behind the curtain

As you will remember if you’ve seen the movie (or read the book!), the Wizard of Oz is not the great and terrible voice that overwhelms the supplicants who come to the Emerald City. He’s actually just an ordinary man manipulating things behind a curtain.

In the past couple of weeks, I have been doing several things that have gotten me thinking about that curtain and what is behind it. I did a teleconference for the Education Institute in Canada that was basically an expansion of my Internet Librarian presentation on our website, and I did a webinar for Get on the Bus: Join the Online Social Library Community, which is Wyoming’s 5 weeks/learning 2.0/23 things program. There are few experiences eerier than sitting in front of your computer and talking over the telephone to people in other places whom you can’t see. You don’t have any of the normal cues you get from an audience, and you have no way to tell whether they’re following you at all or falling asleep or even there. You are doing education all wrong — with the exception of a question and answer period at the end, there is no interactivity. And yet I think we will see more education done this way, not less, and so it behooves us to figure out how to make it as good as possible.

But I also recently did an in-person training on EBSCO databases for a group of regional librarians. I called it EBSCO Behind the Curtain in part because I was thinking about the machinations of the database and in part because it gave me a good excuse to use an image that has ascended into the public domain. (You can see the results on the handout [.doc].) One of the biggest difficulties libraries face, I think, is that so much of our content isn’t visible. We have about 25,000 volumes here in my little library. You can wander the stacks and pick things up and flip through them, you can look at covers and tables of contents and indexes. You can get a sense of what is there. But for all the information contained in those 25,000 volumes, there is even more stuff that you can’t see — specifically, the contents of all our databases. So this time, I thought I’d start by asking the question I ask fifth graders when I go teach them about doing research: How does stuff get on the internet? Who puts it there? You have to know what there is to find before you can go about finding it.

So we talked about what there is in different places. What’s on the internet? What’s in the catalog? What’s in these mysterious databases? And, perhaps even more importantly, how does the tool that we use to find the stuff work? Many people have a dim idea of how Google works (looks for keywords, checks for popularity), but very few people I’ve asked can tell me what order the results are in when you search the catalog, and even fewer have any idea of how complex databases work. So we talked a bit about indexing and finding and item types and why different databases work differently. And I’m not really sure how enlightening it was, but it has gotten me thinking about how as technology trainers and librarians we can get behind that curtain and how we can show the machinations that take place behind it to the world.

I suppose a lot of the world doesn’t really care about those machinations and doesn’t want to — but they should. And we should encourage them to learn. As more and more of our data leaves the open stacks and hides behind the curtain of the internet, it is incumbent upon us to know what’s back there, and to know how best to work the system (the systems, really) to get it out.

out of habit

When I lived in the Chicago area, I had a friend who was always trying to get me to listen to Democracy Now!. I wanted to listen to it. I really did. It’s a great show, covering things that no one else is, in ways that no one else is covering them. I wanted to listen to it, but I couldn’t, because it wasn’t on any radio station I could get.

“But you can listen to it on the computer!” he said.

I tried. But I couldn’t.

I get my news from the radio. I listen to the news while I make and eat my breakfast and dinner, and while I’m doing the dishes. I tried listening to Democracy Now! on the computer, but it didn’t work, because when I am on the computer, I am doing computer things — responding to email, reading blogs, IMing, poking around, your basic web surfing type stuff. I can’t do those things and absorb a newscast at the same time. It just doesn’t work.

I try to remember this when I think about libraries. It’s all very well for your library to have a blog, but if none of your patrons are in the habit of reading blogs, it is probably not going to be very helpful to them or successful for you as a form of outreach. And for that matter, even if your patrons do read blogs, how many of them do you think will be interested in reading your blog? I can’t imagine, for instance, that I will ever want to follow ProQuest on Twitter, even if they do start updating their account.

The same principle applies inside your library. It may seem obvious to you that things should be done differently — that you should stop doing work on paper and do it on the computer, that an internal wiki will solve all your communication problems, etc. — but if the workflow that you want to employ is not one that your coworkers are used to, it won’t work very well.

