Addicted to Story

Photo by Dale Anderson

With Apologies and Thanks to Robert Palmer

I might as well admit it, I’m addicted to Story.  I do not remember the first time I heard a story.  I DO remember the first time I read an entire story on my own.  But by then I was maybe six years old and had been “on the narrative” for years.

My parents read to me before I could read myself and told me stories of their childhoods.  I could not get enough.

Story was soothing at the end of a tough day when I couldn’t sleep.  Then it was soothing at the end of ANY day.  Soon I needed story in the middle of the day.  Before long I was reading stories at the breakfast table.

In Third grade I would come home from school and write MY OWN stories.

Thankfully, college and grad school were story-dry years.  Textbooks occupied my reading hours; tests, term papers and thesis projects commanded my writing efforts.  My work life was mathematics and memos.

Eventually, I had two children and Story came back into my life.  I read to them and told them stories of my childhood.  But it didn’t stop there.

I took them to the local public library for more stories and checked out books for myself.  I read late at night after the kids had gone to bed.  In the morning, I read at the breakfast table.

I started writing again.  I don’t want to stop . . . my keyboard is calling me.  I thought I was immune to this stuff but I’m going to have to face it, I’m addicted to Story.