I enjoy a good story, particularly one that leads me on a circuitous route through nonsensical and illogical happenstances. Recently I have been favoring those purposefully inclined towards happy or satisfactory conclusions. Perhaps it is just me, but momentarily the world seems quite bleak enough without adding additional unpleasant accounts just for the devilment.
Strangely, I find the discovery of pleasantry or positivity in fiction to be quite difficult, even attempted humor tends to arrive with a dark tinge of irony as a cojoined twin. Literature should necessarily reflect reality, otherwise it transforms into but a fairytale, devoid of any intrinsic life lesson or purpose, words shaped for the child and the feeble of mind to drink in unquestioningly, to the detriment of any appreciation of truth or reality. Forcing imagination, delusion, and ignorance to overawe actuality.
So I now purposefully seek out the uplifting, declining the depressing or morbid. Foolish and unrealistic perhaps, but at minimum hopeful, continuing, fulfilling.