I’ve been an avid reader since I was 12, when my mom set me loose in the newly minted young adult section of our favorite Waldenbooks store. Armed with $20 and bored to death waiting for her to finish picking out this week’s batch of “hidden baby” romance novels, I discovered my soon-to-be favorite author L.J. Smith stacked amongst the shelves with R.L. Stine and Judy Bloom. I crouched on a round step stool, opened that first page of DARK ANGEL and dove head-first into a world where ghosts, vampires, shape shifters, and humans mingled and fell in love. To say I was hooked was an understatement. From that day, I spent every single one of our traditional Saturday afternoon book store visits huddled under the bookshelf ladder with my back pressed against some of my closest friends. As the years went by the young adult section grew from one shelf, to an entire case, to half of the children’s section. I returned week after week, always discovering something new or revisiting old favorites. I read so much then and often I look back at the Gwen of 15 years ago with longing. I wish I could go back to…