Isla | Chapter Notes
Musings about each chapter — Warning: May Contain Spoilers
ISLA is a serialized novel written by
with new chapters added weekly.ISLA : Pop fresh batteries into your Walkman and follow twelve-year-old George Perez to the Yucatán coast, where faded myths hum beneath the surface and nothing stays buried for long. With each step, he’s drawn deeper into a story that might rewrite everything he thought he knew.
Warning: May contain spoilers.
Before
Like many of my stories, this one took a while to gestate.
ISLA was conceived, in part, during a trip to the Yucatán in 2012. Under the shade of a palapa I drafted the rough story in my travel notebook. When I got home I transcribed my ideas into a file (or app) which, regrettably, now seems lost to time. So, for over a decade, the story has lived somewhere between the digital ephemera and the images in my head.
But the idea—the spine of it, at least—was never far from my mind. Every few months, I’d poke around, doing a little research, until a few months back when I finally dove in. What you’re reading isn’t a first draft, or even the third. For some chapters, it might be the tenth. A few were pulled apart, mashed together, run through the mental blender, and came out as something entirely different. Call it a “writer’s want,” like a chef-in-training assembling a meal from the better leftovers.
These Chapter Notes won’t be a compendium of all the turns a novel takes to reach a reader’s eyes… egad, who would want that? But where it makes sense, I’ll refer back to notes or recollections from the story’s creation.
As a side note: I keep all my journals, and just this morning (March 30th, 2025) I pulled out the one from that 2012 trip. After dusting it off, I could barely recognize my own handwriting, let alone the version of the story on the page. I like to think the time between sipping Don Julio and scribbling those sun-dodging thoughts and the version you’re reading now has aged the story the right way—a slow, lasting pour of 1942 in words.
-j.
Chapter One | “Snakes, Jolt and the City"
Where to start a story is always a gamble. Do you dip a toe in the primordial ooze of Gondwana, or much later, where the action heats up? Most stories drop you straight into the fray. It’s called “in medias res” or “in the midst of things.” I prefer this approach in my short stories, where you pick up the backstory like grabbing snacks on a road trip—always moving forward with only quick stops for essentials.
But I kept questioning it with this story. Like a lot. In the weeks before publishing things kept shifting things around (some still are). I really hadn’t considered rolling out this story in a serial form and I’m unsure if bouncing through time will confuse people. To combat that I’ve made a few modifications to my original story that should help ease that cognitive burden. After a few chapters you can tell me if it worked. But this beginning, the one with the hissing snakes where George is listening to Kathryn argue with the fella, was always how I started the story and any last minute headfake of doing it differently was just a fever dream. (sorry pre-readers)
The tick-tock of it all aside, we’re meeting George for the first time but a lot has happened prior. He and his mother Kathryn are living in Chicago and, well, things aren’t working out. Again. Here we get a view of George’s world where bedrooms are a sanctuary but there’s a lot going on in his head, but only a little bit of life outside of it. We get some inklings about George’s artwork and the magical nature it takes on when the light hits just right. When you’re twelve, I think that happens a lot, probably more than it does later in life. I also think there’s something about being an only child and/or being tossed around with life that makes you grow up a bit faster, even while trying to hold onto the elusiveness of childhood.
Throughout, we’ll be hearing the soundtrack of George’s world. It’s a mad mix of eclectic 70s and early 80s music. Some of the tracks you might recognize, others I hope are a surprise. Music plays a significant role for George and how he sees the world. Links to music that are referenced, overt or obliquely, are noted below each chapter. You can also keep up with the playlist on Spotify.
Oh, and there’s a journal… and map. Definitely more about that later.
Word count: 1942
Chapter Two | “The Ticking Begins”
Moving day has come, quickly. Kathryn doesn’t seem to be much for hanging around and she’s pulled the ripcord. George knows this about her so he’s not entirely suprised. Bus rides to the airport on a cold morning are sort of a lonely affair—perhaps not quite as desperate looking as just about any flight leaving Las Vegas, though.
