I think librarians are born. Some of us are at any rate. I’ll interrupt just about anything to check a fact. And it’s not always (not always) because I need to be right. It’s just a need to know. Even if that elusive bit of information I got up from a delicious dinner to verify will leave my short-term memory midway through dessert. Regardless of the fact that a hundred years from now nobody is going to give a rat’s ass who wrote the screenplay for “Some Like it Hot.”
Even if it means acknowledging that Jack wasn’t just making stuff up*, those little popovers that stick out like tumors on gothic church steeples really are called crockets, a word which not only tickles me for some reason, it takes me straight to Harold and the Purple Crayon, and the need to know what sort of creature got to take home the leftovers from Harold’s picnic that was composed entirely his nine favorite kinds of pie.
They say curiosity is a sign of great intelligence. In my case, not so much. It’s an excuse to excuse myself and go gather the informational equivalent of navel lint. While I was looking up public domain images of crockets and finding a picture of Harold and his crew, I could have written a chapter on my fourth unpublished novel.
*A couple of the young architectural historians on our Florida tour last week told me that’s what they do. All the time. Have standards slipped since Jack was in graduate school?