I used to think I hated drama.
Then I realized… that’s not entirely true.
You see, I grew up watching Mexican soap operas, and while I did enjoy a few, there always came a point when the producers realized the show was successful and decided it needed one thing:
More drama.
Artificial drama.
Unnecessary drama.
The kind that makes characters suddenly forget who they are just to keep the story going for another twenty episodes.
It drove me insane.
(If you can picture me biting down on a hat in frustration while glaring at the television, congratulations. You now understand the emotional state.)
I’m an obsessive reader, and one of the things I value most in stories—whether books, TV shows, or series—is consistency. I want stories to feel intentional. I want character choices to make sense. I want emotional moments to feel earned.
And every time something I love becomes wildly popular, there’s always this fear in the back of my mind:
Will they let the story end naturally… or will they keep stretching it until there’s nothing left but the shell of what made it special?
Enter Harry Potter.
I loved those books. I waited patiently for every release. I’m old enough to remember reading newspaper articles about this young wizard who was taking over the world, and I happily joined the obsession.
I loved the movies too.
But toward the end, something shifted for me. Some of the later films felt less like storytelling and more like an attempt to keep the machine running for as long as possible.
And that always makes me sad.
Because there’s a difference between expanding a world and exhausting it.
(I may or may not have thrown books into corners before and refused to look at them for several days. I never claimed emotional restraint.)
Now, to be fair, I do love intense stories. I love darkness. I love emotional stakes. I love danger and heartbreak and impossible choices.
But I need balance.
Give me humor in the middle of disaster. Give me tenderness between the chaos. Give me characters who can still make me laugh while the world burns around them.
Which brings me to Stranger Things.
Going into Season 5, I was skeptical. How could they possibly top Season 4? Would they start relying on shock value? Would they drag things out just because they could?
(No spoilers, I promise.)
Instead, I spent entire episodes screaming in delight while watching with my husband and daughter. I was ecstatic. Completely overwhelmed in the best possible way.
I loved it.
I really loved it.
Because it felt like the story still respected itself. The emotional beats landed. The humor was still there. The heart was still there.
That was why people fell in love with it in the first place.
And that realization says a lot about the kinds of stories I love, and the kinds of stories I want to write.
I love stories with emotional depth, but I also love warmth. Humor. Human moments. Quiet connection in the middle of danger.
That’s one of the reasons I adore The Dresden Files. Jim Butcher can make me laugh even when everything is catastrophically on fire.
But more than anything, I love stories that know what they are—and know when to stop.
(Except The Dresden Files. I would probably follow Harry Dresden into twenty more books without complaint. Rules apparently do not apply there.)
So now I’m curious:
Do you enjoy high drama that never ends? Or are you like me—someone who loves stories with heart, humor, emotional weight, and endings that feel earned?
If a book, show, or series has ever made you think yes, this is exactly how this story should be told, contact me. I’m always looking for my next obsession.
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