It started with a prescription from Doctor Seuss and before I knew it, I needed it every day. I couldn't help it. I didn't realize I had a problem until the day I found my father's New American Collegiate Dictionary and read it cover to cover.
Before I knew it I was waking up with strange books in bed next to me. I prowled libraries and bookstores, looking for my next fix. Eventually it wasn't enough and I started doing the hard stuff... I started... yes, I started writing my own books.
Watch out, America. I'm out there somewhere, in the back alleys and bookstore basements, mainlining words until my mind can't hold any more. I'm reading dictionaries and encyclopedias looking for the next story, the next bigger better word.
Beware parents, Sam I Am is a dealer, pushing more than his suspiciously-tinted eggs and pork products.
They start out free, a gift from someone else, but soon you're buying them, working just to afford them. Doing unspeakable tasks like... like running a bookstore, just to get to your next fix.
Books are dangerous, they lead to thinking and learning and the ever-increasing desire for more. I am a junkie. Stories are my compulsion, an addictive ride on the spines of a dragon of paper and ink.
There will be no interventions and I'm afraid there is no cure.
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Pages to Type is a blog about books, writing and literary culture (with the occasional digression into coffee and the care and feeding of giant robots).