adj.librarian

Seth Godin’s post this morning resonated with me.

He explains that when you walk into a business, or visit a website, and everything looks and sounds wrong, then you immediately mistrust the organization.

For example, a few months after I resigned from Unicoi County Public Library as its Director, I returned to use their genealogy collection. I was shocked by the change to the interior. What used to be a gorgeous open space: high ceilings and spacious reading room in a converted train station, was now divided by high shelving, cluttered by random papers, and filled to capacity with a four-sided computer carrell. I doubt it met ADA standards. Despite the fact that it used to be my library, my first thought was that the space was being mismanaged which made me wonder what else was being mismanaged.

Another example Godin uses is the salesperson with a weak or non-existant handshake who is unprepared, scattered, and lacks social skills. You’re wary and doubtful that this person can handle their job. Weak, short, or mincing handshakes put me on alert and cause me to look for other signs of incompetence and weakness.

Misspellings and bad grammar turn me off.  Yet I make those mistakes, too, and don’t catch every problem.

Godin explains that it’s about first impressions and levels of sophistication which he calls cultural wisdom. I’ve written before about how people either don’t know how to conduct themselves, or do know better, yet persist in being rude or socially retarded.

This cultural wisdom bit reminds me a great deal of the apathy of Generation X towards advertising and how marketing to that demographic is tough because we are jaded, skeptical. We catch whiffs of  inauthenticity and tune out.

It’s no secret that library webpages are hideous. No wonder users bypass them. Is [see, here, I left out the, bad writer/editor!] stereotype about librarians being socially inept true? And does that get translated into their approach to webdesign?  Don’t many stereotypes have a kernel of truth from which they’ve grown? And given its origins with the first generation of fusty librarians and staying power, is it true today, too?

There are many reasons that librarians and libraries are discounted, but one may be their lack of sophistication. There are sophisticated libraries out there. I’ve visited a few. But they are not the rule. Godin also points out that what appeals to one person won’t appeal to another.

It’s all rather circular, don’t you see? We are unsophisticated. How do we become sophisticated? Should we bother aiming for sophistication when there are so many different kinds of sophistication? Being all things to all people is impossible.

Here’s a radical idea: Let’s be ourselves, and those who appreciate our unique type of sophistication will find us.

And if they don’t find us, and librarians across the nation become jobless, there’s always Google to work for. Their digitization project needs librarians. There might be some job security in a project that size.

Godin closes with this:

Who’s in charge of cultural norms at your organization? Does someone hire or train or review to make sure you and your people are getting it right? At Vogue magazine, of course, that’s all they do. If they lost it, even for a minute, they’d be toast.

It’s funny that we assume that all sorts of complex but ultimately unimportant elements need experts and committees and review, but the most important element of marketing–demonstrating cultural wisdom–shouldn’t even be discussed.

I wish I wasn’t so hampered by my lack of experience, because I simply don’t know where other libraries are “at.” Surely, the larger libraries, say, the ones who employ a PR person to only do that job–a rarity in libraries– may have a bit of oversight about the cultural norms at their library. And our library webpages were locked down long ago to prevent anyone from erroneously screwing up code or content. It also functions as a means to present a version of our culture norm. It’s unsophisticated, very Web 1.0.

The takeaway: Your sophistication is displayed for everyone to see and your patrons make decisions about you, your organization, and your level of skill in a split second. If it needs tweaking, then so do it.

I had a job that I loved so much that I did it twice within a ten year period; I had other jobs in the meantime. I was as an historical interpreter. It was my first job, ever. That is, other than babysitting gigs, that most teenaged girls cut their teeth on, that don’t really count on your resume. So girls, don’t get suckered into babysitting gigs when adults tell you that it’s good experience for your resume. Babysitting jobs don’t really count unless you’re applying for a job as a Jane Eyre.

Who knew what an historical interpreter was? Not I. A  living history site ran an ad in the paper. I always wanted to work at a museum. I applied. After being hired my heart sank into my Keds and bits oozed out through the shoe lace holes when I realized that historical interpreter is a fancy word for your guide.

Me, shy, retiring, introverted me, leading tours and talking to strangers?

Only, I’d be doing it first-person, which is a rarity at historic sites.  I took on the identity of an indentured servant called Rebecca. It was a bit like acting. I developed a persona and hid behind her. Later, I moved up in the world and decided I’d be the matriarch’s granddaughter, Susannah, visiting from another part of the region. And then during my second stint there, I was a Catholic woman from Baltimore who somehow landed in that rough and tumble part of the world.

I loved the job because I learned so much from it. The people I worked with were fascinating and similarly interested in learning as much as they could about the period in order to interpret it authentically and share it with others. I didn’t appreciate the job then as much as I do now.

