Starting November 1st, I’ll be joining the NaNoWriMo Challenge… National Novel Writing Month. The challenge is to write at least 50,000 words between November 1 – 30. I’ve never done it before, but figured since I’ve been sitting on a novel idea for awhile now, it’s the perfect excuse to pull the trigger and give it a shot. It’s an incredibly daunting challenge. At least 1667 words every day.
To Be There, Not Here is about a young man named James, who after an accident, discovers that he has the ability to see small tears in the fabric of the universe. Sometimes these tears are larger, but they don’t last long and they’re constantly changing where they are.
James discovers he has the ability to travel through these tears to different parallel universes. (Think multiverse theory here). He learns to help get those who have accidentally gotten stuck in a wrong universe, back home to theirs.
Think a bit of Doctor Who, mixed with the styles of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear.
To Be There, Not Here
How do you describe deja vu? It’s likely unique to each individual, but to me, it’s a confusing comfort. I sense the comfort of familiarity, but am confused by it. What’s familiar? Is it one thing? The whole situation? I was never quite sure what it was. However, that all changed. I became acutely aware of exactly what was familiar and what was out of place. In fact, I quickly learned that the aspect of deja vu everyone found confusing was the same. It was the glimpse to the other sides. We’re not supposed to see those.
But, here I was, suddenly “gifted” with the power to be an intermediary. Some people called me “The Engineer,” because I was the bridge between their home and mine. Others called me James, “guy” or “man” when they were so flustered, excited or simply didn’t care to learn my name. I was just a ticket home to many people. That’s ok. The look on their faces when they got back made up for any lack of courtesy preceding our parting.
I suppose I need to take a step back. I can only give you so many details, as I don’t know them all. But, here is how things began. It began, like lots of stories begin, with a cup of coffee shortly after waking up on a work day.
I’d been fortunate enough to get a visit from my parents recently and they had brought some spectacular coffee from home. My college years were blessed with the introduction of great coffee. Campus was in a city that was home to a popular local coffee chain that roasted their own beans. Organic, farmer picked, you know, that whole green and sustainable thing.
Anyway, the coffee was spectacular and broke down that barrier I thought I’d never cross growing up. Remember when you’d see your parents drinking coffee and smell it, thinking, my god, that looks horrible, why would anyone ever drink that sludge? Turns out, it’s because I hadn’t really taken the coffee plunge with great coffee. How do you describe good, or great, coffee? It smells fresh, you can tell it was made with recently ground beans, and it’s smooth, especially when pressed. You just know when you taste or smell it!
Sorry, I digress. My story took a turn after my morning coffee. I sat there, sleepily taking in the dancing steam as it drifted up from my mug like a plume of smoke from a cigarette.