Growing up, Nancy Drew and the gang in the Mystery Machine taught me all I needed to know about plot lines.  Their stories helped me understand the concepts of an exposition, rising action, and climax, and the resolution always brought about a great sense of satisfaction.  After all, the bad guys were always caught, justice was always achieved, and “the meddling kids” were overjoyed at their victory.

Although I was never the type to peek at the last few pages of a book, predictability taught me what to expect, and I felt like Velma when I suspected the outcome.   The plot made sense.  The first half of the story led to the second half in logical sequence, even if the endings sometimes surprised me.  

However, what I was not ready for was real life.  I’m still not.

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I am still stumped and frustrated when the storyline of my life does not make sense.   It often feels as if the second half of the book has been torn away—-and another author took over and rewrote the ending that SHOULD have been there.   It seems as if pages that don't belong have been inserted in the wrong place.

Sometimes it also feels as if the book ends abruptly with no denouement, and with no explanation for why or how.   The first half of the book is loosely taped together with the ending of another book, with no explanation of how one led to the other.

Imagine the horror of Nancy not solving the mystery or of the Scooby Doo gang being falsely accused of the crime.   Perhaps even Velma or Daphne are killed by Cyrus Wheedly or Mr. Crink in episodes 13 or 23.

Yet, life is often like that.  I was fortunate perhaps to have lived many years before the second half of my book got torn away.  Perhaps the first unexpected narrative shift was in 1993 when my 52-year-old dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack.  All the plot details of his retirement, of time with his grandchildren, of my time becoming an adult and knowing my father as an adult were ripped away and destroyed.  He would never play peek-a-boo with my sons, or cheer at the state tennis tournament, or laugh with me at Chevy Chase’s antics in Christmas Vacation again.  

I was faced with two questions:  “Kim, what do you do when Dad's narrative just ends without warning?   When all his energy and drive ends up in a flatline?”

 As an English teacher—or as a human—I had to consider how this might work.  Is this a Part 2?  A different volume?  A rewrite of the original plot line?  A before-and-after plot?  Or was this the actual plot line all along?

It didn’t follow the English teacher plot diagram, so what did this mean for me as an English teacher who regularly teaches Freytag’s pyramid?

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Obviously, my “happily ever after” ending has been rewritten and rewritten so many times since 1993  that I have no idea what my true ending will be.   At this point, I have gone through two marriages that ended violently and suddenly.  My boys, crushed by disappointments with the divorce, have distanced themselves.  My mother died early and suddenly, without much warning, and my list of supporting characters has emptied again and again.

Real life destroys typical plot narrative.  There are often few smooth transitions.   One event can completely destroy all the characters in the plot, and the protagonist is off on her own to restart a different story.  The innocent, naive 23-year-old who lost her father is not the same 34-year-old mom who went through a divorce or the same 54-year-old adult who greeted sheriff deputies at my front door at 3:00 a.m. to hear of Anthony’s death.  The  English teacher in me knows this means I am a round, dynamic character.

The person I imagined myself to be at this stage of life does not at all resemble the one who actually exists.  My life circumstances at age 57 are  also not what I imagined.    

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When the plotline suddenly explodes or implodes,  
when everything you knew about life is suddenly proven wrong, 
when reality buckles your legs and forces you to the floor, 
how do you keep on moving forward in the plot?   

When the clues have evaporated, and the supporting cast has disappeared,  and you are there suddenly not recognizing the setting or your motivation for being there, what comes next?

I don’t know.  
I don’t know how you move forward in the plot. 
 I don’t know how you begin Part 2 or the second half.

Many who know my story don’t understand how I kept going.  

Many ask me how I survived. 
I don’t know.

I just know that I kept putting one foot in front of the other. 

One second became two seconds became three.
One task became two tasks.
One decision became two, became three.

It doesn’t seem like strength when there are no other choices.

It seems like the next step.

The hard part is not breathing the next breath because it will come whether you want it to or not.
The hard part is accepting the second half of the story that has suddenly been thrust upon you.
The hard part is learning to love the new character that was forced into that second half.
The hard part is forgiving the old character who thought she had it figured out and didn’t see the huge explosion of the narrative.
The hard part is honoring all the parts of you from the first half you loved and then deciding what new parts need to be added.

Then, the next step is to gather the existing characters, whether it is just Bess and Ned, or maybe just Daphne and Scooby, and choose to keep on doing what you know to do next.  It won't be the same without the other characters, but you will keep breathing and moving and living, as much as you might wish otherwise.

The plot line will never look like what Freytag illustrated, or what I see in every Nancy Drew book or Scooby Doo episode.

However, there are still adventures to be had, bad guys to be discovered, and friendships to be made.  I have given up even trying to predict anything about the rest of my plotline.  There are just too many variables.  

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What I have promised myself is to love myself in all the pages of the book, to treasure the moments that sparkle, and to be who I was meant to be all the way along, whether this book from here on out is more of a traditional plot line or resembles 5 parts all glued together.  

For a girl who fell in love with storylines early in life, I am trying to love my current setting and accept the rising action and the falling action as it comes.  Even this newest part of my story can be mine.  

I am climbing in the Mystery Machine with whoever wants to join and see what new mysteries await.  They may not all be fun or joyous, but I am in it until the end.   

I always did enjoy an interesting story.