As George draws on the glass, some part of his inner world spills out through his fingertips in real time—the plane he sketches is going down, a tiny "HELP" scrawled in the window, as if searching for a way out. I think of it like a weep hole in carpentry—those tiny gaps built into window sills to let the rain escape. His fingers, his drawings, are just that: a quiet outlet, a necessary release for what can’t be held inside.
And there's a ticking feeling beneath it all, a quiet urgency he can’t shake.
For those of you fretting that we’re now two chapters in and things haven’t ramped up yet, just hold tight a bit longer. The sweet isn’t so sweet without the sour.
Word count: 913
Chapter Three | “Voice of Legends”
This is our first time jump of the story, back to 1983. I don't know how much people pay attention to that time marker but we’ll see if it causes confusion.
And this is our first time seeing George's father in his element. We get a pretty good view of the ebb of his life. And, of course, Kathryn who’s in a very different place than we’ve seen her so far.
Let’s talk about George’s father for a minute. I don’t channel people often, in real life or in writing. I mean, there was a short while, maybe 3 or 4 days when I was a kid where I borrowed a pair of khakis and wore a white shirt to look like some cholos in my neighborhood. But, that was because of a girl. Anywhew… The first half of this chapter is an homage to my buddy
. Many of his posts about music could be written by George's father (or, perhaps the other way around) with their fiery, musical insight pointed at listeners with both barrels. As an aside to this aside: I looked through our text messages and thought I’d made mention of channeling him while writing this but, alas, this is the first he’ll hear about it. Also, Jason, you’re welcome.George’s father’s radio broadcast, I imagine, is as much a part of his on-campus personality as his classes. In the vein of one of those larger-than-life teachers who always seem to occupy a humanities course where people rush to sign up.
The car ride home is a different story, perhaps the more subdued flip side of the record—if there’s an apt analogy. I never named the college/university but in my mind it’s UC Berkeley. And, I can imagine how, even as progressive as that school has been, it must have been swayed by the predictions of John Naisbitt. His book, Megatrends, would have been anathema to people like George’s father where the future looked backward less often, toward history or mythology, and more toward an Information Age. It’s, perhaps, worth noting here that Naisbitt’s theories came mostly true. There are some wonderful summaries available if you’re in the mood (link, link).
Also embedded in the car ride home is a brief moment with Kathryn. We get to see her directly, hear a few of her thoughts and memories. Not one to shy from challenging her partner she’s also more moderated, reflective. We’ll hear more about Kathryn later so I’ll leave it at that.
George, for his part in both sections, is taking it all in. We are experiencing the world through his eyes while peeking in just a bit at his thoughts. He feels something coming but, like a kid, senses it in more grand ways: moving. Those tectonic shifts, the ones that don’t have visible volcanic activity are much harder to understand but they’re definitely felt.
But, he’s left with something to look forward to: a story from the vault.
Word count: 2267
Chapter Four | “The Bedtime Story”
Remember in the first note where I mentioned trying out a different orientation of chapters? Yeah, I debated a lot about starting with this one. Again, apologies to early readers who gave great notes but it just didn’t feel right to jump to this without seeing the rest of the world first. And, truly, even still in serializing all of this, it still feels like a gamble to leave it to later.
Suffice to say, the bedtime story is the launchpad. It’s the start of the avalanche. The Big Bang for George. In the same way those wild stories our family or friends told us when we were young, this one will stick.
In it we’re treated to a first-hand account of an adventure by George’s father… down, down, down into the cave. with glowing bats. and fierce creatures. and, and…
…and that’s all I’m going to say about this chapter, for now.
Word count: 2898
Chapter Five | “Pez Doblado”
Every kid has a night so enchanted by the things you’re making that you hope your parents will forget to tell you to go to bed, right? I know I did. Drawing, models (my room sometimes smelled like a gas station), or even writing. Oh pleeeeeease, just five more minutes?
George is in that state of mind when he’s hot on the trail of pulling at the threads of his father’s story. If only he could sink into the carpet he’d be invisible. Unfortunately, something else transpires that interrupts both the map making and his life.