I learned history of the Territorial Capital of the United States in 1791. I learned cultural history, like what books and songs were popular at the turn of THAT century. I learned botanical history such as why they planted so much lamb’s ear–because it’s softer than a corn cob when you reach down for something to wipe with in the outhouse. I learned how to cook in a dutch oven over coals in an open fireplace. And I could have learned more about knitting, spinning, and dyeing. But I didn’t. I was mostly into weaving at that time.

Earlier this morning I showed a colleague from another academic library around our library. It was a welcome diversion from being glued to my pc. I showed her the library’s features and told her about our services. She shared how they did things at her library. There are a few things that I’d improve upon for next time. It’s been ages since I’ve given library tours, and I should have prepared rather than doing it on the fly–though sometimes I think we’re at our best when we’re on the fly.

My tips for better library tours:

• Know your history. Begin at the beginning. This library building opened in 1999. This also means knowing a bit about areas named for former Directors, Deans, Endowers. I knew most of this. I didn’t fumble. But it’s helpful to create a narrative flow while you’re walking people through the building. Like mentioning the wifi plaza outside the library named for a former library Dean. Or that the library is named after the university’s first president. And that your special collections or endowments are named for certain people and the money is earmarked for specific materials.

• Know your architecture. Every building has its quirks, it’s architectural elements. Even if it’s what someone called “abortion buildings”–meaning that they were so ugly and dull that you wished you were never born–those disgusting things built in the 1970s that we’re all still aesthetically traumatized by on a daily basis. You can say “Hey it’s not in the Federal style, but it does reflect the psychosis of the 1970s.” Mention the clerestory, since it’s the only unusual bit about your space. Or that the construction materials are made from sustainable and/or recycled woods. Likewise, point out other green efforts like reduced printing and photocopying in the library and the ample recycling bins for empty beverage containers.

• Carry the appropriate tools. My library may not be that unusual, but we have a replica of Tennessee’s longest-serving congressman’s office on the top floor of the library. It’s the perfect way to end a tour. Always point out the Dolly wall. It features framed portraits of Dolly Parton with said congressman. You show them the office, and then you point to the lavatory, open the door, and show them a facsimile of the commode, sink, etc. Except for this time. The door is locked. You don’t have a key. It’s one of those weird locks that needs a regular head screw-driver to open it. Carry your leatherman tool or a swiss army knife with appropriate “library” features. Other things you should carry are your ID and a stack of business cards. Many doors and services at my library open by keycard access. So I didn’t get to take my fine fellow librarian into the late night study area. That was no loss, anyway. The business cards are simply a professional nicety,  an easy way for all parties to follow up. There is some debate about whether business cards are essential today given all the social networking tools we use for promotion. Jessica Santascoy writes that “trees need saving and it’s more efficient to be green. The new business card is adding contacts on smart phones, fb and twitter networks, and blog subscriptions.” I disagree. I consider it a generational divide. People hiring are most likely older, traditional. They expect the paper business card and may be thrilled with your virtual version, but why not impress by supplying both? If dying trees bother you, then first, you ought not become a librarian because there will always be traditional books that cause dwindling forests, and second, there are recycled papers you can choose for your business cards.

• End on a positive note. For general library tours, this means asking the students if they have any questions. Simple. For my one-on-one tour this morning,  I told my new friend that I’d walk her out to her car. Earlier she complained about not being able to find the parking office to get a visitor pass. And then she went into details about how many times she circled the lots looking for someplace to park, illegally. I failed to share those instructions in our email correspondence yesterday. It was poor of me. As we said our goodbyes,  I walked her to her car and told her if she had a ticket, that I’d take care of it. Remember when I mentioned sharing insider information with people? Here’s the scoop about parking on campus if you’re a visitor: If you get a ticket, throw it away. They won’t track you down. They have no way of encumbering you. But if, after running your license tag, they can connect you to staff, faculty, or student who is affiliated with the university, then your ticket is encumbered to your relative or roomate. The other option is to write a letter of appeal to the Parking Appeals committee  (PAC) explaining that you’re a visitor to campus. Visitor violations are excused 100% of the time. I know this because I’m on the PAC. So I could have kept this secret a secret and just let her think that I’m magnanimous enough to eat the expense of her parking ticket. And that may work for some people in certain types of environments. But I gave her the inside scoop because transparency is the new black, right?

If I think of any other tips for touring or interpretation, I’ll surely share them. And, as always, I’d appreciate yours.

Everything seems rather obvious to me anymore. Almost every book or article I read states an obvious conclusion or fact.  So, why restate the obvious? It’s obvious to me. Isn’t it obvious to everyone?