I’ve spoken (softly) to other newer librarians on the subject of “what on the earth did librarians do on the reference desk before the internet?” We say this softly, of course, because we worry that our predecessors obviously did have things they did on the reference desk, and because we suspect that they think all we do on the internet is waste time. Clearly, there has been a shift of habit. I can’t imagine being a librarian without a computer: I sit at one all day long. One of my fellow branch managers, however, has a computer on a separate desk from the one where she normally sits. That seems impractical to me at best, and most days more like impossible. But it works for her. Listening to the news on the radio works for me. I try to keep those things in mind.

come work near me!

If you are, or want to be, a teen librarian and want to live in the West, you can be the first-ever teen librarian at the Park County Public Library in Cody, just 30 miles to the north of me! You get to work in a beautiful, newly renovated building with a coffee shop that serves lunch every day; you get to build a program from scratch; and you get to live fifty miles from Yellowstone. What more could you want? You’ll also be working in the same library system as me, although not at the same library.

Anyway, check it out and apply if you are at all interested!

technology advisory

I have a long post about library instruction and teaching fifth graders to use Wikipedia, and I have an extremely long post about ALA, OCLC, and some other library initialisms I can’t recall at the moment, but for now I’d just like to make a quick post to complement Karin Dalziel’s opening salvo and Dorothea’s and Meredith’s subsequent blog posts.

I’ve always thought that if I ever got to write a job ad for a library, or at least for my public library, it would simply say, “Must like books and computers.”

One of the skills I don’t have that I wish I did is that I am not a very fast reader, and I’m kind of a picky reader. That gives me a certain set back in a primary part of my job. The question I get asked more than any other is, “Hey, what’s a good book to read?” I haven’t usually read most of the books on our new books shelf. I’ve read only a sliver of the other 20,000 odd books we have in our collection. I can’t always answer that question with a personal recommendation, but luckily, I have some skills that help me out. I know how to say, “well, what are some other books you’ve liked?” I know how to figure out what kinds of things a particular reader is looking for in a book: fast pacing, say, or serial killers, or books about middle-aged women breaking out of their shells, or books set in historical China, or stories where nobody dies. And I know enough about the books in the library that I can usually match people up with something.

That’s the beauty of knowing a little bit about readers advisory: while nothing is a substitute for actually reading the books, you can get pretty far if you know that that book with the cadeuceus on the cover is probably a medical thriller, and the one with the black and red cover and the bold print is probably more violent than the one with the ball of yarn by the fire, even if they are both shelved in the mystery section.

I’ve always taken a similar approach to technology. It isn’t necessary for me, or for any given librarian, to know how to do a customized installation of MediaWiki or Drupal, or write a program, or provide IM reference service. What we do need to know is that there is technology out there and enough about said technology that we can identify what sort of technology might best fit our needs.

When I was planning our website, I knew that I wanted something a little content-managey to run it, but that it didn’t have to be very complicated. I knew I wanted to be able to teach other people to use the system easily, and I knew I wanted to pick something that was likely to be around and supported in a year or two or five. I knew there were websites that ran on content management systems like Drupal or Joomla, and I knew of at least one site that used a wiki, and I knew there were sites that ran on blogging software like Moveable Type or WordPress. In otherwords, I knew a few of the genres of content management systems, I knew of a few examples of people using them, and I had some dim grasp of what kinds of things they could do. I knew about technology in the same way I know about books: I haven’t read all the books, but I know a little bit about them. I don’t like all the books, but I like books enough to be interested even in those I don’t want to read. I don’t know

My mother, who specializes in geriatric psychiatry, says that when medical students come through their psychiatry rotation, there are two things she wants them to know: 1) Geriatric psychiatry exists. 2) There are people who know more about it than I do.

Knowing stuff exists and knowing how to find out more — and enjoying doing so — are, I would argue, the main things you need. Must like books. And computers.

reading offline, reading online

When Walt Crawford announces a new issue of Cites & Insights, I usually immediately click over to citesandinsights.info to check the table of contents and see what I have to look forward to. If I’m interested in a piece, I’ll click through to the html version and skim through it. If it’s something I’m particularly interested in, I make a note to print out the PDF later. (I’d read the whole thing online, but the html versions are too wide to make for comfortable reading, and the PDFs involve too much scrolling.)