I wrestled a lot with the timing of this sequence. If you know none of his other tracks, you’ve heard some rendition of Hallelujah. But it’s a dead giveaway (pun intended) unless you creep up on the idea that it’s playing and shift the focus to a moment of exhiliration. I hope that I've done that here. You tell me.
As with all things fiction, some artistic license taken but, perhaps, not a far stretch. Cohen’s album Various Positions came out in 1984, but probably safe to say it was being circulated to record stations by the end of 1983. Maybe I didn’t need to add the “for radio station use only” sticker as it feels like, well, an add-on but I kinda like the backstory it gives the record, too. Incidentally, Hallelujah is a killer way to start the second side of the record. Just a few years later, and a different label, it would have either been track 1 or 9 on the CD.
In case you’re wondering, my favorite version Hallelujah is by Jeff Buckley
Word count: 1190
Chapter Six | “Patterns, Part 1”
We’re finally at the airport. I know, I know. Because this is a serialized version of the story there’s a natural tendency to move with speed and take things to the N’th degree right away… trust me, I feel it, too. But, like in my favorite 70’s-80’s movies I wanted there to be more of a build up first. I hope the wait hasn’t been too long because, you’re going to have to wait just a bit longer for the explosion you just know is coming.
There’s a lot to unpack in this chapter as the radiator in George is starting to boil over. That pressure has been building and now we see it escaping via music. In this case it’s the repeating pattern of the carpet and the sound of New Order’s Blue Monday. As I was scouring for the right feel many moons ago, I happened across an episode of Song Exploder—one I’d missed. I’ve probably listened to the New Order track a dozen times over the years but hearing the stems of the recording unveils a very different set of highlights to listen for in the mix.
Like most things I write I tried to think through this in a cinematic way where we’re moving in and out of George’s mind, pretty quickly in some cases, and to the surroundings (real or imagined). I think I’ve said this before, maybe in Notes, that George and I share the same proclivity for imagining things and the spilling of his drink that creates the hole in the table, the carpet, is something I would definitely have done in that moment. Oh, and New Coke was a fucking travesty, so, maybe it’s not crazy to think he could have been looking down at the baggage handling system had he dumped it on his ticket.
And now, George has set off through the crowd at the airport. He’s got an idea, sort of, about what’s going to happen next…
Word count: 1868
Chapter Seven | “Juxtaposition”
The root of all things George, so far, are from these moments with his father. In this case, a lesson how music and myth are intertwined. This chapter might have the most overt musical references than any other. And, so many of them are great that I had to pare back which would be part of the ongoing playlist. I opted for fewer than I could, slimming down to the essential ones.
Of the music George’s father talks about I can honestly say I had to do some serious research. I think it’s well-known that Led Zeppelin lyrics are full of Tolkien references but I hadn’t really thought much about, or listened to, Marillion. Clocking in over 17 minutes (!!), Grendel is a hard listen if the style isn’t your thing (see my other thoughts about prog rock here). And, only after listening with my oldest son did I happen upon how Jackie Paper might be the actual villain in Peter, Paul and Mary’s mega hit Puff, The Magic Dragon.
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys
One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roarHis head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave
In any case, this chapter is a bit of an origin story for Blue Monday in George’s pantheon of musical influences. And, while it’s that, I hope you catch that it, also, waters the seeds of how George views mythology in music and his introduction to how music and lyrics can juxtapose each other.
Word count: 997
Chapter Eight | “Patterns, Part 2”
Serializing a novel makes you consider it differently. Sure, there's word count—too few can leave the audience baffled while too many fight the uphill battle of waning attention spans. And, the order of chapters can also change at whim. Just the other day I mentioned this:
And it’s true. Originally, what became chapter 7 was somewhat of a punchline for the previous (the one you’re about to/have read the second part of).
But because of serialization, this chapter, Chapter 8 (Patterns, Part 2) is a continuation of Chapter 6. We pick up where we left off with George storming away. There are a few convenient things that happen in George's favor here. They’re not exactly “gimmes” but like often happens in a story, a confluence of circumstances that help alter the trajectory.
