I was that weird kid who always had her face buried in a book -- walking around the house, in the car, at the park, in the lunchroom. Other children were alright, but I'd rather be reading. (All of the early warning signs of an English major.) My mom used to force me to "go out and play." I would pout about it, then hide a book under my shirt and sprint into the backyard thinking she was a real sucker. Some things never change. The leaning towers of unread books in my house are a sure indication of my addiction, but I've learned to live with it, and I now know I am not alone. (The picture is of me at Mother Goose's grave in Boston.)