Small-town girl

Remember this?

Remember how I’m addicted to strange things?  Here’s another one.  I guess I’ve been addicted for a long time, but I didn’t realize it until a few days ago.

I am addicted to fictional small towns.  Yup. You heard me.

Think Star’s Hollow. Guernsey. Avonlea. Yup.

Here we go again.

I love the characters who live there.

I love the scenic-ness of how I imagine these places to be.

I love the way these towns have charm. friendliness.  personality. community unity.

While there’s not a thing evil about any of these places (which may also be partly why I love them…I don’t do the whole evil thing), the problem is that I love them way too much. Like enough that I want to move there.  Kind of a lot.

I love the idea of living somewhere and knowing everyone in the whole town, and them all knowing me. I love the idea of being able to support your neighborhood grocer, bookseller, troubadour, and mechanic without leaving town.

I love the idea of running through lover’s lane to tell my best friend some news or having the mail brought in from town on the train or mail boat.  I love the idea of secret reading societies or writing groups. Or learning to carve or bake or paint from one of your neighbors.

But most of all, I love the scope for imagination that can only be found in small towns.  I love thinking that you can move to a small town and fit right in. I love that more people fall in love in small towns than any other place.

As far as I know, fictional small towns are the greatest thing ever. And I’m moving to one when I grow up.  Who’s with me?

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