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Summary
Any good story is made up of more than mere sentences. If all it came down to was words printed on a page somewhere, every story would die sooner or later. In their meat-grinder of a world, paper was a privilege and a death sentence for a story.
Thus, they inscribed the best of their stories into each other instead - so that they could be passed from skin to skin, sign to sign, sigh to sigh. Until the story became more than a story, and became history instead.
As everybody knew, though - history was only written by the idiots that made it. So they would just have to make it long enough to see what their story became.