I am a small, persnickety creature, and my purpose in life is stories.
I read stories.
I write stories.
I listen to stories.
I watch stories.
I sing stories.
I rip stories apart.
Stories rip me apart.
If stories did not exist, neither would I.
Stories are a quintessential element of life. They are all around us. They make up everything that we see. Every person has one. In fact every person is a walking, breathing story all of their own. (This of course, is called non-fiction and it is generally very, very boring.)
But fear not! This blog is primarily dedicated to what is called fiction. Fiction supposedly means “stuff that did not really happen,” but anyone who enjoys fiction to any degree knows that this is a lie. If fiction is not real, that means hobbits are not real and I refuse to believe that.
As a being whose sole interest is to consume vast amounts of good stories, I will discuss them in the following forms at varying degrees of consistency:
- Books (because books are the most fundamental story form and the closest to my wee heart)
- Movies (because sometimes we are too lazy to read and movies are an altogether agreeable alternative)
- Theater (because live theater is a unique form of story-telling and this category includes Broadway musicals which are stories told through song, so how could I restrain myself?)
These are my foremost methods for getting stories into my system. I will discuss stories that enrapture me, stories that kill me, stories that leave me bitter and resentful, and stories that make me want to paint my front door yellow.
I may be a sponge, but I am a sponge of refined character and taste.
I am a story sponge.
Welcome, gentle reader, to my obsession.