Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Chelsea Richardson. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Chelsea , looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. What’s the backstory behind how you came up with the idea for your business?

I didn’t open a bookstore because it was the safest idea. I opened it because I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

For a long time, I was just a reader trying to find my place in a world that kept getting louder, faster, and more transactional. Buying books had started to feel like checking out groceries. Click, ship, done. Efficient, yes. But empty. There was no conversation, no discovery, no moment of holding a book and feeling like it had found you.

But the truth is, this didn’t just come from frustration. It came from something much more personal.

Around the time the idea really started taking shape, my husband had gone through three separate cancer diagnoses and five surgeries. Mortality wasn’t some abstract concept anymore. It was right in front of me. At 40 years old, I was being forced to think about time in a way I never had before, how quickly it moves, how fragile it is, and how little of it we actually control.

At the same time, my life was shifting. I had spent 14 years as a stay at home mom, raising my kids, and then moved into working in the oil and gas industry. And suddenly, I found myself in this in between space. My kids were grown. That chapter, the one I had poured everything into, was complete.

And I had to ask myself, now what?

The answer that kept coming back, quietly but persistently, was the same dream I had carried for years. I had always wanted to own a bookstore.

Growing up, my favorite place in the world was Bollinger’s in Oklahoma City. It had been open for 24 years. It wasn’t just a store. It was an experience. It felt warm, personal, alive. It is also where I attended my very first book signing, “Red Dirt Jessie” by Anna Meyers. That moment stayed with me.

And when Bollinger’s closed in the 90s after a Barnes and Noble opened down the street, it was heartbreaking. Even as a kid, I could feel the loss of something bigger than just a business. It felt like a piece of community disappearing.

That stayed with me.

So years later, when I started noticing how transactional book buying had become, when I saw how few spaces like that still existed, when I felt that pull to do something meaningful with the time I have, it all started to connect.

I kept thinking about what bookstores used to feel like. Not just shelves and inventory, but spaces where people lingered. Where someone remembered your name. Where recommendations weren’t algorithms but actual humans saying, “You have to read this.”

And I realized we didn’t have that here.

Small towns like mine are slowly losing places where people can just exist together without needing a ticket or a reason. We had restaurants, we had shops, but we didn’t have a space centered around stories, curiosity, and connection. That gap started to bother me more than the risk of trying to fill it.

The idea didn’t come all at once. It built slowly. A thought here, a memory there. A sense that time is short, and if I was ever going to do this, it had to be now.

Logically, it didn’t make perfect sense. Bookstores are known for thin margins. Competition is everywhere. I knew exactly what I was walking into. But the logic that mattered to me wasn’t just financial.

People still read. People still crave connection. And if you create something real, something that feels human, people will show up for it.

I wasn’t trying to outcompete big retailers. I was trying to offer something they can’t, a feeling.

A place where you walk in and feel known. Where events matter. Where a recommendation feels personal. Where a kid can fall in love with reading for the first time, and an adult can rediscover it.

What excited me most wasn’t just selling books. It was building something that could matter to people. Something that could become part of their routine, their memories, their lives.

So I opened the doors.

Not because it was guaranteed to work, but because after everything we had been through, I knew one thing for sure.

Waiting for the right time is a risk too.

And this was a dream worth not waiting for.

Chelsea , before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

I’m Chelsea, the owner of A Novel Idea Bookshop in Guthrie, Oklahoma. At my core, I’m a reader who turned something I love into something I could share.

My path here wasn’t traditional. I spent 14 years as a stay at home mom raising my kids, and that was a chapter I took seriously and poured everything into. After that, I worked in the oil and gas industry, which taught me a lot about operations, pressure, and problem solving. But even then, owning a bookstore was always in the back of my mind. It never really left me.

What pushed me to finally act on it was a mix of timing and perspective. My husband went through three cancer diagnoses and five surgeries, and that changes how you look at your life. It made things very clear for me. Time is not something to take for granted. My kids were grown. I had done what I set out to do as a mother. And I realized if I was ever going to build something that felt like mine, it needed to be now.

So I opened the bookshop.

What we do on the surface is simple. We sell books. But what we really offer is something deeper than that. We create a space for connection, discovery, and community. We host author events, book clubs, themed experiences like our Fantasy Book Festival, and everyday moments where someone walks in and finds the exact book they didn’t know they needed.

We also offer things like curated book subscriptions, blind date with a book experiences, and bookish merchandise, but those are just extensions of the bigger idea. Everything we do is centered around making reading feel personal again.

The problem I felt like I was solving is something a lot of people don’t always put into words. Book buying has become very convenient, but also very impersonal. Algorithms recommend what is popular, not what is right for you. There are fewer places where someone can walk in, have a conversation, and feel seen as a reader.

That is where we are different.

We are not trying to compete on price or speed. We are competing on experience. When someone comes into our shop, we want them to feel known. We remember what people like. We make recommendations based on real conversations. We create events that make people feel like they are part of something.

