Author: Mark Alexander

Once upon a time I was going to write a novel. Once upon a time I was going to do a lot of things, but for the purpose of this post, let me try to stay focused on the Great American Novel.

Like many young adults of the time, I was enthralled by a little movie called Star Wars that came out in 1977. It fired my imagination in ways precious few other films had done, sending me off on a spiritual quest as well as igniting a love of writing that—while perhaps not as all-consuming as it was to begin with—survives to this day.

The genesis of the idea for my book came about as a direct offshoot from the double sunset scene in the movie. It was something I had seen before; obviously not with these eyes or in this lifetime, but it was something that so resonated in the fiber of my being that it sparked a desire to learn as much as I could about belief in past lives and reincarnation.

“It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again. Nothing is dead; men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new strange disguise.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Souls may incarnate on Earth, and souls may incarnate on worlds other than Earth.” ~ Edgar Cayce

And there was the quote that I was hoping to find somewhere—anywhere—to back up my own budding beliefs.

And thus Reunion was born.

It was to be a monumental undertaking; a story spanning two separate lifetimes on two (later three) different worlds. The past life chapters would be based in the Star Wars universe, but not be a part of that story. There would be a desert world with a double sun, landspeeders, and ‘droids. But ultimately it would be a love story—a gay love story—of epic proportions that was going to set the world on fire.

Okay, I was 19 years old. Cut me some slack.

At that point in time the only real gay novel to make it anywhere near mainstream acceptance was Patricia Nell Warren’s The Front Runner, and one of my best friends warned that if I ever hoped to get my book published I might have to change the sexuality of the main characters and the sex of one. I told him that if that were the case the book would never be published.

The original plan was to almost write two different stories, presenting them in alternating chapters, switching back and forth between present and past lives, ultimately reuniting the main character with his long-lost love.

When I finally gave up on this endeavor some six years later and tossed it all in the dumpster, I’d gotten most of the past life part written (including the death of the two main characters), but it was floundering. The biggest criticism I’d received from everyone I’d shared my early drafts with was that while my descriptions of the environments in which the story was taking place were beautiful and they felt like they were physically present there, the story lacked conflict. “It reads like a travelogue.”

I tried to come up with some sort of conflict, but it felt forced and it wasn’t my truth of the story. It wasn’t until many years later, long after my initial draft was at the bottom of some Phoenix landfill, that I hit upon an idea for resurrecting the book—and would also provide the vehicle to neatly tie the reincarnation theme together and provide a organic source of conflict.

Fortunately, I’d written and rewritten the first few chapters of the book so many times that it was indelibly etched in my memory and recreating it on the newfangled computer thingie that had entered my life was easier than I thought it would be. But again, as I progressed, I got bogged down. With a few additional years of life now behind me, some things just didn’t feel right any longer; there were new themes and a couple new characters I wanted to introduce. Before long it seemed as if I had lost sight of the original thrust of the story.

That being said, I did make a lot of progress on Reunion 2. I introduced the new characters I’d wanted, changed the writing style from third person to first person, and even got the foundation laid for the much-needed conflict (and a reason the main characters died the way they did) that the original story was lacking.

I had the bones of the story laid out—if not on paper at least in my head. The problem was adding flesh to those bones. As the years continued to drag on, I tried returning to the story several times, but I never seemed to make much progress. It didn’t help that I was slowly developing the attention span of a gnat, completely precluding the kind of dedication writing a novel requires.

Just to see if I could jump start the original story, I even briefly flirted with writing another novel, tied to the same storyline, but providing the past-life backstory of the soulmate of Reunion’s protagonist. I soon realized that would be an even bigger endeavor, since the character was part of a galactic survey force, conscripted into service for a period of four years. (Think something vaguely resembling Star Trek in scope.) Needless to say, that never got anywhere beyond the first dozen pages or so before—squirrel!

I still fantasize that someday Reunion may come to fruition, but the original vision is drifting further away with each passing day. I can no longer write about love, relationships, or indeed the world—as the 19-year old college student who dreamt of that man from another lifetime, feeling the impossible ache of longing that goes along with knowing a part of himself was missing. I have learned that love—true love—is far more complicated, messy, and ultimately fulfilling and wonderful than anything imagined in one’s young adulthood.

And why did I write this? Jean-Michel Jarre’s Chronologie. While I wrote the majority of the first draft of Reunion listening to his Oxygene and Equinoxe, I ran across Chronologie a few days ago, and as I put in my headphones, closed my eyes and started the music playing, I was immediately back in that landspeeder, skimming over a sea of golden dunes…