And I’ll answer, just as honestly, “Yes—about two feet.”
The truth is, I tend to gravitate back to the same beloved bookstores again and again. They feel familiar, comforting, and endlessly inviting. Even so, I return often, revisiting them with fresh eyes, regularly refreshing images and memories as if each visit might reveal something new hiding between the shelves.
I’ll admit it freely: I cannot walk past the window of a bookstore without stopping. I have to peer inside. There is something undeniably magical about stepping into a bookstore—the quiet hum of possibility, the scent of paper and ink, the promise of discovery. The staff is almost always warm and knowledgeable, and the narrow passageways seem designed not just for walking, but for wandering, lingering, and getting delightfully lost.
Here, I pause long enough to read the sign, my hand already searching for the door handle, knowing that beyond it waits shelf after shelf of stories. Please click on each bookstore’s name for a tour and details from my visits. I’ve even included vlogs showcasing some of the images, because certain places deserve to be experienced more than once.
Bookstores are also where kindred spirits gather. They’re wonderful places to meet fellow bookworms, to strike up conversations that begin with “What are you reading?” and to interview authors about the joys, challenges, and quiet pleasures of writing. The Happy Historian Bookshop, pictured above, has since been relocated to Old Gilead Books—proof that bookstores, like stories, sometimes find new homes while keeping the same heart.
Below are just a few of the bookish spaces that I have frequented:
