One Night In A Thousand Years

A short (and long) story about friendship, wonder, beauty, and the long odds of an indie film

"If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few weeks ago, I was finishing a book in bed. The story culminated in a moment that brought tears and a slight shaking that I tried to contain so I didn't bother Kristen. I wasn't ready to leave the story or try to explain what was happening. I knew it was significant. 

Some gifts in life return to us multiple times, but we see them differently each time we meet again. It reminds me of a Ferris Wheel one rides as a kid, as a teen, as a newlywed, as a parent, as a widow, as a last ride. Each time is familiar and unique, peaceful and painful. This book brought me back to the Ferris Wheel. I looked up into the night and saw something magical. 

That experience eventually led to this exciting announcement: my company, Kent Studio, has optioned the film rights to the book, "One Night In A Thousand Years," by Craig Cunningham. As the one-liner on Amazon says, this is a
”A classic coming-of-age story about being invited into the adventure of life.”

The plan is to produce this as an independent film*, but there is a long way to go. When Craig asked me the odds of this working, I quoted a wise man who said, "Never tell me the odds." It's the only way I can still try this after 20+ years of filmmaking. 

*October 2023 Update - An amazing audiobook is coming first! More on that soon.

*January 2024 Update - The audiobook along with Part 2 of this story is available.

For some of my friends and followers, that will be enough. I love you, and I'm thankful for you. I hope you join us at the premiere or catch this on Netflix one day if we beat the odds. I know the rest of this is a bit over the top and includes too much detail for most people.

(My 12-year old son took one look at this post and laughed at the length of it. I chuckled with him)

Still, I needed to get it down. If you want to know more about how this came to be, have an interest in the creative process, filmmaking, or need to pass some time while waiting at the doctor's office, the rest of the story takes us back 20 years…

-----

I walked up the steps of our apartment in Waco, knowing that something awful was waiting for me. I had picked her up from the airport last night after her semester of study abroad in Italy, and I knew the end was near. I gave into an immense amount of fear and anxiety and chose not to get onto a plane to visit her during Thanksgiving break. That was the final little punch to the gut that killed our marriage, but it was only one of many sins I committed against her over six and a half years. The note she left saying she was done was thoughtful and to the point. We eventually talked about it over the phone and in person. The divorce was finalized a few months later. 

That same year I met Jonathan in a professional writing course at Baylor. I let him read a screenplay I cowrote called GALVESTON. It's set at the turn of the twentieth century and follows a young man named Christopher, who discovers he is an orphan after his adopted dad dies. He leaves New Orleans to find his biological parents in Galveston, a beautiful island city about to be destroyed by the most devastating natural disaster in American history. It's a screenplay that received great reviews in the film industry but, as one academy-award-winning producer put it: "You're going to need one of the Tom's to make this movie. Find a role for Tom Cruise or Tom Hanks and pray." In other words too expensive of a movie to make. 

Jonathan loved the screenplay and even offered to share it with his uncle, an established director in the industry. His uncle didn't need to read the script to have the same reaction as the producer. I didn't care about that because I already knew the greater gift of sharing that screenplay was my friendship with Jonathan. 

We got to know each other over the next year and enjoyed sharing suggestions for books, reading each other's work, and daring to dream. He introduced me to Rilke, Coelho and, more importantly, gave me the light of wonder during a dark time. 

He also invited me into a special ceremony of a somewhat clandestine group—The Warrior Poets Society. I didn't know much about what this celebratory night would be other than as someone recently divorced and with just a couple of friends, I was grateful to be included. 

The Warrior Poets turned out to be a group of high school seniors Jonathan had been taking on a quest for the past year. This group had been challenged to ask questions about many things in life during their time with Jonathan. These conversations happened in parking lots, around fires, in a cemetery, on the edges of cliffs, under a bridge, and in a green field surrounded by oak trees. This particular night was in the field with the oak trees in shadow and was lit by that ancient flame of fire and stars. 

My memory continues to fade with age, and the details are best left to those that were part of the society. What I remember the most is what I felt: belonging. I both belonged in this tribe and longed to be this kind of man—full of wonder and adventure, boldness and depth. Jonathan shared a few words about each man around the fire then he gave each of us a symbol that would memorialize our convictions to live as warrior poets wherever our disparate roads took us next. The symbol was a sword, a reminder to fight for the true, good, and beautiful and to have the courage to follow our convictions.

He also shared a collection of writings each man had written during their time together. He had them bound and delivered the book to each person. I didn't expect anything here but as usual, Jonathan found a way to include the newest, strangest member of the group. He inscribed a personal exhortation to me on the first page of the book and ended it with this note:

Never stop believing…Live Free. Dream Far. 

