The Last Chapter

Gently, she put the book down. The last chapter had come to an end. It was a bittersweet thing, this coming to the end of a book. This one was a different sort of book to be sure, but it was beautiful and happy and sad nonetheless.

She had always enjoyed a good novel. The thicker the book and the longer the story, the more thoroughly she enjoyed it. It was like having a constant companion, a friend that provided great company at any given time – and when the book finished, it was as if this friend suddenly vanished. When she was younger, she only wanted to read stories with happy endings. Once, she was so upset by the tragic ending of a particular book that she hurled it across the room upon finishing and cried. As her tastes had grown more sophisticated, she had begun to realize that comedy and tragedy are equally important in literature. As long as there existed an element of hope and redemption, she was undaunted by even the starkest realism.

All books must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And like all good fiction, this one had followed a proper plot pyramid with an inciting start, rising action and complication, leading to a climax. Then came the necessary falling action, unraveling into resolution, the end.

They say the devil is in the details. And maybe they’re right. Just as real life is lived in the in-between, a good story consists of little beads of detail – individual scenes that make up each chapter. When strung together, these beads form an intricate piece of jewelry. Each individual bead may not be all that attractive or exciting on its own, in fact, most are surprisingly non-descript. But like pearls on a string, they provide the building blocks for a beautiful work of art by advancing the story, introducing conflict, and creating suspense. There were a few astonishing gems in this story, which added sparkle and a focal point, but it was the connection, the intertwining strands of beads, the arrangement that created this amazing effect.

Yet she knew how difficult it was keeping a reader interested through scene after scene, how easy for an author to get stuck in the nitty-gritty of the details. This is where most stories fall apart, where things begin to unravel. There had been some tedious parts in this one too, but she had stuck with the book regardless. And sure enough, it got interesting again. Not in the way she had expected, but this is what intrigued her so much about this story – the unpredictability of it. Nothing could make her lose interest more than a predictable, boilerplate piece of fiction.

The overarching storyline was based around one of the most common themes in literature and was not all that unusual in and of itself. However, there was something about the execution, the character development, the interplay of light and shadow in this one that had held her spellbound, had fascinated and captivated her throughout its entirety.

A great story has great characters. That was no less true of this particular tale. The protagonists had embarked on an adventure, experiencing long stretches of smooth sailing, flights of euphoria and bliss, moments of despair, and even plunges into madness. These were multifaceted, nuanced, well-developed human characters, who through harmony and chaos lived a large slice of life and learned hard-earned lessons.

Even the antagonists were interesting – not at all the shallow, one-dimensional bad guys so often seen in fiction. On the contrary, in this story their internal struggles and conflicts were highlighted with artful skill and finesse, to the point where the reader couldn’t help feeling a certain empathy for them. The myriad supporting characters added to the texture, providing layers of depth and interest.

The last two or three chapters had been full of twists and turns, and the book had ended, frankly, on a bit of a cliffhanger. Would there be a sequel? And if so, could it be possible to create one on par with or maybe even greater than the original?

She had pondered this for a while. But there was a lot of reading to do, she told herself, and no point in sitting idly waiting for a hypothetical follow-up – she was determined to live it up a notch in the meantime. Perhaps with a couple of short stories? She had never been a huge fan of short fiction, however. Somehow it seemed like a rip-off when they ended so soon. She had dabbled briefly in flash fiction, and was tempted to see if she could develop her one completed story into a longer work… but it seemed premature, she didn’t know if there was enough material there. It had shown unexpected potential, yet somehow the plot just seemed doomed if it were to be extended beyond the obligatory 1000 words or less.

She was definitely a feature-length kind of girl… and she had suspicions the book she had just finished could quite possibly be one of the greatest stories she would ever read… and that even though the book had ended, perhaps the story was not yet over. She was eager to find out what other astounding developments this author might have up his sleeve. Perhaps she would just wait this one out after all.

Flight Delays

About to take off from the cliff’s edge
Just when you think it’s going to go one way, it goes the other
So you decide to move with it
And then it goes the opposite way again
Teetering, swaying, trying to gain foothold
Winds are shifting, erratically
It’s a thrill, it’s a scary, fun, exhilarating thrill
Not knowing, yet feeling the pull from both depths
Currents are strong in cross-directions
Knowing you must choose, having to pick a side

No longer sitting on the fence, but giving yourself to flight
The only question is, without a navigator, which way to fly?

Discovering Rumi

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense.

-Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī جلال‌الدین محمد رو
13 th century