Sarah Black's Blog: Book Report - Posts Tagged "the-ocean-at-the-end-of-the-lane"

Yesterday I was on the way to Oregon City for the Saturday matinee with my son. About once a month we go to the movies when something is playing we both can stand to watch. Yesterday we saw 2 Guns, which was very funny, Denzel can rock a silk Hawaiian shirt, and the kid enjoyed the American muscle cars driving really fast and the buddy-banter. He adores movies with two men who are fast friends and American muscle cars. Which is why we have seen the Fast and the Furious numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7. Also, in this movie there was a glimpse of bare breasts. In the Fast and the Furious, hot pants and platform sandals are the fashion choice of the girls who hang around the cars, and bend over the hoods in slo-mo.

So this is one way I provide my son with some male role models and social interaction. Just kidding. And I like to drive from Portland out to Oregon City for the matinee because I think about stories when I’m driving, and yesterday I wanted to work out this idea I’ve been playing with.

We can drive in the car together easily. We’ve done so many long distance trips, because I like to get in the car and drive, and have no problem leaving the state when I need some space, and the kid has a car-charger for his Nintendo. He lives in his autistic world and I live in my fictional world and we meet at the Golden Arches to chat. We get along surprisingly well, and I worry about that sometimes. But yesterday, on the way to see 2 Guns, he said, “Mom, are you thinking about a story? You’ve got that look again. And you just missed the exit.”

“You’re supposed to remind me when we’re getting close to the exit.”

But in fact I was thinking about a story, and wondering if I was going to over-reach. I had an idea that was out there- way out there, and I had spent the drive refining it. But I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off. And I was feeling very clever, until I realized it was not really my great idea, because I had seen Cloud Atlas when it came to the movie theater and something of my great idea owed itself to the time-twisting and humanism of this movie.

So we took the next exit, and the long way around, and I put the idea away to enjoy the movie. And it was a very cute movie, the plot your basic: American individuals against the evil forces of big governmental organizations. Oh, the evil that happens to men when they join organizations that go by their initials! But there were good looking guys and muscle cars and guns and the mentioned bare breasts, so we both gave it a thumbs up.

Now it was time for part two of the Saturday plan, a trip to the book store. My son reads those Japanese anime books, in rigid order. This gave me about ten minutes driving to work out the plan. Okay, so the time-travel aspect of the story was not unique. Did that mean I had to abandon the idea completely? Could I take the characters and send them into some Post-Apocalyptic dystopia, rather than the past? Then I digressed, imagined sending Christopher Marlowe and Caravaggio together into post-apocalyptic Boise, gave them some guns and muscle cars, kicking ass in the ruins. No, I did not see any way that could work.

But my story could work. Maybe. Several problem areas, the biggest is—what if I can’t pull it off in a convincing way? I’m not that into historical and not that into paranormal. Could I send some characters time travelling and convince myself? Hmm, maybe. Would anyone understand the title? The references? Would anyone bother to look it up?

I get a new book at the bookstore, Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane, and spend the rest of the day and some of the night, reading. I don’t even know what to say. Yes, yes, yes, stories can do anything. Stories can lift the world onto their shoulders. They can rest in the palm of your hand like a translucent piece of beach glass, the blue green colors of the ocean hiding deep inside. Stories are the way we make sense of things, the way we process experiences, the way we learn about each other. Stories are the magic in the world, little pieces of the human heart, and we can’t help ourselves but to give them away.