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.
