A Question Asked- What Were My Early Life Stories?

I received a question from a jayopsis.com reader/SoundCloud listener about my early influences. Here is my response- thought I would keep it sharable..... 

Before I could read, my mom was already planting the seeds. I remember the soft cadence of her voice as she read aloud—books, Bible stories, anything she could get her hands on. That was my first classroom: a living room, a worn couch, and a mom with the patience of Job and the voice of an angel. She probably didn’t know it then, but she was shaping a lifelong love of words.

Then came comic books—those colorful, often chaotic gateways into reading for so many of us. I didn’t know I was “learning to read.” I just wanted to know what happened next to Batman, Sgt. Rock, or Spider-Man. I absorbed dialogue bubbles and story arcs, plot twists and punchlines, all while sounding out words like “invulnerable” and “injustice.” They were fun, fast, and full of wonder—and they did more for my reading skills than any phonics workbook.

Alongside the comics were the 'monsters'. I subscribed to Famous Monsters of Filmland, watched grainy clips of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney Jr. on an old 35mm projector, and immersed myself in the old Universal horror universe. These weren’t just scary stories—they were tragic tales. Monsters that bled, grieved, and longed for connection. They taught me empathy in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.

As I got older, I devoured The Hardy Boys, dipped into young adult mysteries, and somewhere along the way I read Frankenstein—the book, not just the movie. That changed everything. Mary Shelley’s tale wasn’t a horror story—it was a lament, a mirror held up to science, society, and the human soul. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. From that point on, I was hooked on real literature.

Those early tastes turned into a full-course meal when I majored in English at the University of Alabama. I discovered the power of Shakespeare’s soliloquies, the sadness of Gatsby’s green light, and the searing honesty of Hemingway’s prose. Eventually, I taught English and literature from 1991 to 2002, hoping to pass on some of that same spark to my students—the way stories can shape how we see the world, how we see each other, and how we see ourselves.

I also have to mention the English Romantics- you can find the first of many posts on them here: 

Post #1 English Romantics- Blake (2022 series)

I eventually moved into school administration, but I’ve never stopped loving story. The monsters, the heroes, the mysteries, the messes—they all taught me to look beneath the surface. To see complexity in people. To look for light in the dark. To believe that stories aren’t just entertainment—they’re soul-forming.

So here's to my mom, to comics and Karloff, to Joe and Frank Hardy, to Victor Frankenstein, and to every page that led me here.