Month: September 2015

A Pitch Session!

Some exciting things have been happening with my writing.

My collection of weird stories In Search Of and Others and my impeccable track record of selling only barely speculative stories to Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine caught the attention of some pretty heavy hitters in Hollywood, and long story short, I had a pitch meeting.

At Marvel Studios.

Here’s what I gave them, more or less verbatim.

The film opens with the camera focused at ground level on a lonely stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, and a vintage convertible sports car zooms over our heads. The license plate says STARK, and now we’re following Tony Stark and Bruce Banner on their way…somewhere. We don’t know where yet because all we see is two guys in civilian clothes eating Funyons and drinking soda on a road trip.

Yeah, they have adventures: they stop at the Longaberger factory and the world’s biggest ball of twine, they help a battered wife escape from her husband at a truck stop, they get a flat tire, they accidentally ingest mescaline, they get into a fist fight at a biker bar somewhere in Texas. And between it all they talk, and we find out slowly that Nick Fury has died poignantly of cancer or something, and they both feel guilty for not being there when he died.

Hey, you’re the continuity guys. If Nick Fury isn’t really dead, that’s your thing. He’s dead for this movie, that’s the point.

As the trials and annoyances of the road press upon them, they argue more and more until Magneto destroys their car and strands them in the desert, unlikely to make it on time. They argue, they weep, they hug, and working together with a new emotional understanding, they do get to the funeral with, I don’t know, Black Widow’s help or something.

It was hard to gauge their response, but they gave me a great goody bag and some old fart greeted me with “Excelsior!”, so maybe those are good signs.

I’ll keep you posted!

A September Stroll

On September 11, 2001, I worked as a technical writer at the U.S. Mint building on Massachusetts Avenue, and our building wasn’t far from the Capitol.

I’d taken the Metro to Union Station that morning, bought a bagel, and walked the few blocks to work under a very blue sky. I was about halfway through the bagel when there was a sudden slowdown of our network. Being me, I went to a reliable news source to see what was going on and this is what I saw:

Bad news, folks! Servers are down! In other news, there may be some injuries at the WTC.

Bad news, folks! Servers are down! In other news, there may be some injuries at the WTC.

It took a few tries to call my (now ex-) wife, and when I said, “I think the United States is under some kind of coordinated attack,” she snapped in a terse and half-awake daze, “What are you talking about?” I got calls from friends (William and Tom, shout out!) and also my brother-in-law Marty, who raised the possibility that I should, perhaps, see about going home instead of hanging out near the Capitol building during what might be an ongoing…thing.

Huh, I thought. I’ll go ask my bosses.

When I went to my boss’s office, though, he was already gone. So, too, were the rest of the staff; they’d forgotten me. I was a contractor in my first month of employment there.

So I got my things together, stuffed them into a backpack, and started for home. I knew the Metro would either be crowded or shut down, so I simply walked. And because I’m terrible with directions, I headed for the only place I knew how to get home FROM: the Lincoln Memorial.

It was probably the safest eight-mile walk of my life. There were almost no other pedestrians, only men in suits on street corners holding M-16s and peering at me with my giant sapper’s backpack full of books. None of them stopped me because, hey, white guy!

I followed the Mall, passed the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, and then crossed Memorial Bridge. That’s when the smell of burning plastic hit me from the smoldering Pentagon, and I continued down the center of the surreal deserted GW Parkway with its plume of smoke to my right. Marine helicopters passed overhead, circled the Pentagon, and then continued westward, and my only guess was that they were taking congressmen to look at the damage.

I made it as far as the marina on the other side of the airport before I reached a point where the parkway was no longer blocked off. By then I was exhausted and dehydrated, and my wife came to the barricades to pick me up.

I guess it’s somewhat telling that my 9/11 experience was mostly alone. I spoke to my mother and my friends on the phone briefly when I could get through, but for most of that walk, it was just me quietly wondering how the world would be different now, hoping that terrorists wouldn’t think to attack the Smithsonian, wondering if there was an accessible hose or water fountain at the marina. That’s what I do in a disaster, shove everyone away from me. Sometimes that’s good and sometimes it isn’t.

I didn’t see any of the images until later, which might be why I’m still a little obsessively compelled by them today: I’m still catching up.

Or maybe I’m just still a little guilty that my 9/11 was a literal walk in the park compared to so many others’.

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