It was only supposed to last for a few months.  I wasn’t supposed to want any more.  It was supposed to end and I was supposed to be satisfied.  It did, but I wasn’t.

Persons Unknown was NBC’s answer to a boring summer full of reruns and non-scripted garbage.  Except for an episode aired online, I was okay with it.  I’d even say I enjoyed it.  It had suspense, pretty good characters, and an engaging story.  Unlike shows I watched before, I was not going to second-guess any plot point.  I was content to enjoy the ride, wherever it took me.  I was right there with it - until the ending.

Been There, Done That

Believe me, I know about unsatisfying endings.  From St. Elsewhere to Seinfeld and beyond, endings that didn’t do the show that came before them justice are not new.  Even Lost, which had an ending I loved, had it’s haters once the final credits rolled.  Satisfying or not, those shows had an end.   There was a finality to them that closed the door and didn’t leave you wondering what comes next, even though the next episode was never coming.  Not this time.

I know ever since Lost ended I may have been, consiously or not, comparing every TV show to it.  Maybe that’s just human nature, but it’s also not fair to the writers, producers, and actors who made Persons Unknown.  But if it’s really over, let it be over.  Don’t leave me wondering what happened next, when there’s a good chance nobody’s going to tell me.  I hear NBC promised all my questions would be answered.  They weren’t.

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I thought many times about what I would say when I got around to writing this.  And if confession is really good for the soul, it will benefit me greatly to tell you one of the reasons it’s here is a writing exercise that urged me to write a thank-you note to my favorite creative person and send it out into the world.  So here it is.

I do have other favorite creative people.  You are the first one that popped into my head.  It’s probably because I’ve been in a literary frame of mind lately, writing and blogging constantly.  I also recently read “Under The Dome” in a little over two weeks, which is an accomplishment for me for quite a few reasons, not the least of which is my promise to myself to read at least one fiction book a month.  Don’t let the fact that I walked into the library and saw it staring at me from the “New Books” section get you down.  I make many book selections that way.  It was your turn to be read.

Anyway, this note was supposed to be short and I am finally getting to the “thank you” portion of this thing.  More than any other writer in my memory, your work has made am impression on me, whether I liked it or not.  I will not make a big deal out of which stories I liked better, or which ones I thought translated better from one medium to another.  That is for better critics than me to fight over.  I just wanted to let you know I appreciate even the nightmares I had after reading “Salem’s Lot,” loving the fact that it fueled my fascination with non-sparkling, morally-gray vampires who frequently inhabit them even now.

I try to look at everything as a blessing in some way.  Thank you for the blessing you have always been, and will no doubt continue to be to me.

P.S. – I love Lost too.  Anytime you want to talk about it, I’m willing.

With a grateful heart,

Patti B.

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I already had thirsty paper – I now have a juicy, purple pen that writes with purple ink!  I wasn’t expecting to find that, but I did.  It only cost me a buck too.  That appeals to the cheapskate in me.  Some might call it being thrifty, but let’s be honest.  I could have splurged on another purple pen that writes with purple glitter ink, and paid more for it at another store.  As it turns out, I got it there because it just happened to be the store that has the lowest prescription prices.  It also has a pretty decent food section.

I truly wish the story of me meeting and buying this purple pen was more literary, full of adventure and comical mishaps along the way.  This momentous purchase took place among the school supplies shoppers, busily but slowly making their way up and down the aisles, looking for ways to get the most pens and notebooks for the least amount of money.  I’m guessing most of the parents were not looking for colorful, imaginative writing instruments to inspire the fertile imaginations of their children.

All of that leads me to this: now that I have it, what do I do with it?  Should I expect more from myself now that I have a luscious purple pen?  Or will it only make my tired, old writing look better?  It doesn’t seem any harder to read than the black ink I normally use in my notebook.  And it will be impossible for me to tell if the pen helps me to be a better writer, or it it’s my brain exercises and constant practice.  I prefer to think it’s my natural talent coming to the fore.

Now if I could only find some ink that smells like lilacs.

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A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.

I realized that this is why I write. Why do you?
If you don’t, why not start?

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It was about invented lives with ragged edges.

It showed us people very different from us with the same issues and ones we couldn’t possibly imagine.

It was important for more reasons that it wasn’t.

It told us we have to learn to live together or die alone in a world that’s every man for himself.

We found out some people are born to run, and it’s fun to laugh at them when they do.

It showed us the men behind the curtain, who really did have a plan, and filled in the details as they went along.

We met the other woman, and cried when she left us.

We talked for hours, days, weeks, and years about a TV show that was only supposed to entertain us.

Most of us got more than we bargained for.

We got companions, colleagues, friends – even boyfriends and wives, in some cases.

We got late nights and sleepy mornings.

We got headaches, tears, laughs, and lots of love.

We got all this from a story that lasted six years in the telling, may last for years in the memory, longer in the heart.

I still hear that thud and see that word in my mind – on black and white.

I know the end was written as soon as I saw the beginning.

Whatever happened happened, and it only ends once.

Everything before that was Lost.

If you want to see how this post was born, check out my new lens for the blog on Squidoo!

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