I've been thinking. Breaking Dawn Part 2 is coming out at the end of the year.

And then what?

• What's going to happen with Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga? More films? A new television series?
• What about the Leah-Renesmee sequel?
• And the two sequels for The Host? And their movies?
• And the several-hundred-pages-already-written cannibalistic mermaid series?
• And what about the book that shall not be named, (gasp), Midnight Sun?

I started comparing Twilight with other notable franchises. And I've some thoughts to share with you about all that. I'd love to hear your thoughts, too, in comments below.

"I say, Holmes, this is a very long post.  We're doomed."

"Great books aren't written, they're re-written." – Michael Crichton

The Lord of the Rings

J.R.R. Tolkien wrote a young adult novel, "The Hobbit," in 1937.  You've probably heard of it.

The publisher's young son read the final draft for "The Hobbit," pronounced it "good" but said it needed some maps, so Tolkien drew those out, they were added, and the book was published.  It did alright.  It's since been published in countless languages and editions.

(You'll be able to see the first half of the story — along with some additions merely-alluded-to in the text about the resurrection of Sauron — in an upcoming film version from Peter Jackson to be released in theaters on December 14, 2012.)

So, since that turned out alright, Professor Tolkien decided to write some sequels.  Great idea!

But things did not go so well this time.  First,  the publishers rejected his original plans for the sequel.  Second, it was written in stages between 1937 and 1949, which is a very long time. Especially because he'd actually started jotting down notes long before he wrote "The Hobbit."  So, decades went into the sequel.   Which is a H-E-double-hockey-sticks long time to write one stinkin' story.

It took a long time because Tolkien wasn't entirely sure how he wanted the story to go.  For example, after the hobbits leave the Shire, they stumble upon an Adam and Eve set of characters, who sing a lot.  And the hobbits are almost destroyed by a bunch of ghosts.  The story kind of stops around there.  That section was cut out of the film (they just trudge through the swamps on-screen).

Originally, half of the sequel was originally supposed to be, "The Lord of the Rings," which is itself a collection of six books (two within each part of the trilogy).  You've probably heard of that one, too.

The other half was "The Silmarrillion."  Which you probably haven't heard of. Because it wasn't ever finished.  (There is a book published with that title, but it is based on unfinished manuscripts and random writing exercises and, frankly, is a bit difficult to get through. It was "polished" and released by Tolkien's son, who has since released a few more fleshed-out stories from his father. They aren't exactly great, but who can blame him?)

As for "The Lord of the Rings," it was completed, published, adored (voted "greatest book of all time," which, you know, is pretty good), and of course made into three films, which will make over $3 billion-with-a-B dollars before it's all said and done.  Even though it has been repeatedly attacked as total crap by many, many, many literary "experts."

Regardless, that turned out alright, didn't it?  Other than the fact that it all turned out completely different from what Tolkien originally had in mind.

"Easy reading is damn hard writing." – Nathaniel Hawthorne

Sherlock Holmes

Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a series of crime stories about a character named Sherlock Holmes.  Which you probably already know.

He was also a medical doctor.  With an active general practice.  He later specialized in ophthalmology. He was also a semi-professional athlete.  He occasionally investigated closed criminal cases, exonerating at least two condemned men, directly resulting in the establishment of an appeals court system.  He was the father of five children.  And he was also an author of  science fiction stories, plays, romances, poetry, non-fiction, historical novels, political pamphlets, and comic sketches.

Most of which you probably didn't know, and don't care about either, because, HOLY CROW HE WROTE SHERLOCK STINKIN' HOLMES!!!  I mean, everything else sort of pales in significance.

Which totally bugged the crap out of him.

So Doyle did what his fictional villains could not, and he killed off Sherlock Holmes, in hopes people would stop bugging him ALL THE TIME about writing more Sherlock Holmes stories.

It didn't work.

And so he (reluctantly) wrote about Holmes getting older, and Watson getting married, and setting up a medical practice, and Holmes retiring, and so forth.  In hopes that would cool off the fans' fervor.

Which still didn't work.

Which is why there keep being more and more films made about Sherlock Holmes, along with lots of television series as well — including an absolutely fantastic television series set in modern times (directed by Russell T. Davies, the man who revitalized "Doctor Who" and wrote the new Tintin movie  – check your local listings).

Sherlock Holmes was the main thing Doyle contributed to our culture.  Which is a notable and valuable thing:  Enriching people's lives.  Inventing crime fiction itself.  Discovering the entire study of Criminology as an actual science, thus saving innumerable souls from insidious fates.

So, you know, Arthur Conan Doyle, just for writing Sherlock Holmes alone, is kind of a big deal.

So when the royal government wanted to honor him by knighting him as SIR Arthur Conan Doyle, he said, "No."

Because there's a lot more to him and his life's work than Sherlock Stinkin' Holmes, gosh darnit.

So they asked him again.  And again.  Still no.

Until finally a clever lawyer explained that the real reason they wanted to knight him was because of the political pamphlet that I mentioned earlier. And then, finally, Doyle said, like Napoleon Dynamite, "Heck yes I will!"  Because, you know, FINALLY.

