When I was a kid, I remember my parents had a giant book of bedtime stories. There were 365 of them in this book and every night, they would read me one. This went on for a few years and I sincerely looked forward to hearing those stories before drifting off to sleep. Often, my dreams were influenced by the story I’d just heard. About five years ago, after publishing my fifth or sixth collection of short stories, it dawned on me that if someone wanted to, they could have created a book of 365 of my stories and done the same thing to their kid. The horror. Imagine a young impressionable child being subjected to these stories night after night for a year. What kind of a sociopath would be created? Does this mean that because you’re older and jaded, you’ll fare any better? I certainly hope not.