I don't know where my life would be without meeting Jonathan that year. At this low point in life, full of failure as a man, I received the gift of a friend full of wonder and imagination that saw me at my worst and believed in my best. It was a reminder to look up and see what was possible.

——-

Jonathan and I went our separate ways as friends do after college. I kept up with him from afar, and we traded occasional messages and shared our latest creations, sometimes even inadvertently, like when I realized that the Monster Street books my son loved reading happened to be written by my old friend. I laughed at the odds of this happening. Sometimes life sneaks up on you like that.

——-

A month ago, I noticed an Instagram post from Jonathan. It was about a former Warrior Poet who published a novel based on his experience in the Warrior Poets Society nearly twenty years ago. He described the legacy of poets from that initial group, year after year of men forming a sacred circle. Craig Cunningham, a writer and creator I would have met that night in the fire-lit sword ceremony but never saw or talked to again, was the novel's author. It was called "One Night In A Thousand Years."

I ordered the book from Amazon immediately. I knew from the opening chapter I would enjoy it. It took me a bit to get back to that age, to think and feel like a teenager, but once I let myself go back to that time, it worked. I've imagined making a film about the small southeast Texas town and the people I grew up with since I wrote my first screenplay in high school. Although the town these characters inhabit differs from the one I knew in the details, it was the same in essence. 

I was also transported back to my late college years, going along this journey into an upside-down world with Colt, navigating the wonder-filled, mysterious, and expansive adventure that Lucas invites us into. I heard the soundtrack playing, whether explicitly shared in the text or not, because I've been listening to it since I was a teenager. 

This story was a gift I received again, a return home, the same person yet different. 

——

The next morning after finishing the book and being met with unexpected tears, I knew I needed to process whatever happened the night before. 

I started journaling in my usual spot and then remembered the other book. The one I keep on my bookshelf near the desk in my office. The Warrior Poets Society book that Jonathan had given me nearly twenty years ago. 

I picked it up and re-read the inscription on the opening page. Then I decided to see what was on the other side of the clip that held the book's pages open. I don't remember when I did this, but many years ago, I used a heavy-duty black clip to hold open the book's first page so I could keep it in place as a reminder. But now I thought it would be interesting to see the words on the other side of the clip, a randomly chosen page, because it gave enough weight to hold the pages behind Jonathan's inscription in place.

The words on the page the old clip held in place were gritty and graceful. They expressed a particular fight I have been on in the past few years that a sage named Jack had opened and guided me through. When I finished reading them, I began to get tears in my eyes again. Although this story might make you think it is common to me, it is not. I have suppressed my heart, especially the creative parts of my heart, for longer than I could understand without the help of outside voices. These words expressed the longings of my heart. 

I paused, giving thanks to God for a sacred experience. These moments are fleeting on this side of the new heaven and earth. I wanted to take my time with it. Then it hit me. A thought that felt like abundance, too much for someone who was already fulfilled. 

Who wrote these words? Which Warrior Poet had I randomly clipped this page to so it could prop up the first page of the book? Which poet from all those years ago put these thoughts down that spoke so clearly to me now? 

If the author is Craig Cunningham…

I flipped backward, moving page by page through the book until I found the author's name:

II.

While I May

Craig Cunningham

I lost it. The tears came, and I could not control them. 

My first reaction was to stay in the moment. Be present. Take your time with this. Don't make it more than it is. And I did that. 

But then the idea came like the return of a good friend or a gift. 

I've got to try to make this movie. Take all the experiences, gifts, passions, and undeniable providence of this set of circumstances and create something wonderful with it all.

Carpe Diem.

—-

I reached out to Jonathan and shared the story with him. He was grateful and asked if he could connect me with Craig. Of course. 

I shared the story with Craig and asked if I could option the rights to produce the film version of his book. He said let's explore it. We both acknowledged that trust in our shared experience and our mutual friend Jonathan was a big factor in moving so quickly. 

Last week we finalized the contract. Now we get to raise the funds to tell this magical story. Never tell me the odds. 

——-

The irony of beauty and wonder is that they love to find each other despite all the barriers that want to prevent them from connecting. They are both present and available to us every day. 

From the coffee we drink in the mornings to the food we taste during the day to the sun that sets majestically, bringing on the night.

What if we could look up and see them for what they are more often? What if one night in a thousand years, we could look up and see the stars?

I believe one night we will. I hope you will join us. 

Live Free. Dream Far.

-Kent