The most recent C&I contains an essay that falls into that print out the PDF category — I’ve skimmed it and look forward to reading it for real when I print it out. It’s called “Writing about Reading,” and it takes a good long look at the National Endowment for the Arts studies of recent years that claim to show there is a Drastic and Dire Crisis in this country because Nobody Reads Anymore.

As you may gather by my use of sarcastic capitalization, I am unimpressed with the arguments the NEA makes on this count. If you’re in any sort of business that deals with books and learning and reading, you’ve probably heard a good deal of talk about how the web has decimated people’s ability to do sustained reading of complex texts. Nicholas Carr — or his headline writers — have gone so far as to wonder if the internet is making us stupid.

I spend a lot of time on the internet, and I don’t think I’m any stupider than I was before.

Actually, in some ways, I think I’m smarter.

I started using the web in 1995, with Netscape. I used to sit in my dorm room and read ICON, the alternative weekly paper in my home town that I later ended up writing for. I also remember quite early on discovering the site Literary Kicks, which is still around but is far more robust than it was then. And I poked around the library website, and most any place else that links or WebCrawler searches could take me.

When I first started moseying around the web, I was baffled. I’d get to a page of text, and I’d start reading the text, and then there’d be a hyperlink — usually in the middle of a sentence! — and I had to figure out what to do. Should I continue reading the rest of the sentence and then go back to the hyperlink? Should I click the hyperlink in the middle of reading the sentence? And then when I got to the page that the link led to, what was I supposed to do? Quite frequently, the page that was linked to would similarly be a text with links and would create similar dilemmas. It was confusing and made for an unsettled and unsatisfying reading experience. I met a guy at the college radio station that year who said he was working on the Great American Hypertext, and I thought, Dear God, please tell me I will never have to read such a thing.

Flash forward about a decade, and I’m sitting at my old job reading my feeds and I come across this post by Steve Lawson, in which he talks about how he expects to be able to link to things when he’s writing:

my natural inclination is to write something like this:

John Blyberg’s ILS Customer Bill of Rights kicked off a lot of discussion regarding what libraries might demand of ILS vendors, especially in terms of enabling individual libraries to create our own services to sit on top of the ILS. The new North Carolina State University library catalog, which uses an Endeca front-end on top of its Sirsi catalog, and Casey Bisson’s WordPress front-end for a III catalog are two examples of experiments in this vein, while the report of the University of California’s Bibliographic Services Task Force, Rethinking How We Provide Bibliographic Services for the University of California (PDF) puts some of the same concerns in the wider context of an enormous state university system.

That seems like the natural way to write things now to me, too. In the last few papers I wrote for library school, I constantly found myself wishing I could just link some text instead of inserting a footnote. The link would take people directly to the thing I was talking about. The footnote could help them get there, but it wasn’t immediate, and how often do you go track down the source mentioned in a footnote? I’ve done it, but it is increasingly a hassle.

When did I go from “OMG how can I possibly take in all the information in this document and all its links?” to “that is totally the way to read — and write — everything?”

I’m not sure. But it is clear to me that when we talk about the web taking away the ability to do sustained reading of complex texts (and I think the jury’s still out on that one), we neglect to consider the skills that the web has led us to develop. It is useful — and becoming essential — to be able to read a hyperlinked text, to be able to bounce around from screen to screen, to skim a document and find out if it’s something you need to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest or something you just need to get the gist of.

Ezra Pound liked to say that it was not actually necessary to read an entire work in order to understand it and learn from it. I often like to think of Pound on the internet, and how right he is. I don’t mean to dismiss close reading or slow reading: I still think both are still important and have a place. But we live in a world in which so much text is produced on an hourly basis that you simply could not take it all in. You couldn’t even take in, say, all the material that pertained to some interest of yours. You have to figure out how to filter it — how to get what you need, how to find the bits you want to go back to. If bouncing from document to document is a sign of stupidity, then yes, the web has made me stupid. But I wish that the doomsayers would, rather than simply lamenting the skills they believe we have lost, look at the skills we have gained.

i’ll see you on the internet: IL2008

Update: All the stuff from the presentation is really, truly online now. Slides, handouts, links, and more information than you could possibly ever want.