Like Outliers: The story of success. I recently read it. I could have read it sooner, if I bought a copy, but several libraries I have access to own it. I wanted to save money by not buying it. But the danged book was circulating so much, so often, that I had to wait nine long months to read it.

But what did I think after finishing it?

So. Obvious. Success is about working hard, practicing, spending hours building your skills and then applying them. Some people are more advantaged than others. Success comes from who you know and what opportunities you are given.

Ain’t that obvious?

And yet. One of the things I really liked about Outliers is that it demystified success, to an extent. It democratized success. We can all be successful. Just be in the right place at the right time. Work hard. Practice harder. Be open to networking opportunities. One major theme of the book was being born in the right generation: Either the gilded age or the computer age, the 1830s or the 1950s. Guess there’s no recourse for the rest of us who were born at the wrong time.

I forget about riding high in my ivory tower. All my book learning. Maybe it’s not obvious to others.

But it also works another way. Like, the fact that LJ didn’t want my piece on positive psychology in the library because they felt like my ideas were obvious, or not timely enough:

Though well written and thought out, from our experience, at least, many librarians are already putting the bulk of these suggestions to practice.

Hunh. How do you know what many librarians are doing? Is it THAT obvious? Was there a poll?

Yeah, well, my personal experience as a library user decries that my suggestions were not so obvious. Obviously they aren’t being implemented at such a level that stories rear up like crop circles in the night. It’s merely an assumption that libraries have adopted and adapted the suggestions for obvious improvement that I offered.

The annoyed librarian wrote:

I don’t see that libraries have changed that much. They seem to offer the same services as always, some familiar ones in new guises, and some new ones that are already popular with masses of people. This is hardly revolutionary.

Maybe that’s what I tried to do. Dress up old services in new guises.

A pig in lipstick.

How is it that you start with a plan and then end up someplace else completely? That’s what happened with this post. My ramblings about what is and is not obvious segued into a rant about my disappointment about not easily getting published by LJ.

Such a baby. Lemme go have a quick cry in a corner or something. Call me the sobbing librarian. I’m not that choked up about it. More like ticked off. Perturbed. Unamused.

Isn’t it obvious?

The demise of the library is a tired refrain. A story cropped up on our state listserv. “A library without the books” spurred… actually, NO response, whatsoever from librarians and others who monitor the list. No community conversation bubbled and threatened to overrun my inbox. It’s likely because in Tennessee, we realize how important libraries and their resources are to the citizenry. Or maybe we’re just disengaged from the profession. Who knows? I’m offering possiblities for the silence.

Maybe, we librarians realize it. It’s like beating a dead horse. Or stating the obvious.

Those in power to better fund libraries don’t realize it. And so, stories such as these, that focus on dramatic weirdness in library services and buildings don’t faze us.  We try to prevent those injustices from happening, but cannot stop the spread of stupidity. It’s rampant.

We’ve hear the death knell of the library for decades. How many times will the boy cry wolf on this one?

While there will always be libraries I wonder, however, if there will always be librarians. Real people serving other people.

What if robots ran the library? Most companies want to replace their workers with robots. Robots are hassle-free. Right? They manage several library collections via robotic retrieval systems. Like at Chicago State University and UNLV.

A former colleague stopped by UNLV to gain a sense of that operation as a side trip on his main adventure in Vegas. That’s dedication. Would a robot divert from the primary objective of rest and relaxation to do a bit of professional development on the side? Nah. Robots don’t need R&R. Or do they? Robots don’t have a choice about professional development. They’re uploaded with updates each time they dock during downtime.

If you read the article about CSU, then you learn that the robots don’t replace librarians, they replace student workers, who cannot shelve books correctly. What if survival hinged on one’s ability to correctly shelve a book. Imagine the world that would be.

By the way, in that CSU example above, librarians physically carry the books that the robotic crane retrieves and hands them to students. Seems like they could get a robot to do that, too. But when the power goes out, whatever happens? The books are irretrievable.

There are robots at Georgia Tech. Students bring them in to tweak their machinations as part of class. Those robots aren’t normally there. They aren’t working for the library.

Libraries and librarians will exist in some form, always. Maybe you can chalk it up to nostalgia or sentimentalism, but there will always be a place for information and its facilitator.

Robotic librarians could be pretty cool. Imagine a Robot/Rosie/Iron Man hybrid serving all, doing it all, in the library. Imagine the productivity.

But then, if robots were ubiquitous, would anyone really want to interact with a robot librarian? I’d probably send my robot personal assistant to the library to pick up books and materials from the robot librarian. There’s some robot-on-robot action.

