Not all fairytales start in enchanted forests. Some start in regular backyards. Sometimes the magic is woven into the moment, tucked in the tiny space between atoms. Some things are best explained in stories, and not all stories are told by the characters inside of it. I choose to rise, reside, and rest surrounded by stories. Every exciting one I see and sense will be ensnared in a string of sentences and I will call this web of sentence strings: “The Book of Blank Pages.”