In Stephen King’s book On Writing he commands you to leave the book alone, once finished, for at least a month. Give it time to breathe, don’t think about it, lock it away and leave it. It’s hard. I have a mental list of all the changes I need to make to the book, in addition to the regular editing that comes with first drafts. Develop here, cut there, change this, move that. Last night I almost broke the rule, but thankfully I was too tired to commit the crime.

So I’m blogging about it. Like somehow that will help me. If I have to wait a month, that means I can’t start editing until September 18th. Oh. Dear. Lord. That’s so far away.

But I must be strong. I will find other ways to siphon my writing desires.

Help me, Obi Won Ka Blog, you are my only hope.

Up until now I have not discussed the book with anyone, but I’m taking the advice of someone who publishes books, and who may publish mine, that it’s healthy to start distancing myself a little, and talk about a story that’s played out only in my head. The story is my baby, and I’ve been nurturing it and watching it grow and mature over several years. Revealing the plot and teaser summary is much like throwing my child into the deep end of a pool when he only knows the doggy paddle.

The back of the book teaser summary follows:

Jaden Baker

These days it’s frowned upon to be conventional. To nine year old Jaden Baker, the Leave it to Beaver life has its appeal, laugh track included. When he’s adopted by an upper class couple of suburbia, Jaden believes he’s gotten that second chance everyone raves about. It comes with potato salad.

Jaden locks his memories away, protecting them and the secret he hides with them. But the skill that saved his life fumbles out of his control, revealing itself without permission. It’s a power only he has, his protection from a world he’s come to know and distrust. And it’s desired by others.

It all comes down to this: If life is a collection of experiences, and memories the tokens we take with us, why fight for a life of suffering and despair? When freedom means becoming a perpetual outsider, watching everyone as if through a mirror, why not embrace the permanence of death? Aided and encouraged by the enigmatic Seth, Jaden struggles with the purpose of it all, living blindly but still clinging to his semblance of life, searching for a reason to live.

Never Let Me Go is a book by Kazuo Ishiguro about three people who’s whole life purpose is to die to donate their vital organs. It’s narrated by Kathy, who spends most of her adult life remembering her childhood and early adulthood with her close friends Ruth and Tommy.

I knew when I began reading the book that it would end like a Shakespearean tragedy, and even though the story was a sad one, my eyes were dry when I shut the book. I was in awe with how Ishiguro regarded his characters with such depth and realism, full of flaws yet glittering moments of redemption. Ruth was especially real to me, and I think everyone has met someone like her: always putting on the brave face, the bossy one who knows it all, manipulative but kind when it suits her. Kathy, her best friend, tip toes around her friend’s mood, and wants to be accepted by her despite Ruth’s often ruthless attitude. And poor Tommy, stuck in the middle, a heart of gold not wanting to harm anyone.

The book had few characters, and the narration jumped through time, but never left me confused. Kathy tells the story in a stream of conciousness sort of way, one thing reminding her of another and she’d go off with the story. It wasn’t linear, but more accurate to how we recall events. She is not literature’s strongest character, but I liked that. Kathy is a vulnerable woman who doesn’t stand up for herself. In a way she seems defeated by the shortness and purpose of her life.

Of course one of the main themes of the novel was the objectification of people and how our world at large has little regard for the sanctity of life. Humans are cloned and then harvested for their organs. The people, who are more like human crops, are completely removed from the world, living in designated areas, always separate from everyone else. It examined the effects of lonliness and isolation in a unique way.

Never Let Me Go is a rare find. Sometimes melodramatic, but always intriguing, it’s a book I’m happy to have read.

Yesterday I watched Avatar on my parents high definition TV. I had avoided seeing the film in theaters because I had read and was told that it was a very liberal movie, I’d be hit over the head with green propaganda, while the effects were good, the plot would drive me crazy.

Talk about blowing it out of proportion.

I enjoyed the film immensely and regret missing it in 3D on the big screen. I’m sure it was awesome. Since Avatar was popular I’m assume most people are familiar with the plot, which is by no means original. It’s an allegory to American settlement, an outsider infiltrates for nefarious reasons then has a change of heart. It’s been done many times before.

As I watched the movie I had my guard up, knowing James Cameron is left wing (have you seen The Abyss?) and he’d portray humans as the typical ignorant and cliched bad guys.

There is a literary theory which states the story stands apart from its author, that no matter what the writer’s agenda is, the story is singular. It’s a theory I agree with. Take Horton Hears a Who. It parallels the abortion issue to a tee: a person is a person no matter how small. Dr. Seuss may not have been pro-life, his wife certainly is not, but the story can be seen as life-affirming.

James Cameron  intended to make the humans  money-grubbing, environmentally destructive people who think only about themselves. And he manages to achieve that. But he unintentionally put in some great gems and glossed over some ironic points.

