Magical FoxTale Book Shoppe
When I’m writing this I’m in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, wondering why I’m not in Woodstock instead. Woodstock is a lovely town. Its mainstreet consists of low, beautiful, old buildings on one side, facing the track on the other side. At some time a railroad town, I imagine. Now, of course, they are mostly known for their bookshop. Okay, I don’t know if that’s true, but it should be.
The bookshop is called FoxTale Book Shoppe, and it is magical. I spent one of the most memorial evening of my life there, and I am already burning to turn them into a book. Theirs is a story that should be written. But since the three owners (Jackie, Karen and Ellen) met during a writing class, I’ll leave it to them to tell it. (Jackie, Karen and Ellen – if you’re reading this: get to work! No pressure, of course).
They started it some ten years ago. “We didn’t think”, says Miss Jackie, one of the owner. “And we were fearless.”
I’m betting they still are.
This is the sort of bookshop where customers are greated by name, where everyone knows each others stories; where people can come for a break and a laugh if life gets too much, where stories are shared. And of course, where the humour is raw. “We’re the unholy trinity”, says Miss Jackie. “You have to be able to laugh.”
Later on, to a customer: “I’m 75, but I can still take you, you know.” To me: “I can do it, because I know she wouldn’t fight back. Since I’m older, you see.”
Customer, to me: “Miss Jackie knows I could never do anything to her.”
Me: “I bet she’s counting on it.”
Not only a magical bookshop, it was also a magical evening: as a surprice, miss Jackie took me to the back office for a few minutes, then out the back door, around the shop and back in again – only to discover all the attendees of the event standing arround the bookshop, reading my book. Since it was Cinco de Mayo, they had also prepared a Swedish-Mexican Fusion, with a Broken Wheel punch.
I need hardly add that I’ll be back.
And naturally, I also bought a book: Scott Wilbanks The Lemoncholy Life of Annie Aster. I can’t wait to read it!


