Strangers

I just finished reading a sci-fi book called "Strangers", and it left me pondering the question: Is there really such a thing as a stranger? Long story, short. The story revolved around a group of travelers who stayed at a motel in the desert the same night. "Something" transpired during their stay (unknown to them), and when they returned home, their lives suddenly shifted. For some, the altering was positive; for others, the altering lead to self-destruction. But for all, they knew "something" had happened to them and they felt compelled to learn what that "something" was.

Again, long story, short. The "strangers" soon began to remember something called the "moon", and eventually they began to remember each other. AND they were all compelled to find each other and return to the motel, or lose their sanity. Needless to say, their journey back to the motel is fraught with suspense, as they try to stay alive long enough to piece together their fragmented memories.

After reading this book, I thought of my novel, The Kindred. In it, the five lead characters are psychics who are strangers meeting for the first time, and thanks to a 300 year old murder, they are thrown into a life-and-death situation that changes their lives forever.

Now, here's the point and the interesting part, I hope. I never read "Strangers" before, yet the theme of the book is similar to The Kindred, leaving me to wonder about the unconscious connections we writers share with each other. Are writers really strangers? I don't think so. Do our creative muses (and juices) ride along the same strands of thought? Yes, I believe so. Is the union of writer and their creative imagination an undefinable "something" that is meant to change our lives forever? I sure hope so. I pray so. What do you think?