OBSERVATIONS: Why I Trust Patterns More Than Stories

Stories are easy to tell.

They come with a beginning, a middle, and an ending that makes sense when spoken out loud. They explain things. Smooth rough edges. Give events a shape people can hold onto without discomfort.

Patterns don’t do that.

Patterns don’t announce themselves. They don’t care if they sound reasonable. They don’t adjust for tone or audience. They just repeat — quietly, consistently — whether anyone wants to acknowledge them or not.

When you spend enough time listening to people talk, you start to notice the difference.

Stories change depending on who’s listening. Details get added, softened, sharpened. Emphasis shifts. Certain parts get rehearsed while others disappear altogether. The story adapts.

Patterns don’t.

A pattern shows up in what someone always avoids. In how certain names never come up unless prompted. In the same explanation being offered for different situations. In the way blame travels — never landing in the same place twice, but never landing where it should.

You don’t notice patterns all at once. You notice them in pieces. A comment here. A behavior there. A familiar reaction to a familiar question. None of it alarming on its own. None of it useful as proof.

But together, they start to form a shape.

Stories want to be believed. They invite you in. They sound complete. They give people something to repeat when silence feels awkward.

Patterns don’t ask for belief. They just wait.

They show up whether someone is trying to convince you of something or not. They show up when no one thinks they’re being watched. They show up over time — which is why they’re so easy to dismiss in the moment.

It’s tempting to trust the story. It feels cooperative. It feels polite. It feels like progress.

Patterns feel inconvenient.

They require patience. Attention. The willingness to sit with uncertainty longer than most people are comfortable with. They don’t give you the satisfaction of an immediate conclusion.

They just keep showing you the same thing from different angles.

When I write crime, this is what I’m chasing. Not the clean explanation, but the repetition underneath it. The behaviors that stay consistent even when the story doesn’t. The choices that don’t change even when circumstances do.

That’s where motive lives.

Not in the dramatic moment, but in the small decisions made again and again when no one is forcing a performance. In the habits people don’t realize they’re revealing. In the ways they move through the world when they think the narrative has already been accepted.

Stories end.

Patterns persist.

And once you start noticing them, it’s hard to go back to taking explanations at face value. Not because every story is a lie — but because truth doesn’t usually arrive all at once, fully formed and easy to summarize.

More often, it shows up slowly.

In repetition.

In consistency.

In the things that don’t change — even when everything else does.

That’s why I trust patterns more than stories.

They don’t need to convince you.

They just keep being there.

-Loretta

Villains Welcome.

*If you’re drawn to dark truths and the stories they leave behind, start with The Dollmaker of Point on Amazon.