There’s a scene in the movie where Jake in his Avatar links up with the Tree of Souls and Tells Eywa to look at Dr. Grace’s memories: that her people (humans) destroyed their Mother and would do the same on Pandora. In the story of Avatar the Mother Eywa is the deity, who connects all life to each other. While Cameron intended this to mean humans destroyed their own planet, I read it as humans destroyed their God, an unfortunate coming truth in our own society. It’s the destruction of God, giving him no meaning, which is wreaking havoc on family life, personal growth, and human meaning. Jake was right to try to prevent that from happening, as the results on Earth, were God was destroyed, led to fundamental corruption.

The Na’vi are also a family-oriented culture. Most people just saw them as “tree-huggers” and dismissed the film as a liberal rag. However, the family unit, respecting of elders, is a traditional idea that is embraced by right-leaning people. It is the left who seek to alter what it means to be family.

Ironically, Jake the human, is hailed as the great Na’vi and leads the people to war. So here you have this story bashing humans, and it’s the human who becomes the best native. I thought that was a little, shall we say, arrogant?

Jake prays for Eywa’s intervention in the war against the imperialists and she pulls through. In the end, nothing is possible without God on your side.

I’d also heard that the American military looked bad in this film. Perhaps they missed part of Jake’s opening narration where he describes the soldiers there as working for the corporation; men and women in the military back home fought for freedom, but the marines here worked for the money. They were mercenaries.

The themes of Avatar are bashing industry, the quest for riches, and destroying nature to mine for fuel. As with a lot of Hollywood elitists, they embrace the green agenda and rail on imperialism and industrial progress. But the irony was lost on Cameron. Avatar’s budget excited $230 million and grossed over two billion dollars. A lot of money was spent to make the film and a lot was generated by it. Somehow I don’t think Cameron, 20th Century Fox, or Lightstorm Entertainment donated the profits of Avatar to American Indians or any other indigenous people of the world. Of course I could be wrong.

And it was industry, the drilling and mining of fuel, that made Avatar possible. Avatar used incredible special effects created by computers sucking power. The Weta studio in New Zealand created the Na’vi affects, so planes were flown all over the world, burning up fuel and polluting the air. The film was shot inside a studio, which meant that at one time some kind of flora and fauna lived where the studio now sits.

Avatar was an extremely entertaining film. While the story was predictable, it was still a fun watch and I would happily see it again.

That’s not to say I didn’t think about it often. I thought about my characters, saw them interacting with each other, wondered how they were and how they would react to a certain situation. I frequently revisited previous written musings, wondering if I could pick up where I left off.

Then last Thursday or Friday I did something else. I started the book in the middle, or in medias res, to give the story a bang of a start. Of course I would love to publish the book one day, but right now I’m just telling the story, and felt starting it with a flash from the middle made more sense. It reaffirmed to me where the story would eventually lead. And ever since then the book has flowed almost effortlessly from my fingers, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Just about everything has taken a back seat to the book, and all I want to do is to write it.

One thing I always knew, but yet didn’t know, was that I cannot control who my characters are. They just are who they are. For years I have thought of my protagonist as a fighter, aggressive and assertive, because that’s who I wanted him to be. I wanted him strong and fighting. But that’s not who is at all. He’s a survivor, certainly, and will do what he needs to to make it to the next day, or to regain control, but he’s not a fighter. In fact he’s a runner. Now that I know who he is fundamentally, I know what he will do and how he formulates his thoughts and carries out his life. That one small fact is everything. Knowing who he is makes the story more real and plausible, which is key when dealing with some subjects that are supernatural.

While in Mass the other day, Deacon Bill talked about love and the movie Love Story. It was then that I was able to summarize my book to myself, always wondering how I would tell people what it was about. Of course it’s about a boy, later a man, but its deeper than that. He’s looking for purpose and cannot find it until he finds love. That pleased me, realizing what my story was about, and what my character needed to feel whole and complete. He will have to suffer and struggle so much, but I feel much better about it knowing that true and complete love awaits him at the end.

When someone loves you, he does whatever it takes. He crosses oceans, slays dragons, fights battles. He seeks to impress, to give his best, protect you from wickedness, hold you close. He longs to hear the sound of your voice, wants to see you all the time, finds courage to have you, and lets nothing get in his way to reach you.

True love is great love. It is not average or mediocre. It is not plain or meek. Love is a sigh and a smile. Love is laughter and tears of inconceivable joy. It is not selfish or lustful. Love is pure.

No one is ever “too busy” for love. No one is ever “too nervous” for love. Love overcomes obstacles, it does not create them. Love is never too complicated or complex. Love takes risks.

Love is easy to see. It does not hide. Love needs no solving, riddling, planning or plotting. Love is simple.

And even though I’m quite ready for love, love has not found me.

The genius of the series finale is its satisfaction while maintaining mystery. Rather than tying up loose ends and having everything explained and fit together, the writers did something different. They closed it off with the finality of death but with a hopefulness and comfort that only an afterlife brings.

Bloggers and Lost fans will no doubt debate what the series meant, or what the parallel time lines were, but I think it’s clear. The people of Lost were broken and in need of different things: purpose, love, challenges. When they crashed onto the island they fought for their lives, and in doing so came together and mended. They found forgiveness and purpose and for many, healing.