I also believe strongly in supporting authors, especially independent and emerging ones. Many of our events allow authors to keep their profits and connect directly with readers. That matters to me because bookstores should be part of the ecosystem that lifts writers up, not just sells their work.

What I am most proud of is the community that has formed around the shop. People show up for us, and we show up for them. We have created a place where readers feel like they belong, where kids are discovering books for the first time, and where adults are reconnecting with reading in a way that feels meaningful.

I am also proud that we have built something real in a time when it would have been easier not to. Independent bookstores are not the easy path. The margins are tight, the competition is strong, and there are constant challenges. But we are still here, growing, creating, and finding new ways to serve our community.

What I want people to know about me and about A Novel Idea is that everything we do is intentional. This is not just a business. It is something I care deeply about. Every event, every display, every recommendation is done with the goal of making someone feel something.

At the end of the day, I want the shop to be a place where people can slow down, feel inspired, and leave with more than just a purchase.

I want them to leave with a story.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

Resilience, for me, has not looked like quiet strength. It has looked like choosing to stay open, creative, and grounded when it would have been easier to shrink.

When you open a bookstore, especially an independent one in a small community, you expect challenges. What I didn’t fully expect was how loud some of the criticism would be, or how personal it could get.

I have never liked or backed down from a bully, so I knew I wasn’t going to start now.

We have had everything from negative online comments to direct public criticism. At one point, a local business owner spoke out against us because we carry romance books. They labeled what we sell as “pornography.” It could have been something that made us defensive or caused us to pull back.

Instead, we leaned in.

We hosted what we called a “SMUT Sale.” We took the very thing that was meant to shame us and turned it into something joyful and unapologetic. And the response was overwhelming. People showed up by the hundreds. Not just to shop, but to stand with us. It became less about the books themselves and more about people saying, “You don’t get to decide what is valid for others to read.”

That moment shifted something for me. It reminded me that when you are clear about who you are, the right people will meet you there.

The online criticism didn’t stop there. We have been called names, including “Nasty Socialist Cows.” It was meant to insult us, to reduce what we do to something dismissive.

So we made a shirt.

A cow, peacefully reading a banned book, with the words “Nasty Socialist Cow.” What was meant to tear us down became something our community could laugh at, wear proudly, and rally behind. It gave people a way to participate in the conversation without anger, but with humor and solidarity.

Then there was a moment that crossed into something more personal. An online commenter chose to insult not just us, but our customers, calling them “fat cows.” That one could have easily created a different kind of hurt. Our customers are the heart of everything we do.

So we responded the only way that felt true to us.

We threw a cow party.

We invited people to come dressed as cows, to take up space, to be joyful, to be unapologetically themselves. We offered discounts, we made it fun, and once again, people showed up. What could have been a moment of shame turned into a moment of community and celebration.

Those experiences taught me that resilience is not just about enduring something quietly. It is about choosing how you respond. We could have argued, defended, or retreated. Instead, we chose creativity. We chose humor. We chose to stand firm in what we believe a bookstore should be, a place where all readers are welcome.

I am proud of that.

Not because the criticism was easy, but because of how we moved through it. Every time something negative came our way, it clarified who we are. It strengthened the connection with our community. It reminded us that this shop is not just about books. It is about people feeling safe, seen, and supported.

And if resilience means anything to me, it is this.

We are still here. Still open. Still growing. And still refusing to shrink to fit someone else’s idea of what we should be.

Can you talk to us about how you funded your business?

Funding this business was not glamorous. It was very real, very personal, and at times, very uncertain.

I completely self funded this operation.

There was no big investor, no safety net waiting in the background. My husband and I pulled together everything we had. Our savings. Our 401K. We worked extra jobs. We made decisions knowing exactly what we were putting on the line.

We also tried a fundraiser on Indiegogo. We put it out there, hopeful that people would connect with the vision and help us get it off the ground. And while we are still incredibly appreciative of the two people who donated, it wasn’t enough to fund the business.

That moment could have stopped us.

Instead, it clarified things.

If this was going to happen, it was going to happen because we were willing to bet on it ourselves.

There is something different about building a business that way. Every shelf, every book, every fixture has a story behind it. Not just where it came from, but what it took to get it there. There were moments of questioning, moments where the weight of the risk felt very real. But there was also a deep sense of commitment. We weren’t halfway in. We were all in.

The logic behind it wasn’t about guarantees. There weren’t any. It was about belief. We believed in what we were creating. We believed there was a need for it. And we believed that if we didn’t take the chance, we would regret it more than if we tried and failed.

So we made it work.

We stretched what we had. We prioritized what mattered. We figured things out as we went. And step by step, we built something from the ground up.

What I am most proud of is not just that we opened, but how we opened.

This business exists because we were willing to invest in it before anyone else did. Because we were willing to take the risk, do the work, and see it through.

And that foundation still matters today.

It reminds me every day that this shop was built with intention, sacrifice, and belief. And that is something no one can take away.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://anovelideabookshop.org/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anovelideabookshop/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anovelideabookshop/

Image Credits

Jessica Chapman