I have read 4 books in the past month, and I am still searching for that book. You know the one; you stay up late reading it, fall asleep reading it, put off chores reading it, skip cooking dinner reading it, forget-the-world-around-you exists reading it. You hate to set it down and cannot wait to pick it back up. The book you think about when you are supposed to be thinking about something else. The book that makes you not hear what is being said to you because you are replaying in your head the last thing you read, and imagining what is going to happen next.

I’ve read a lot of those books. Just not recently. The books I’ve read have been good; just not the stand-in-line-before-midnight type of books. I crave a story that makes me laugh out loud, cry, cringe with fear, feel sick with disgust, believe in miracles, or feel like I will never read a book that good again.

For me, those books were written by C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer (yes, those books!), Andrew Greeley, Gregory McGuire, Stephen King, Judy Blume, William Johnstone, V.C. Andrews, James Patterson, and so many others I could fill two pages.

When I was a young girl and teenager I could not read enough Encyclopedia Brown and The Three Investigators books, or The Boxcar Children. I will still randomly go to the library and check out about 10 of these books on that rare occasion when I know it is going to be a quiet, childless weekend.

Sometimes I worry that writing has gone commercial. Do you know what I mean? Someone has a contract, and has to churn out these books, and it turns into cookie-cutter reading that sounds a little like that story you read last year, but a couple things are different so it’s OK.

Where is the creativity? The magic? The unbelievable that is written so you believe it? I need that book.

Have you seen this book I’m looking for?