The fact that the only person on the entire planet who fell for it was Doyle himself… well.  That's okay.  Kind of charming really.  Because we really do appreciate all that stuff, even though we didn't know he was the guy responsible for it all.  And of course, we appreciate Sherlock Holmes, one of the most vivid and beloved characters in all stories, in all the world, in all history.

So regardless of the author's personal feelings on the matter, that it was all kind of silly compared to whatever else, that actually turned out alright, didn't it?

"…And in the time of greatest despair, there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as THE SON OF THE SUNS."  – Journal of the Whills, 3:127 (via George Lucas)

Star Wars

That's how the original novelization of Star Wars started — before there was "A New Hope," or Episode this-or-that, or Jar Jar Binks.  Note: there are no "Whills" in any of the movies.

Like with Tolkien and Doyle, things in  George Lucas' career didn't go quite the way that  he expected either.

Originally, George's plan was to make experimental art films.  Like his student film he made in 1967 at USC, with the ever-so-memorable title, "Electronic Labyrinth: THX 1138 4EB."

And no, I'm not kidding.  "Electronic Labyrinth: THX 1138 4EB."  Just sort of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Upon graduation, he re-made the same film because of course he did, in 1971.  This time though, he changed the title.

To: "THX 1138."  Catchy.

Robert Duval starred in it. Big production.  Here's the directors cut trailer:

Fun for the whole family!

It was, basically, a flop.  The most important thing about it now is — what else — the name, which is what the THX sound system in your local theater is named for.

But George thought it was totally, freaking awesome.  Hey man, it was fully discovering, like, new paths of cinematic impression, you know?  It was groovy.

So, how could George keep making groovy, exploratory, experimental films?  Well, to do that, you had to pay for it.  As he had learned with THX 1138.

So to afford that, he needed to make a blockbuster or two (check), invent movie merchandising to further increase funding (check), set up his own non-Hollywood non-studio studio system (check), create his own groovy post-production house that would also be outside of Hollywood (check), come up with new ways of doing visual effects more realistically and inexpensively (check), and then he could go back to making experimental art films.

Uncheck.

Because instead of "Star Wars" just being kind of big.  It was enormous.  Adjusted for inflation, the film made $1,133,308,100, basically inventing the modern blockbuster, and became the second-highest grossing film of all time (second only to "Gone with the Wind," the original blockbuster).

More than that, though, is it was the Twilight of the time, moving and inspiring viewers — especially young men — like no film ever really had before.  Remember the scene in "Twilight," when Edward and Bella lay down together in the Meadow?  This is another generation of young people's "Meadow" moment:

I still am incredibly moved by this scene.  Of a guy just standing there.  Going nowhere — literally and figuratively.

 So, like Tolkien, George thought, "Hmmmm.  I should make some sequels." Which was great, because he'd writen waaaaay too much stuff for the one film anyway.  Viewers were thrilled.

So he announced his plans: Star Wars would the fourth of nine films.  He would film the middle trilogy (check), then the prequel trilogy (check), and then the final tril… wait. What?

There is no third Star Wars trilogy. Here's why.

Originally George said in a variety of interviews, which he has probably lived to regret, that Star Wars is one big trilogy.  A tragic trilogy.  People asked how that could be, and he answered: it's already in there.

Star Wars fans will remember that, in Episode V, when Luke Skywalker abruptly leaves his Jedi training on the jungle planet Dagobah, to save Han and Leia from torture and death, that Yoda warns him first:

Decide you must, how to serve them best. If you leave now, help them you could but — you would destroy all for which they have fought and suffered.

With some conjecture, but archetypally, in the final trilogy, Star Wars was probably supposed to show Luke and Leia becoming leaders of the galaxy.  Han Solo and Princess Leia have twins.  One twin eventually works with Princess/Senator Leia Solo, who knows how to run a government.  And the other works with Leia's brother, Luke, who knows a lot about fighting and, uh, moisture farming.

Remember, Luke wanted to become a "Jedi Knight — like my father." So he does.  Except his father turned into Darth Vader.  And Luke gets frustrated, and turns to the Dark Side.  The two sets of twins fight, everyone dies, and the galaxy is destroyed. R2D2 (and C3P0, and possibly Jar Jar) tell their sad tale (since they were there, all along)(to the Whills, most likely), and then they leave with two, surviving children in a space ship bound for another planet in another galaxy, far, far away.  They land safely, on a beautiful planet.  Camera pulls back… For a few hundred miles — and we see they've landed… on Earth.  I'm thinking the two kids would be named something like… Adam.  And Eve. The End.

But the story, now, doesn't actually end that way. And not just because everyone from Superman and Battlestar Galactica and Stargate ripped off that ending.

Because although the films took decades to complete, the "expanded universe" of Star Wars  did not.  So Lucas started writing Star Wars novels.  Well, not Lucas actually, but under his direction.  And Luke does turn to the Dark Side, and so does one of Leia's twins.  But then… the story keeps going.  Luke is rehabilitated, and becomes the good guy we always knew he was.  And Leia leads the galaxy in an era of peace.  Until she retires to become a full Jedi.  And an invading civilization attacks the galaxy, and together the Jedi fight back.  And so on.  And on.  And on.

