Skip to main content

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias.

Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between.

I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not.

My father—bless his analog heart—was our household’s search engine. You wanted to know something? You didn’t "Google it." You "Go-Ask-Dad-It." And then Dad would launch into his signature move: rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then walking over to the encyclopedias like he was Gandalf consulting the archives of Minas Tirith.

“Ah yes,” he’d say, pulling down the appropriate volume. “Let’s look under ‘C’ for comet,” or whatever I had asked about, probably prompted by a cartoon or a weird-shaped cloud.

And then, like magic, the pages would turn. Cross-references would be consulted. We might even pull out a second volume if the first one said, “See also: Gravity.” Ooh, it was a multi-volume kind of night.

I still remember how exciting it felt. The hunt! The discovery! The slight paper cuts! Research was an adventure, not a five-second scroll down Wikipedia followed by a 90-second TikTok spiral. (Though let’s be honest, I can fall down a TikTok spiral with the best of them. But that’s another blog post.)

The encyclopedia taught me more than facts. It taught me patience, curiosity, and the thrill of knowledge that didn’t blink at you with cookie permissions and 17 pop-up ads. And Dad taught me how to chase answers—to flip pages, follow trails, and enjoy the journey.

So now, as a writer, when I go down a research rabbit hole (and I do—like, “did they have deodorant in 1863?” or “how long does it take to poison someone with nutmeg?”), I sometimes channel that younger me. The kid sitting cross-legged on the carpet, flipping through Bertelsmann’s finest, pencil in hand, asking Dad:

“Can we look up ghosts next?”

And of course, he’d say yes.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Art of a Well-Timed Swear

There comes a moment in life when frustration bubbles over, and the only logical response is… well, a good, solid, soul-cleansing swear word. I’m not talking about casual, everyday muttering under your breath. No, I mean that moment when nothing else will do. The kind of moment where dropping your toast butter-side down feels like an act of war, where technology conspires against you, or when you stub your toe so hard you briefly see your ancestors. Now, I was raised in a house where we had a rule: Use your words, not you hands. This was my dad’s way of preventing sibling-induced concussions, and frankly, it worked. We weren’t an inherently violent bunch, but three kids in one tiny household meant tempers flared, and so did elbows. The logic was simple—if you had time to yell, maybe you’d have time to think twice before swinging. Or at least give your victim a solid head start. This philosophy stayed with me, though in adulthood, I’ve adapted it to use a well-placed expletive now a...
Post a Comment
Read more