Granted. You are named Poet Laureate of the United States. "But I write good stories, not good poetry," you protest upon being awarded the position. Unfortunately, your protest is broadcasted by live television. The government is embarrassed, creates some trumped-up charges against you, and throws you in prison for life. You are placed in solitary confinement, so you can no longer tell stories to anyone.
You are forgotten and found fifty years later, chanting, "So Goldilocks went upstairs, and there she saw three beds. 'Who will help me make the beds'? she asked. 'Not I', said the first little pig. He bought some straw and began building his house, when along came the fairy godmother. 'Why are you crying'? she asked. 'Because Snow White is dead', answered the first little pig. 'Then rub the magic lamp four times, and you will receive your heart's fondest wish'. 'What's that'? asked the first little pig. 'Jack and the Beanstalk'! said the fairy godmother."
And you go on like that in the asylum you are placed in, which is in Mexico, where you are forced to eat chili peppers and only chili peppers for the rest of your days.