The first is how, and this will seem very foreign to a younger audience, in 1986 you didn't need a passport to go to Mexico from the United States. A simple ID would do, sometimes not even that depending on the border you crossed (cough, Nogales). Oh, the halcyon days before the TSA. There were also no metal detectors or pat downs. In reality, you could go right to the gate without a ticket and have one printed for you there (assuming it was already purchased). And, the same with border security simply asking for ID, while computers were used for ticketing, airlines all still relied heavily on what was printed on our boarding passes and could make many more adjustments at whim.
The next change in trajectory is a two-fold distraction, the first being the Challenger disaster. On the morning of January 28th, 1986 it was world news. I remember coming out for recess, I was in 5th grade, and being stopped by our art teacher who, clearly distraught, told us the space shuttle had exploded. It had been 16 years since another US space catastrophe had happened with Apollo 13 (“Houston, we have a problem”). I say US because in 1971 there was one in Russia—the Soyuz 11 had a depressurization problem, killing all three cosmonauts aboard. Suffice to say, were you to be in this moment on that January morning, especially when TVs were in short supply in airports, you would have been glued to the news (possibly watching a fledgling CNN).
Then, there’s the lie, the big lie about the looky-loo and George’s mother, Kathryn. And poor Annie is caught in the middle. While the Challenger news might have provided enough distraction I think it’s reasonable that George would swing for the fences here and hedge his bets with something more. In doing so, we get a glimpse of how far George might go—the repeating pattern of Blue Monday driving his feet, the pressure of the patterns wrecking his brain.
Who knows, maybe New Coke would have provided a simpler means of mutilating the airline ticket. But, we’ll never know, because he and Kathryn are now heading toward Mexico.
Word count: 1858
Chapter Nine | The Creation Story
Chris Isaak sang, “Baby did a bad, bad thing,” and I think of that with this chapter. Maybe I’m making too much of it but, because I’m not a historian or theologian, taking a swing at writing a version of a creation story—any creation story—feels like you’re asking for trouble–even under cover of the fictitious book, Shadows and Echoes.
Still, the Popol Vuh is old. Not Bible-old, but close. It’s a woven record—part myth, part memory, part instruction manual for being human. Which, if we’re honest, isn’t so different from most sacred texts.
The version we know today only survived because a Dominican friar named Francisco Ximenez copied it down in the early 1700s, translating the oral stories of the K’iche’ Maya into Latin script. But that was long after the Spanish arrived and lit a match to most of what came before. Like the Crusades, this is a pattern: a religion rolls in, claims dominion over a place, and burns the stories that held it together. That the Popol Vuh was transcribed at all was an act of both defiance and survival—the oral stories of the Maya were never documented this way (the oral stories date somewhere around 200-600CE). So, a written record may have been the only way to keep those stories from being lost forever, even if done reluctantly.
What I’ve taken liberty with doesn’t mess with the core—the characters, the failed tries at making man. Where it veers is in the telling: a little extra flair, and a bit more weight on why creation mattered in the first place. The Maya gods weren’t just looking to create—they wanted connection. Not ritual for ritual’s sake, but recognition. Praise. That’s the thread I pulled on: the idea that without reverence—without being remembered—the whole thing unravels. That last line? It’s not just a warning. It’s the engine of the myth—and maybe a glimpse of divine insecurity.
As an aside, I’ve been reading a lot of Chuck Wendig over the last few years so the seemingly non-sequitur format of an interlude is, ahem, borrowed. Thanks, Chuck.
Word count: 505
Chapter 10 | “Give ‘em hell, kid!”
Oh, the shit’s hit the fan now.
George and Kathryn are on the plane, bound for Cancun. We’ve just taken a big step toward whatever George thinks is at the other end of this flight. Hopefully, for his sake, it’s the island in all its glory, just as the map predicted it is.