The plane never landed in LAX. There was no parallel time line. Early theories about the show were that the island was some kind of ethereal place. Some said it was Hell, others said it was Purgatory or some kind of Limbo. But the island was always real, it was the parallel life that wasn’t. It was where characters went to meet up with each other before crossing over into Heaven.

Kate, Sawyer, Miles, and Claire all lived on, escaping the island and doing who knows what with their lives. When Kate meets up with Jack again in the place between worlds, she tells him she’s waited so long to see him again. Hugo tells Ben he was a good number two, and Ben replies in thanks and that Hugo was a good number one. Both lived on the island, for many years it seems, protecting the light. Ben was not ready to move on, he still had to work things out, which is an idea pretty consistent with Purgatory or Limbo: you don’t move on until your ready. Ben still had to forgive himself.

I found it fitting that “Christian Shephard” gathered the people and lead them on. That they all gathered in a church (the same church where Eloise told them they had to go back to the island, I think) to meet up again, embrace, and move on, was poetic.

Did Lost tie up all the loose ends or explain all the mysteries? No. It didn’t need to. There will be people who demand to know about the significance of Walt or Aaron, but neither is relevant. The island was a mystery, it contained something that people didn’t understand. It makes sense then that the show would still have mysteries of its own.

Charles Widmore, despite being rich and powerful, was just a simple cog in the machine. His purpose, after all his meddling, was simply to bring Desmond back to the Island. Without Desmond, the smoke monster could have never been destroyed and would have been a constant threat. But thanks to Charles, the smoke monster was destroyed.

Lost was about life, and ultimately death. The characters were lost until they all found each other, after fulfilling some kind of purpose, finding meaning and love, reconciling, becoming whole. And then they moved on together.

Life. It’s a tremendous thing. In one moment you can sail so high you wonder if anyone has ever been so happy. And in the next, so distressed you question the meaning of purpose. Everyone has experienced life’s nectar and poison. For one cannot exist without the other.

With thoughtful and sometimes somber music playing in the background, I’m left to ponder. It’s rare that I look back and question. What has been done or said, or what should have happened, is no longer. I’m on the path that has been laid for me, a path I’ve chosen in some respects.

The future is the real mystery, trying to read the tea leaves. What’s to come? The adventure is in not knowing. Only He knows what is in store for me, and as I ask for clarification, I’m left with soft whispers. If my ears weren’t pricked, would I hear?

Sometimes I question, I wonder. Why would God put something I desire in my path, and then tear it away? To make me stronger? Because there’s something better? I’ll know one day, but not today. After waiting for so long, I can hardly stand it.

Sometimes I’m scared to know which it is. The adventure is in not knowing, the mystery is the game. That’s life isn’t it? A game that I’m playing as best I can, but impatient to reach the highlights, hoping that I get there soon, that I hit them all before lights out. Struggling to find my way, with Him to guide me.

Life’s a red rose.

I spent most of Saturday with my best gal pal. We went to Barnes and Noble and drooled over many books. It’s a horrible store, and Em and I get gold stars for not purchasing anything. She really wanted some cookbooks, and I wanted some design books. Constant vigilance! We walked out and all was well.

Then we went back to her house to hang and had pizza, homemade icecream, and played Catan. Beginners luck was with me, the universe’s way of paying me back for the speeding ticket? I would’ve preferred no speeding ticket and losing the game, but God’s plans are mysterious.

On Sunday I drove to the dreaded Bremerton twice, once for Mass, the other for soccer. Happily, I got to play in three games instead of one, so the drive was well worth the effort! I had a lot of fun, even though I did take a ball to the face with such impact it knocked me off my feet. A missed YouTube classic, I’m sure. I also saved a couple of would-be goals against our team.

When I got home, I took Riley out to play. He was happy, as usual, to be out in the grass playing with Mom. We also had a MAJOR scare. Once back in the house, I was just about ready to have some dinner, when Riley started choking. It was so bad his tongue was blue and he couldn’t breathe. I put my hand down his throat and tried to grab whatever, but couldn’t get it. I tried the Heimlich to no avail, then thumped hard on his back. Luckily that did the trick. Whatever it was dislodged and he ingested it. He was exhausted afterwords and slept in my arms. I can’t remember a time when I was so scared and panicked. I love my little boy!

Some real ups and downs to the weekend. I’m actually glad it’s over!

Punctuation is key. Oh sure, commas and colons don’t seem so important in the scheme of things, but you can change the meaning of a sentence by moving the punctuation around. For example:

A panda enters a bar, eats shoots and leaves.
A panda enters a bar, eats, shoots, and leaves.

This, of course, is from the joke that later became the title of a book. It’s funny all the same, how one little mark changes everything.

Another one, which I found a few years ago, is below. Men and women punctuated this sentence differently, changing it’s meaning: A woman without her man is nothing.

The men: A woman without her man, is nothing.
The women: A woman: without her, man is nothing.

And you thought punctuation wasn’t important!