A plane crash, a tropical island, a polar bear, a mad Frenchwoman, a series of repeating numbers.
A hole in the ground, a science project, a four-toed statue, the end of the world.
A smoke monster, a trek through time, a long-standing battle between good and evil, and an alternate universe where a plane didn't crash.
At some point in the next week or so, all these random pieces of information are going to come together into coherent whole. That's my hope, anyway. For 119 weeks, I have eagerly sat in front of my TV, remote control in hand, poised to leap into the strange and confusing world of LOST (created by Damon Lindelof, J. J. Abrams and Jeffrey Lieber.) I visit that world with a large group of fans. I'm thankful for them. I'd hate to feel this confused all by myself.
I'm thankful for another thing, too.
This show inspired my writing. It begged me to put things on paper whether they made sense or not. It helped me to trust the process; it taught me to ask "what if..." I accepted the challenge to view the blank page with a LOST perspective. I learned it is okay to take your readers on a ride, to keep some things a mystery, to take risks, to just write the damn thing and see where it ends up.
I'm not sure whether the LOST writers had it all planned from the beginning or if they've been making it up as they go along. What I know for sure is they've freed their imagination, and in so doing, have lit a fire under mine.
Not a bad way to spend a weeknight.
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