For instance, there are efforts afoot to robotize reference transactions at my library. We resist. The thinking is this: If most questions asked of librarians are routine such as “how do I find this book?” “where is the bathroom?” “may I borrow the tape?” then why not have a self-serve kiosk where students enter their question and an answer appears on the screen in front of them?

It’s simply this: It’s against the service philosphy of librarians to operate thusly.

If you learned the Maryland Model–and it’s probably called something else by now–then the essential bit of the reference interview is the close. The follow up.

Did this completely answer your question?

Because when I get caught in an infinity loop on a phone tree that never allows me to present my problem to a real human, for a real asnwer, that’s not helpful. I imagine that an information kiosk would burden students/users with the same level of frustration and rage that we’ve all felt while dealing with vile phone trees and and outsourced help desks.

Sure, let the robots answer standardized questions. But I won’t live to see a level a robot that can detect a level of nuance and respond to it as a human would, by asking more questions to arrive at the core problem.

Because I’m really more interested in connecting with other humans on a personal level. Not an impersonal one.

Sheesh. It feels like ages since I’ve written in this space. Last week our students returned to campus and that was rather overwhelming. You can be underwhelmed and overwhelmed, but can you be whelmed?

Earlier this week I learned that you can be gruntled.  It means:

cause to be more favorably inclined; gain the good will of.

We know what disgruntled means, but I’m making it a point to use the word gruntle more often.

Part of the reason for no post last week was that I drafted one called “underpaid librarian.” Decided to let it percolate a smidge more before sharing it with the world. We’re all unhappy about state budget woes in higher education. Best not flame the fires too much.

Ironic that I was invisible in the blogosphere last week and then read about being invisible this week at the personal branding blog about that state of being. It seems like one of those synchronistic nudges from the universe, especially given my low levels of enthusiasm for blogging this week.

Basically Nance Rosen thinks you should join the conversation, too. I mentioned that endeavor a while ago as an antidote to boredom, but her reasoning is that you need to be less fuzzy, more definable, and by blogging or tweeting, you create a presence, ultimately, your brand. And, become more Visible!

Something I read and posted to fb earlier this morning suggests that fb is the smarter choice of the two. Tweeting and Youtubing isn’t healthy for working memory development.

Absence is counterproductive if you hope to have any sort of influence. Create a little value here and there by sharing your brilliance with the world.

Stop hiding your light under a bushel. Let it shine, shine, shine. Let it shine.

There are plusses and minuses to being invisible, to being unmemorable, unremarkable. I know them. I live them. As librarians we’re often forsaken, ignored, discounted. It’s an age-old conundrum related to the status of our feminized profession. Wonder Woman jetted around in her invisible plane because her superpowers didn’t include the ability to fly. That was the old version. Now she can fly, doesn’t need the invisible plane/jet, and so the story changed.

To be invisible or not to be invisible. That’s the question, eh? Make a decision, but make it work for you, not against you.

There are times when being invisible is valuable. There are librarians with massive networks. There are  ones with none. I’m talking about resourceful librarians, not the ones who don’t make their invisibility work for them. Librarians can work within their invisibility to foster relationships, communicate information, and subtly influence  events.

But how?

We, as librarians, process scads of information. Using those bits of data more wisely is key.

Suggestions:

• Connect your student interested in creative artist cultures with the area arts council. Yeah, it’s obvious, to you, maybe. But what about to the student? The more time I spend with students, the more I learn how much ordinary knowledge they simply do not know. They cannot make the same connections that wisdom and experience bring. They don’t know yet, to know it. And they don’t know either, that they don’t know it. Stop taking your wisdom for granted. Stop assuming that the simplest questions asked of you are common knowledge. You have the answers. They don’t.
• Share arcane “insider” knowledge of the library/university/business/community with students. Don your “most genuine librarian” hat so they don’t think you’re blowing smoke into their ear buds. Give them a tip for navigating the sludgy red-tape of some process, any process to help them manage better in your shared environment.
• Influence library/university/business/community policy by working behind the scenes on a committee. Making small changes to your culture will have an affect. Not an impact. This morning whilst listening to NPR I heard reporters and correspondents in three separate stories use IMPACT rather than affect or effect. Can’t they have consistent control over their grammar and usage? I admit, that whether to use effect or affect plagues me on a daily basis. But I never use impact unless I’m talking about side impact airbags and carseat safety. Or maybe if it’s a medical condition, like an impacted wisdom tooth.

Sorry how this devolved into a grammar and usage snit fit. It wasn’t too ugly. It was random, and I’m known for my randomness. Seeing how those random bits erupt day by day is something I look forward to.

Anyway, those are my suggestions for making your invisibility as a librarian work for you, not against you.