Story addiction, or how I flunked 8th grade English


Yesterday the Beekeeper and I were headed down to Vegas, he had work and I had errands and it was shaping up to be a busy day. Before the busy could get started, though, there was the three hour drive from here to there. This is secretly the best part. We complain, a lot, about the distance, the time it eats up, oh, and the gas prices are killing us, but really, I get nearly three hours, each way, of uninterrupted, kid-free, almost phone-free, me-and-him time. We have… conversations! :::gasp:::: Not that we don’t talk all the time, but it’s different, you know?

Anyway, yesterday we were driving along and I’d been admiring the spring wildflowers and gazing off into space for several miles when he asked what I was thinking about. “Pivotal moments in my early life as a reader,” I said.

“Seriously?” he said. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Okay. Like what?”

So, I started telling him stories about first readings of books and stories that shaped, changed, or completely re-wired me. The Beekeeper didn’t start reading recreationally until adulthood, so he tends to look at my uber-geek childhood with detached alien-like interest. He suggested that some of my more outrageous book relationships really should be documented. In that spirit, I’m going to tell the world how I utterly failed 8th grade English. Read the rest of this entry »