Perhaps today I’ll read a story about a grand adventure. There will be goodies and baddies and baddies becoming goodies. There will be mountains to climb and wars to be fought.

There will be death and decay and failure. Long dusty journeys into foreign lands. White skin turned caramel by the sweat and dust mingling. There will be lots of camels on their last legs who give the hero his last meal. Gypsies and bandits, fire and a fine oasis. The last battle will rage as the hero drags himself through with the last of his strength and lo, he wins, he recovers with sips of water and mop of the brow.

OR a story about love. Sigh. Love in the ‘burbs. Boy next door to girl goes away to war, comes home to meet the girl grown up. She’s sweet, he’s sweaty, dirty and damaged psychologically by what he has witnessed. Her love makes him whole. Ah, sweet.

OR a funny story, with lots of dogs sliding on ice and talking parrots. Oh, you’d have people looking stupid and monkeys in vests smoking pipes. Terrible humour, politically incorrect of course. Mothers with blue eye shadow and crooked wigs and fathers with no social skills or decision making abilities. Children with thick Bulgarian accents trying to sell oxygen to make a buck. It would be outrageous and weird.

OR a story about trauma, sadness and loss. Someone dies, someone grieves, people forget, someone still grieves and finds solace in darkness and dark things. One day there is hope in the form of a new friend who brings light and love back to their life. A story of hope, new days and life after death.

The story is a magical place. It oozes life. The meatier the better as life is meaty.