So George dropped his original plans, regardless of what they were.  Because this ending is better.  Life goes on.  And now, so does the stories.

Which is pretty dang groovy, if you think about it.  So that turned out alright, too.

Even though George keeps announcing that: from now on, he swears, he is really absolutely and totally not going to make anything but art films from now on. Which he just announced, again, last week.

 "Free Bird!"

Speaking of groovy…

Around the time that Star Wars came out, back in the days before hair conditioner, there were lots of groovy bands who would play groovy songs (literally, like, with a groove to them), that would go on and on and on.

In that time, there was a band named Lynyrd Skynyrd.  They played "southern-fried rock," including their most famous song, "Free Bird," which was – far and away — their most popular song.  Here's the song, all 12 minutes of it, performed live in 1975 at Oakland, California:

It's okay if you don't listen to the whole thing.  

The song's lyrics are about how he cannot change, so you know, don't bug him.  He's totally committed… to not changing.  Which is pretty much like a false, anti-commitment, in a way: "I commit to doing this same old thing I was already doing; y'all should be admiring commitment to my inability to commit. Including to you, baby.  Later."

After all, this bird cannot change. And neither could the fans.

Who started chanting for the song, "Free Bird," every time Lynyrd Skynyrd took the stage.  Loudly.  Non-stop.  During the performance of all the other songs they'd written.  Until the very end, when they actually played "Free Bird."  Again.  And again.  At every.  Single.  Concert.

In a famous interview, the singer said that he was so sick of the song, and of everyone bugging him about performing the song, that he wished they'd never written "Free Bird"  in the first place.

Which is one of the main reasons why people still call for it, at pretty much every performance, of every band, everywhere, forever.  "Free bird!"  Now you're in on the joke.

At that same video-taped concert in Oakland, Lynyrd Skynyrd was opening up for another act, Peter Frampton.  And I have to say that, personally, when it comes to rambling, 70′s era rock & roll, played by people who haven't yet discovered the wonders of hair conditioner, I much prefer Peter Frampton.

Here's why.  And I'm getting very close to making my final point, and I do actually have one.  Below is a video of Peter playing "Do You Feel Like We Do?" in 1975.

This was taped a year after the song was released and flopped, and a year before the song went multi-platinum on a live recording called, "Frampton Comes Alive!"

Yes, the exclamation point is in the actual title of the album.

And you can see why. Look at Peter's face while he's playing the song. Between the obligatory "rocking out" expressions as he's carried off into the ineffable majesty that is rock and roll, he is smiling like the stinkin' Cheshire Cat himself.

Totally. Stoked. Check it out:

Okay. He's happy. He'd soon be happier when the song became one of the biggest hits in history.

Or perhaps not.  Because that meant he would have to perform that song at every concert ever, for the rest of his life.  Which actually was quite a few.

Because while Lynyrd Skynyrd had all sorts of problems, including many members dying in a plane crash, Peter Frampton still performs.  Like this performance, just a couple years ago at the House of Blues.  This is actually only the second half of the song (you're welcome).

So here he is.  And here is my main point.  Seriously now: Look. At. His. Face.

The look of someone who really, really, really enjoys their job. Do you feel like he do?

Peter Frampton isn't just still smiling. He's smiling more. Like, way more.

Because Peter Frampton learned a lesson that all these other artists didn't.

To be able to influence culture in a profound way — anyway — is a wondrous and magical thing. And you don't choose that for the culture. The culture chooses you.

It's kind of random. Unpredictable. Maybe not your best work. Maybe something that even makes you feel uncomfortable even thinking about it, like Tolkien, and Doyle, and all the rest.

And that has turned out very, very well, indeed. Thank you, Peter.

So, what does all this have to do with the Twilight Saga?

Well, here's what Stephenie Meyer had to say about the future of the Twilight Saga, backstage before the Oprah show during New Moon's promotion tour.

Does anything she say sound familiar?

Twilight has moved our culture.

The Host, Austenland, Mermaids, and everything else may be a big deal.  Or not.

Regardless, Stephenie Meyer will be remembered forever.

For Twilight.

And that, in the end, I believe will have turned out alright.  In the end.

Even if that thought is a little frustrating for Stephenie.

So, to Stephenie.  You touched all our lives.  Not many people can claim that.  Even if this brings you unbridled frustration throughout your days, please know that we truly appreciate it.

And I am so, so glad that your kids' swimming lessons didn't start until later on that first day after your dream, and that your arm was still mending, leaving you extra time to write that Summer.   Thank you.

Holy crow, that was long.  Do you have any thoughts to add?  Comment below!

We'll probably need a little break from posting so often for a little while, for a variety of reasons, but I wanted to thank everyone for buying our book, Twilight for Life — especially those who bought additional copies, later, to share with their friends.

You guys rock!  Twilight for life!