I’m writing this from some vast elevation on the first leg of my flight home from Internet Librarian, where I gave a little talk called How I Made a Website for $16 in Chocolate [not all the stuff is there yet; I’ll update it when next in the land of ftp]. It was a great honor to present in the same session as Sarah Houghton-Jan and to be a part of the fabulous group of speakers Aaron Schmidt put together for a track called Solving Problems. The conference as a whole was good. I particularly enjoyed hearing danah boyd, who synthesized so well so many of the things that we know, or half-know, about community and the internet but haven’t quite been able to articulate ourselves. I learned some great new tricks from Jeff Wisniewski’s Fast & Easy Site Tune-Ups, drooled over SOPAC and VuFind, and, after years of reading about them, finally got to see the Dutch boys.

As with most conferences, however, the best parts of IL this year were the unofficial ones, and about those I have much to say.

I arrived Sunday evening and headed over to the conference center to meet up with Iris, and, while sitting and waiting for her, I looked up to see a tall redhead, and I think “the shock of recognition” would be the best way to explain the look on both our faces. “I think I know you from the internet!” I said to Kate Sheehan. I used that line a lot over the next few days, because I got to meet a whole lot of people that I know from the internet. I’ll forget someone if I try to list them all, but let us just say that the LSW was well-represented (and add a shout-out to my awesome roommate and queen of Capslock Day, Meg). As I think I posted somewhere at some point, I wish the rest of you could all have joined us, although as it was we were having some difficulty getting groups of ten or twelve or fourteen people seated, and any more might have been impossible.

There were all the usual shenanigans you might expect if you are a follower of ITI conferences — beer, karaoke, rickrolling, photographing, name-calling (I’m sorry, Greg, really I am), sea lion watching, and general hanging out. I have been privileged for most of my life to be around smart, talented, creative people, and this group is one of the best. The very last session I attended at LCOW was called Impractical, Unreasonable, Unfeasable, Unfundable Ideas for Your Library, and, as I’ve noted before, despite the utter whackiness of some of the suggestions, some were things that, as Jamie Markus pointed out, we could do or even were already doing. The best parts of IL felt like that: one big, ongoing session, punctuated by sessions and meals and drinks, where it seemed as though the sky was the limit. And the best part of all is that it didn’t end there. We all took our leave of one another with the same parting phrase: “I’ll see you on the internet!” I’m glad there are so many of you out there that I see there every day, too.

report from the road

I’m still in Denver and theoretically headed back to Meeteetse tomorrow, although word has it it’s snowing there, and wyoroad.info is advising no unnecessary for several of the roads I take, so we’ll see.

Yesterday was the hugely successful (I think — people are editing the wiki on a Saturday, which must be a good sign!) Library Camp of the West. There are some photos from the event up already and a few comments in the LCOW FriendFeed room. The event would still be pie in the sky IM conversations between Steve Lawson and me were it not for Joe Kraus at DU, who really got the whole thing going. Many thanks to him, to Steve, to Josh Neff for some great last minute advice, and to everyone who came. I was sorry not to get to spend more time with Matt Hamilton (aka the Brewin’ Librarian) and K.R. Roberto, and I somehow missed meeting Jill entirely, but I hope all these problems can be rectified by making LCOW an annual event.

Last week Kaijsa (also in attendance at LCOW08) and I gave a presentation (twice!) at the Wyoming Library Association conference in Casper. Notes and a handout and a ton of links from the presentation are up online. (And why design your own stylesheet when you can steal one from Jessamyn? That’s what I always say.) It was fascinating and instructive to do the same presentation twice, especially since the audiences in question were quite different in terms of what they knew, what they were interested in, and what, if anything, they had questions about. I’m not entirely sure that standing in front of a bunch of people and showing them stuff on a big screen is the best way for them to learn about technology and its uses, although people did seem to enjoy this IM conversation. I’m thinking about how best to do my presentation on technology for Internet Librarian, and I will let you know what, if anything, I figure out.

the lis.dom fall tour

I am going to a bunch of places in the next four weeks, and only one of them has nothing to do with libraries. I’m not quite sure how this happened, but here’s the round-up of trips (all of them are also on Dopplr):

This Thursday, September 25, I’m taking four planes in order to get from Wyoming to Iowa, where I’ll be attending my best friend Sara’s ordination. The service is in West Burlington, but I’ll be staying in Iowa City for the weekend and returning to Wyoming (again on four planes) Monday, September 29.

