I don't think it's necessary for the Papri ace (the nine books) to have this information necessarily stored, but perhaps to know it anyway will make it more real? A deep involved history known in my mind at least means that such a history exists (whether or not tangibly) and if I write with the knowledge of that history then my stories will reflect a world as if it really existed. Have you ever seen a movie or read a story where you can tell without a doubt that the writer or author is pulling crap out of their butt and trying to make it seem like they knew it all along?

The other night while praying I thanked God for the stories He had given me. This is not an unusual prayer for me as of late, but the prayer was unique this time because I thanked Him for telling them to me, for sharing them to me, and I appreciated having been privy to the story at least, even if that means that I'll never get to share it. I suppose what I mean is normally I think Him for giving it to me so I can share it, but this time I was thanking Him for sharing it with me.

I don't know if I'll ever get to share them to the whole world. I don't know if I'll ever get to make movies for a living. Not knowing makes me scared but at the same time it makes me want to find out. Humans have an inquisitive side, we know this, otherwise the philosophies of science wouldn't exist. So I will seek to know whether or not I'll make it. When thought of this way it is kind of like a book. A good book often has a bit of mystery to it, and we read on and on hoping to figure out the answers. If we put down the book and leave the mystery unsolved, then we must accept what is undoubtedly a regret of never having known, and more importantly a regret of never having experienced first hand. Someone could tell you the ending, that's true, and God very well could tell us how life will go, but then we'd never get to experience it for ourselves. Do you remember that joy of having first experienced the answers to a riddle or seeing the truth and future revealed for what it is? Remember those books that aroused your curiousity and then just fed you enough to keep you going until at last you read the final page, closed the book, and smiled. It didn't matter if the journey had been easy or hard, or how many tears your shed, or how many laughs you laughed, or whether it ended happy or sad. All that mattered was the ride and how it was revealed. All that matters is that one moment, that shred of a second, where the book lay on your lap and you knew you were in the right place and the right time, the place where you belonged, and everything made sense and everything was as it should have been.