His legs pumped in protest, mini-sneakers drumming the base of the restaurant booth. His face was red with the effort of sustained screaming. He shoved and slapped at his father with his adorable little hands. He was sitting right next to me. I had murder and a bacon cheeseburger on my mind. In that order.

The kid’s father, though, was the very picture of patience. He was an obvious believer in the progressive parenting philosophy that exchanges corporal punishment for repeating requests—in this case, “Eat your dinner, please”—a thousand times to no effect whatsoever. And then, as a last resort, unleashing the dreaded “time out.”

But this kid had long since sacked and pillaged the time out. He was psychotic. He had superhuman reserves of furious energy. And rather than box the little bastard’s ears and tell him he had two choices, eat or starve, the father continued trying to bring him under control by absorbing one-two combos and murmuring in soothing tones.

What should a normal person do when he bears witness to such a mind-numbing example of parental overindulgence? Roll his eyes and shake his head, most likely. Exchange whispered comments with his companions. At most, maybe ask to be re-seated on the far side of the dining room, away from the offending brat, or else just get up and walk out in a lame protest no one will notice anyhow. Any of these, even the last, would probably be considered a normal reaction.

Going home and writing a book probably would not. Nevertheless, that’s what I did.

There are some story writers to whom I’ve granted Hall of Fame status, that is, their place in my list of favorites is so automatic and assured, I exempt them from any further competition. So Chekhov, Flannery O’Connor, and Raymond Carver aren’t listed below. But you should go read them. All of them.

Here’s a handful of stories that I love, in no particular order. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many of them address the art of writing itself.

1. Alice Munro, “Meneseteung”: This is another author who might well be placed in my Hall of Fame, but I can’t resist including this great story, which explores the act of imagining, as well as the dark side of writing. When Munro’s 19th-century poetess seeks to contain all of creation in a single poem, the result is madness. And although we are reminded at every turn that this is a story, an invention, the effect is heartbreaking.

2. Peter Taylor, “The Old Forest”: Taylor’s detailed evocation of 1937 Memphis might seem quaint to us, until we realize that our own time and place can be analyzed in just such a way, with an eye towards its mores and its written and unwritten codes. Somehow, a single moment in this long, carefully wrought story manages to put all of civilization at risk. Either life will continue as it always has for the narrator and his world, or else the looming chaos (and freedom) of the old forest will prevail.