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So, I watched Stranger than Fiction last night. I remember thinking "Oh man I've always wanted to see this movie."
Yaknow, Will Ferrel plays Harold Crick, a man who, one day, finds that his life is actually being written by a British woman. And then finds that he is going to die. He goes in search of her, hoping to stop his fate.

Well, I don't want to give anything away, but... it just made me think. What if our characters do have lives somewhere? What if Carrie, Shera, Micheal, Nick, all those characters in Serenade of the Stars are real somewhere? What if Jougen and Miho from "Demon Banisher" exist? What if the Minor characters, people that arn't even given names, the ones that were in the Kuya Colony when a Class 17 Tanker ship crashed into it... what if they had hopes, dreams, desires...?

Its really difficult to think about, considering the movie and... Sigh. I still can't say anything about it cause I don't wann... screw it. I'll put it in spoiler text. just highlight to read. So in the Movie, Harold finally meets his "Author" and after she has a small breakdown, she finds that A. She can't end the book without killing him. and B. that she can't kill him now that she knows he is real. But so she just writes the rest, not typing it, and lets Harold and his Psych. read it. Well, the Psych. tells him what he fears, that he has to die. So Harold goes to work friday, having missed a little over a week of it after his watch mysteriously stopped, he received the time from a stranger, then first heard he was going to die.

Usually Harold arrived at his bus stop every morning barely catching the 8:17 bus, but the thing is, that wednesday, he was told the wrong time, by 3 minutes. So instead of getting there at 8:17 as his Internal clock told him, he was there at 8:14, in time to witness a Kid on a bike fall in the road, in the path of the bus. Harold jumps down, pushes the kid out of the way, but then, is hit. Having put his arms up to try and defend himself, which at the time, was futile. its at this point it cuts to the author, sobbing and furiously trying to light a cigerette but then giving up, throwing it down and smashing it with her hands while the type writer reads "Harold Crick is de"...

I'll post more later.