Bedtime starts off as a simple affair of feeding, some degree of cuddling or rocking, and maybe a lullabye or two.  I sing like a frog on a hot tin roof, but nobody seemed to mind.  Then baby gives way to toddler and the books and stories begin.  And the negotiations begin.  Generally around the time a child learns to count.  One book, two stories.  No, four books, five stories.  No, one more.  My son, age 2, has learned this much from his sister.  It is the negotiational equivalent of the trump card - the no-can-defend crane kick of parental argument - look up, look cute, say "one more please."  Rinse and repeat.  Books and lullabyes are easy of course, but coming up with two or three different stories a night is hard.  Actually, it's not really hard at all.  It was the first two thousand times, but now, it's not so bad.  All it needed was for me to give up control and just start talking.  Sure, I get shut down a lot ("no, not a porcupine" or "maybe not this story papa") but I'm learning to take it in stride.  I'm not the next Grimm brother and the fairy doesn't need to embark on a Joseph Campbell inspired vision quest (maybe she just wants a lollipop).  I'm only trying to put my kid to sleep after all.  Telling story after story after story to a discriminating little customer with no praise other than a demand for another, different story is actually pretty liberating and, creatively, it's great training.  I wonder, with all the millions spent on books like The Artist's Way and creative writing and poetry seminars, maybe the answer is right there in our childrens' bedrooms.