When I was six years old, my family moved to a house that was very close to a public library. I couldn’t wait to get over to the large, gothic looking building to apply for my new library card. Every time I went to the library, I would check out five books, which was my limit. I was always so excited that I would run home and take the books to my bedroom. Not knowing which book to start reading, I would pick up each book and read the first chapter of the book. Sometimes I would continue taking turns with the books, but other times one book would become so interesting to me that I would have to stick with that one until I was totally finished reading it and then go back to the others. This book ritual continued on during my entire childhood. It didn’t matter what in the world was going on outside my bedroom door, because in my room I was flying high on broomsticks with witches, standing next to Martians exploring Earth, or helping Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys solve mysteries. As an adult, I found that I didn’t want to just read…