But, he’s having second thoughts. Tertiary thoughts. And Kathryn is watching him like a hawk over the tequila on ice. While I disagree with the addition of ice—blech—I hope it’s, at least, a reposado.
In this chapter I hope you find the something sweet that lies beneath the anxiety of it all, I hope you see the turn that’s happening for Kathryn. She’s confused, probably angry at it all. But she’s also allowing for agency. Perhaps this is a moment where serialization wins in publishing because it’s been a couple of weeks since we saw her at the airport and it’s possible to feel some amount of time has passed where she might calm down. But, make no mistake, Kathryn remembers everything. She’s no dope.
Writing this chapter was fairly quick work once you put yourself in George’s brain. He’s scared of the power he’s just wielded. But knows what has to happen next: lies. Maybe really big ones. And to kick that into high gear he’s having a conversation with the in-flight magazine cover(s). Those sassy ladies are George’s conscience. Maybe ours, too.
In researching another project years ago I learned a bit about the early days of Pan American Airlines—they pioneered the use of inflight magazines starting with Horizon. Juan Trippe, then president of Pan Am, hired aviator Charles Lindbergh to scout new routes. A hero of the early days of aviation, Lindbergh was game to bring the capabilities of the flying machine to anywhere his wings would take him (pause for looking at Wikipedia). On one excursions, in 1930, he found several unmapped Mayan ruins in the jungle of the Yucatan. But I digress…
George has landed and he’s got an open sea and smooth sailing ahead… right?
Today’s soundtrack update is the original Rock Lobster by The B-52s. But, if you’re more daring, please listen to the version by Grupo Langosta. It’s a bit more punk, more offbeat, but wholly missing from Spotify.
Word count: 1174
Chapter 11 | “Bienvenidos!”
Just about every book will tell you to "write what you know." In the case of George and Kathryn making their way through this new world to the shoreline with a lengthy sightseeing detour, it's pretty close to reality. Except mine was a stupidly expensive trip from Heathrow to Stratford—linguistic and exchange rate mishaps included.
But, even in those moments, there's something really special about how wide-eyed you are in a new place. Quoting Vincent Vega, "I mean, they got the same shit over there that they got here but it's just there, it's a little different."
I think this chapter is the second time I added a small nod to the teacher, Mrs. Romey. That's a real name, and a real person—she was my High School journalism & video production teacher. We've kept up over the years and, in fact, she might be reading this right now. 👋
In any case, we're now at the shoreline but something's amiss and we're not sure what George is going to do now.
Word count: 1423
Chapter 12 | “Normal”
We haven't spent much time with Kathryn, just a few sparse moments here and there. In this chapter we get to hear a bit more of her inner voice and her view of the world. And, while she might still be the "relationship assassin" there's a lot more going on inside.
Again, write what you know: "Sand at her collar and bellies full of beer and oysters—an indulgent meal for meager salaries" is exactly how I felt spending time at Inverness not long after I moved to the Bay Area. The route to there is exactly as she describes it with the exception of a few more restaurants that probably didn’t exist in ~1974. Also, if you’re looking for the one I have in my head, get to Kehoe Beach. But, first, make a stop at The Marshall Store for some killer oysters.
There are a couple of striking moments of honesty in this chapter that might be surprising for how we’ve seen Kathryn so far. The first is how welded her lips would be about spilling the beans of her pregnancy. So far she hasn’t been short on what she thinks about other people, even if heard indirectly through George’s ears. The second is her recognition of not being the parent in a later scene with Mrs. Mireya. Writing that from the perspective of a parent is a bit like witnessing a gut punch that you also felt.
And at the end, we’re left with George and his music. Peter Gabriel in this case with sort of a B-side from the Melt album. The song feels like looking through the bars of an asylum and that’s probably a bit of how George feels about living anything other than the moment right in front of him. So, in recognition of that, he’s rewarded by a glimpse—ever-so-slightly as it may be—of the island.
Word count: 2121
Chapter 13 | The Dream
I got quite a few questions about this chapter. All I can say at the moment is: Shrug.