I’ll stop long enough to pet the cats and go to work for a day and a half, and then I’m off to Casper from October 1 to 3 for the Wyoming Library Association conference. Kaijsa Calkins and I will be presenting a 2.0 Toolkit for Libraries Large and Small. I wanted to say we were from the biggest library in the state and the smallest, but believe it or not, there are in fact smaller libraries in towns smaller than mine in Wyoming.

Then I come home for the grand opening of the new Cody library on October 4. All the staff got a tour on Monday, and I got to look again on Thursday before the board meeting, and there were already books on the shelves! It is a gorgeous space and is going to be a huge, huge improvement over the extremely old, cramped quarters. The opening ceremonies start at 3, and the ribbon cutting will be at 4. At 4:30, the live auction of the grizzlies will begin, and the library will be open till 8 p.m. for the public to tour. I’ll be hanging out in the subterrannean teen room at the back of the building.

After that, I have a few days to catch my breath, and then it’s off to Denver for Library Camp of the West. I’ll be getting in on October 9 and will probably stay through the weekend.

Then I get another short break and then head out for my final stop, Monterey, California, where I’ll be from October 19 to 23 for Internet Librarian. I’ll be talking about how to make a library website on the cheap by using free software, web 2.0 tools, and the great world wide community of librarians as a support team. If you make it through my presentation, you then get to hear the wonderful Sarah Houghton-Jan, with whom I’m honored to be sharing a session.

If you can pick me out of the crowd of Mac laptop using, messanger bag carrying, Moo card bearing, sort of square glasses wearing people at any of these events, please say hi. I’m looking forward to meeting a whole bunch of LSW people and a whole lot of other people, too. Also, I love coffee and food, so if you want to meet up for either, let me know!

2008 in books, continued

I’ve been plodding away at keeping up with my reading list for the year and was about to put the finishing touches on this post when I inadvertently deleted the whole thing. So, instead of my insightful commentary and mini-reviews, you’re getting a list with a few notes.

My themes for this batch seem to be YA novels with female protagonists, frequently written by Sarah Dessen; books that take place in whole or in part near Swoope, Virginia (The Omnivore’s Dilemma and See You in a Hundred Years); and books about primitive living (See You in a Hundred Years, Wilderness Mother, and The Other). The Divorce Party was the worst book of the lot, although I think a lot of people would find Why I Came West frustrating. If you want that story, read Winter, which is a wonderful book. The other is good chiefly if you, like Bass and like me, feel that your life got derailed at some point by the need to save the world, or some part of it. Bizarrely enough, I didn’t reread any books during this stretch of the year, but I’m seriously considering reading Iodine again as soon as it comes back. It has gotten me ILLing books it mentions, and I am now a devotee of Haven Kimmel’s blog.

Lock and Key by Sarah Dessen
Sweethearts by Sara Zarr
The Work of Wolves by Kent Meyers
You Know Where to Find Me by Rachel Cohn
The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan
The Sorrows of an American by Siri Hustvedt
The Bishop’s Daughter by Honor Moore
Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen by Susan Gregg Gilmore
The Great Man by Kate Christianson
See You in a Hundred Years by Logan Ward
That Summer by Sarah Dessen
Girls Like Us by Sheila Weller
The Divorce Party by Laura Dave
The Other by David Guterson
Wilderness Mother by Deanna Kawatski
Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen
Friday Nights by Joanna Trollope
Cost by Roxana Robinson
Why I Came West by Rick Bass
The Ten-Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer — listened to, not read — have I really only ingested one audio book in the past four months?
December by Elizabeth Hartley Winthrop
The Soloist by Steve Lopez
Iodine by Haven Kimmel

And hey, if you’re really, really interested in what I’ve read, I did a little book meme after the jump.

Continue reading “2008 in books, continued”

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