Inkspell by Cornelia Funke, The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien, and Til We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. J'adore all of them. They are lovely works of fiction. What I do not understand, though, is how little fiction I actually read. I avoid it, really, and always find myself in the biography section of the library or B&N. This is even weirder considering how much I love to write fiction. It is to me what eating is to my little sister, what painting was to Picasso, what military stratagem was to Napoleon. It is my #1 form of self expression, yet I avoid reading it. Perhaps this is because of the voice in my head that insists reading fiction is a waste of time. I must get too much joy from imagining what isn't to listen to that voice. Here are some fictional things that I've been really wanting to exist this week....

Naturally blue highlights
Unicorns
Literary Osmosis
Garden gnomes that walk and talk
A white Jeep Wrangler that requires absolutely no gas to run, registered in my name
Blue pandas
Reggae style hymns.