Trust me when I say it’s not being flip, it’s just that there are other things afoot and to explain it now wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Chapter 14 | The Lion
There’s a meme going around that pretty much explains this chapter…
I’ve been looking forward to introducing The Lion for a while. He’s changed shape quite a lot in the planning, even still as I’m writing this he’s changing. Though, I can say with some thanks, his motivations haven’t. In this published version he’s more grizzled in introduction but there’s a similar spirt to earlier revisions that will get some daylight in the next few appearances.
And, while he didn’t inspire the whole thing, his character is meaningful to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.
That’s all I should say for now.
Chapter 15 | What’s Owed?
If you’ve been reading along with these notes—likely getting aggrivated by the lack of “between the cracks” details—I’m sorry. This notes section probably won’t be much better.
In this chapter George is following the Lion to the alley where we see him negotiate a better price for some stolen fish. God, while writing that I’m thinking this sounds like the most boring story ever. But there’s a lot of history in this interaction between the Lion and the sunglasses man. More on that in later chapters.
While that’s happening George is watching some crazy shit go down with two kids who are stealing eggs from a bunch of chickens. The idea of this came from the ether. Really, I had many other ideas about how to introduce them but when I started writing the alley scene there wasn’t much for George to do and I couldn’t make it solely about the Lion. So… voila!
Writing their interaction and George’s reaction made me laugh out loud. Not like when your friend texts lol and says they’re still drying their pants and can’t go out, but like a real like a really real LOL. We’ll see more of the boys later, for sure.
Chapter 16 | Monsters
From the first moment I started writing ISLA—like, for reals—I knew I wanted iguanas to have a moment. Any number of times I’ve napped while on vacation in Mexico I seem to attract them. They seem to not be scared of my snoring, which is nice. And I’ve always found them to resemble, like the Komodo dragon, leftovers from the age of dinosaurs.
The trick here was two-fold: 1. to give them a sanctuary somewhere that Kathryn and George would stumble upon and 2. to not make it obvious. Therefore: Palacio de Garrobo. But, as Roberto (the Lion has a name!) says, “Aterrador, pero dócil.” … yes, terrifying, but docile. This is mostly true. But it doesn’t mean they’re not frightening up close.
That moment of Kathryn running out, jumping over them, is a bit of comic relief. Though, perhaps not for her.
Down at the beach is where things come to a head. She’s done with the charade and it’s time for her to come clean about the journal and George’s father’s stories.
As I’m writing, putting myself in George’s position, I thin the worst thing I could hear is a trusted adult tell me it’s all bullshit. Kathryn does this in her own way, mostly devoid of sympathy.
I’ve attempted to walk a thin line in Kathryn’s multi-faceted behavior. We’re introduced to her in Chapter 1 as being the “relationship assassin” and having command over the smallest details.
Then, in Chapter 6, George describes her this way:
She’d have a few days of licking her wounds, maybe sleep past noon. But when she emerged from the cloud, the funk, her whole demeanor would be different, somehow cleansed. Scowl lines on her face would reshape themselves and her laugh would reappear. She’d get a new haircut, maybe a new bag or dress. That’s when he’d see her, really see her: Kathryn and her unflappable charm that could pull anyone, everyone, into her tractor beam. That best version of Kathryn is what his father saw. It’s what George remembers from the black-and-white strip of pictures stuck to the fridge.
In Chapter 12 she’s wrestling with taking a backseat as the parent and the potentially skipped maternal genes. And now, in Chapter 16, she confronting her limitations again:
Kathryn never bent down to talk to George. She never squatted or met him at eye level, always keeping her distance—that gene the rest of her family had been gifted but skipped her entirely. The warmth that seemed to come so easy to everyone else felt like an ill-fitting mask when she tried to wear it. So she didn’t. She’d stopped even trying it on. That was just who she was. Is.
I’m fond of saying that humans are walking inconsistencies but Kathryn is nothing if not a pattern. She’s still figuring it out in front of us.
Chapter 17 | La Boca Vieja
…coming June 24