For as long as I can remember, I have believed in the inter-textuality of things. That things overlap, loop under and around, show themselves again where you least expect them. This is on my mind tonight as I sit in a living room of dear friends on Whidbey Island here in the last week of my fall break.

I blame Douglas Coupland.

One of the random highlights of my trip has been the jaunt to Vancouver, where I got to see a former student and also track down the newest book by Coupland, Generation A, which doesn't drop in the US until November.

The novel takes place in a near future where bees are extinct. Seemingly out of nowhere, five individuals in different places are stung by bees. They are quickly whisked away for experiment and observation to see what drew the bees to them in hopes of bringing the bees back (you see, a world without bees is a world without all kinds of things that required pollination). Somewhere in the story of the five, the story takes on the subject of stories themselves. As I read and finished the book tonight, I saw strands of Donald Miller's new book surface. I saw moments reflecting what I've read in Chabon's essays. I heard my own thoughts and heard the voices of my own friends.

"Every word we speak is autobiographical," one of the characters in the novel states.

I'm probably the kind of guy that says something is profound too quickly. Maybe there's a lot of profundity out there. I'm not sure. But I will say, here near midnight on a chilly October evening, that Coupland's new book says something vitally important, something about the nature of life and community and storytelling and the story that we are all of us telling.

"What is prayer but a wish for the events in your life to string together to form a story- something that makes some sense of events you know have meaning," one of the five says at the novel's beginning. That comment is followed by nearly 300 pages of chaos and confusion. But in there is something, there are many things, in that story that deserve thought and rumination. Life will be better with it, I believe.

And so tonight I had the opportunity to see one of my all-time favorite writers in person, talking about a movie that he co-wrote a script for.

I did not read Where the Wild Things Are as a kid. I was stuck on Fox in Socks, honestly. I'm sure I'll get around to reading it now, though, it being only 20 pages. Dave Eggers tells me that it's probably one of the best children's books ever written. It is definitely the best-illustrated children's book. Seriously. He told me that as we stood around in the Hot Pot Doughnuts shop in downtown Seattle this evening after a packed house watched the movie. I mentioned away we go. He told me about his kids. It wasn't the longest conversation that I've ever had, but I haven't talked to many of my literary heroes before, so I'll take what I can get.

I got this vibe of Eggers that I thought about on the ride home tonight. He didn't say much about himself. I awkwardly tried to heap praise on him. But he talked about the movie and his kids and the 826 program. He's been dealing with fanboys like me for a decade, really. Me: awestruck. Him: "my daughter loves the book." Yeah. And there was a quiet calm that I would like to think wasn't boredom brought on by my nagging presence. And I thought, as I made the drive to my hotel, how I'd like to age like that. Level-headed with at least the visage of wisdom, a knowledge of what is most important (which is never the self).

Today, the second of my trip, has been a great one. Breakfast with a former student. Lunch with a former student. And meeting one of the most important figures in contemporary American literature. For me, it's been a day for the history books. And a day that has given me something more to think about.

So here's the thing about Donald Miller's new book. . .

In about three hours, I'll be getting on a plane that will eventually take me to Seattle. I'll be visiting good friends from former school days. I'll see some former students. I'll read a lot. I hope to drive a lot. I hope to see a lot.

I hope to live well, really. I hope to live a good story. I hope to see things and do things that I don't normally get to see and do. Sure, it'll be about sleeping and eating and such, but it will, more than anything, be living. Living amongst giants, for me. The opportunity to see three of my favorite writers is a big deal. The closest I ever got to this was when my Dad and I went to a comic convention over a winter break and I got to meet Mark Waid (he who wrote The Flash better than anyone else). In so many ways, these writers have been as unreal as the stories they have told me through their books. And more a moment or two, they are going to be in-the-flesh real to me.

I want to come back with stories. I want to come back to talk to those around me here about what I have seen and heard and even hope for them. I want to remind my students that there is a broad world out there, and that it is good. And you can engage it and maybe change it, be a part of the conversation instead of always getting in on it when it's too late.

Miller's book reminded me of this. He also reminded me that the defining story of the last six years of my life, the story of the Class of 2009, is over for the most part. And now I need to seek another story, another narrative to live by. One that is grand and still fits into the Greater Story that God is telling. So I'm looking forward to this trip in hopes that I will gain perspective and a new kind of foresight, something that I haven't need much of these last few years.

So here's to living my story as well as I can. Can't wait to tell you more about it. . .

Sometimes, when you're reading a book or watching a movie, you can feel your heart shift. You sense yourself making decisions beneath the surface because truth has been spoken and there's nothing else you can do with it; ignoring it isn't a long-term option.

I didn't know what to expect, really, from Donald Miller's new book. I really like every other book that he puts out. In this one, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Miller has polished his writing style in good ways. He rendered great phrases and captures important scenes well. There's quite a bit of self-deprecation, which is to be expected. Some of the advertising about the book (even some of the blurb on the back) is a bit misleading, I think. But the book, almost a memoir about memoirs, rings true.

Your life is a story. You choose the kind of story that you live. If you find yourself living a lesser story, if you've "checked out" of the story God wants to tell through you, you need to rethink your life. That's the gist of the book. Miller gives his thoughts a narrative arc that works well. He had me hook, line, and sinker with this:

I knew a story was calling me. . . and once you know what it takes to live a better story, you don't have a choice. Not living a better story would be like deciding to die, deciding to walk around numb until you die, and it's not natural to want to die.

I'm not sure how overtly "Christian" the book is, which is fine. I also fear that Miller will turn out to be a single-adult version of John Eldredge. For now, though, Miller's observations and assertions ring true in a good way, a challenging way. It's more than just "carpe diem."

I'll try to get a little more down about the book and my reaction to it tomorrow. I fly out Monday night for about 11 days on the mainland: Seattle. It's something that fits quite nicely into the story God is allowing me to tell.

I'm six chapters into Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and I'm quite enjoying it. It's a little different from his previous efforts. For one, it doesn't seem to be as dense, which is tricky because you want to feel like you're getting your money's worth. At the same time, Miller seems to have honed his writing skills. While he comes off as a little more self-deprecating than usual, he also turns his phrases really well.

One paragraph struck me as interesting this afternoon. In class recently, we've been talking about the problem of evil as it relates to the Christian faith. Miller brings the topic up in a roundabout way: he looks at viewing life as a story and God as the Great Storyteller. I like the image, mind you. It can, if you're not careful, make God sound like a glorified Shakespeare and we glorified players on a predetermined stage. Miller has a nice moment, though, when he says:

I was watching the news the other night, and they were still covering that story in Mumbai about the terrorists who went on a shooting rampage. The man on the news said that before the terrorists killed the Jews in the Jewish center, they tortured them. I had to turn off the television, because I could see the torture in my head the way they were describing it. I kept imagining these people, just living their daily lives, and then having them suddenly ended in unjust tragedy. When we watch the news, we grieve all of this, but when we go to the movies, we want more of it. Somehow we realize that great stories are told in conflict, but we are unwilling to embrace the potential greatness of the story we are actually in. We think God is unjust, rather than a master storyteller.

Definitely something to think about, if only to remind ourselves of the weight of the war that we wage each day, even when it feels like we're not fighting much of anything at all.