How Am I Supposed to Breathe With No Air?

I love, love, love literature!  I am constantly devouring more, my thirst never fully satiated, my hunger never fully abated.

I was built for stories.  We all were, actually, but some more than others.   Some of us crave stories like we crave air when we’re under water.  If we go too long without it, we die!  Take away my reading, you essentially take away my air.

I have mentioned before that I crave my stories in written form.  I like the ability to create the characters in conjuction with the author.  I see the world they are creating and experience what they want me to as the reader, but at the same time, I am bringing a portion of myself along for the ride.  When I leave a world I have particularly enjoyed (Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series,  Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, etc), I feel as if a small part of me is left there.  And also that I have assimilated a small part of the fictional world into my day-to-day life.

Even my normal, mundane activities turn into stories in my mind’s eye — complete with dialogue and description.  🙂  It’s inescapable, but if it’s a prison, throw away the key.  I’m not leaving!

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