stories I could tell!), but I don’t think this existed then. EVERYTHING is free!