I was a little taken aback (though I did my best not to show it). Had I really come across as one of those hardcore Lost addicts who rarely has talked about — let alone thought about — anything else for the past six years? “I’m going to have a life,” I replied, eager to free up a whole quadrant of my brain after the series finale. No more trying to figure out what’s going to happen next. My rabid conjecturing could finally be laid to rest — I hoped.
Alas, it hasn’t been so easy. I’m still trying to figure things out that weren’t explained explicitly in the final season, and I’m planning to re-watch the entire series over the next year or so and try to make sense of a few remaining mysteries. I tell myself that it’s all good practice for my own storytelling. But maybe I’m just not willing to let go.
It’s not that I’m going through stages of grief or anything (denial, maybe); but I will really miss this show. For the sheer brilliance of its writing alone, it stands out among anything I’ve ever seen on TV. It won’t be replaced. Only a fool would try.
So, what have I been doing with my newly available brain-space? Writing, of course. I’ve just finished a 3,000-word dark metaphysical tale that I’ll be submitting to Abyss and Apex this weekend. And I’ve been trying my hand at micro-fiction: complete stories in one hundred words or less. My first effort is a 75-word piece that will appear on Paragraph Planet this Saturday, 5/29: “On the Outside.” Check it out, and let me know what you think!