There are a few great passions in my life, those things that are part of the fiber and fabric of my being. Books are one of those passions. I love books. I always have. I escape to the bookstore or library and am instantly transported to my little piece of Heaven. I find it hard to resist the promise encased in the binding, neatly lined up on the shelves of the county library or bookstore. I can find the treasures in used, independent or national bookstores, even the school book fair or the volumes on a friend's shelves. I am instantly drawn, like a moth to the flame, to the words, it holds adventure, the what next. Books have been my favorite toy and constant companion since I was a little girl, it was my summertime escape from the stifling Midwest heat. I love books.

I love fiction, especially the drama, mystery, and intrigue storyline. I am also determined to read more black authors. The two desires leave me empty at the moment. Why? While I love a good thriller or lawyer drama, I also love a good character study, human dilemma, or even a good memoir. It seems lately,that I am having a harder time finding good black books.

This Christmas break afforded me the great opportunity to just snuggle up against the winter and read, latte in hand, blanket enveloping me, a book to transport me. What made me sad was a recent trip to the library to find a hidden jewel, a book I hadn't read before. I perused the offerings at the library with the helpful little "African-American" sticker on the spine, I am immediately confronted with a cover bordering on soft porn or some variation of the thug life. I am offended, not because the library has helped me find a black author or a book on black life, but because this cover represents something that is not my life. It seemed so stereotypical and sensationalist so I put it back and tried another book. I took down book after book and the covers were all the same. The old adage, "don't judge a book by its cover" came to my mind so my dismay with the cover was married with my dismay of the description on the jacket. This was not going to be a good day.

I sat down in one of those comfortable reading chairs found only at the bookstore and library. A thought came to me, is the publishing industry missing something? Am I missing something? What about the rest of us who don't want to read anything glorifying the already overplayed media stereotypes of black people? I'm not ghetto fabulous, am not over or under sexed, and could

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