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Friday, November 30, 2012

CHUCK NORRIS NEVER BLINKS. NEVER!


* If Chuck Norris is late, time better slow the Hell down
* Chuck Norris doesn't worry about changing his clock twice a year for daylight savings time. The sun rises and sets when Chuck tells it to.
* If you have five dollars and Chuck Norris has five dollars, Chuck Norris has more money than you.
* Life insurance premiums are based on how far you live from Chuck Norris.
* Ghosts sit around the campfire and tell Chuck Norris stories.
* Chuck Norris counted to infinity - twice.
* Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door.
* Death once had a near-Chuck Norris experience.
* There is no Theory Of Evolution, just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.
* Unstoppable force meeting an immovable object? Chuck Norris clapping.
* When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn't lifting himself up, he's pushing the Earth down.

*****
Frank Lupo said, "Whatcha'doin', guys?"

Chris said, "In a word - getting the fuck out of town."

I said, "That's six words."

Chris said, "Jesus, Cole, you're so damned nit-picky."

I could hear Frank laughing on the speaker phone. He was always a duck for the Bunch & Cole Show. He said, "No, seriously, guys. What're you up to?"

I said, "We really are leaving town, boss. Chris and Karen are pretty much packed. Kathryn and I have to hang on a little longer so she can close down her business, and we can find tenants for the house."

Knowing us, Frank was unsurprised. All he said was: "Where you headed?"

Chris said, "A little town called Ilwaco in Washington State. We ran across the place years ago on bike trip. It's on a peninsula across from Astoria. Beautiful country. Maybe fifteen thousand people in the whole damned county."

I added, "Looked like a great place to write. We both agreed that when we made it, that's where we'd go to. We've got enough book contracts to take care of us for a few years, then we'll see what's next."

"That's great news, guys," Frank said. "The dream of practically every writer in Town."

"Even you, boss?" I teased.

Frank laughed. "Nah. I'm too much of a city kid."

Frank Lupo
Lupo was ex-New Yorker who'd come out to Hollywood to make his bones as a writer. Drove a cab to support his family, while turning out spec scripts on the side. At a very young age, he'd impressed the hell out of the right people and before you knew it he was a big time producer. Another blink of the eye and Frank was Co-creator (with the late Steve Cannel ) of The A-Team, Wise Guys, Hunter, Werewolf, and many more.

If you recall, we'd first met on his debut gig as a showrunner on Galactica 1980 (it wasn't Frank's fault) where we were story editors (wasn't our fault, either) and since then we'd written a pile of scripts for most of his shows. In fact, the best experience we ever had in Hollywood was as story execs on Werewolf, where at Frank's behest we had not only scragged Chuck (The Rifleman ) Connors, but made him literally kiss the ring of his replacement. (See: Chuck Connors Kisses The Ring)

I was grinning at the memory when Frank said, "Can you guys maybe use a little 'get out of town' money?"

"Sure as hell could, boss," Chris said. "Can't believe how much it costs to ship fucking books. They want 50 cents a damn pound, and I've got easy - four thousand books."

"Well, maybe we can help each other," Frank said. "You hear about that new Chuck Norris show CBS bought?"

I said, "Vaguely. There was a two-hour MOW that did big numbers. A Texas Ranger thing, right?"

"Walker, Texas Ranger," Frank confirmed. "Damndest story behind it. Chuck made the two-hour himself. And get this, he got the Mattress King of Texas to finance it. CBS bought the movie, then didn't know what the fuck to do with it, so they thought they'd burn it off. Show it in the Dead Season and maybe they'd get their money back. But, then - Boom! Ratings through the roof."

Chris said. "No surprise there. Martial arts shit always does well - not that any Suit ever realizes that. Hell, there's a huge built-in audience for it. Put a Kick Boxer on anything and you've got automatic sales."

I added, "Plus, we're talking Chuck Norris, here. He's no great shakes as an actor - but when it comes to martial arts, he's the real deal. Middleweight champion for I don't know how many years."

Chris snorted. "Not like that phony-ass Steve Seagal!" (As you may have gathered, Chris did not hold Steven Seagal in especially high esteem. Nor did I. Revisit Chris Bunch Versus Steven Seagal for a refresher course.)

Although I could hear him chuckle, Frank stayed on point. "So, the Network had this hit from out of nowhere. Even had some financing if they wanted to share the profits with the Mattress King."

"Fat chance," Chris said.

"You guessed it," Frank said. "Anyway, they make a deal with Chuck to do a Texas Ranger TV series. But, holy shit, after they sign the deal, they realize the movie was a fluke. Made by amateurs, for fuck's sake. And no way can amateurs do a whole fucking TV series. With or without Mattress King money."

I could imagine the dilemma. A weekly series is an incredible grind. Fourteen hour days. Six, seven days a week. Couple hundred employees - all members of some kind of union. One sneeze can cost a fortune. And then there's the actors. Temperamental? If they are any good - probably.

Roseanne Barr
I remember a Studio Veep who bragged to me that she'd blown off Rosanne Barr when she came calling with her show. She said, "I knew she was a bitch that'd cause nothing but trouble." Well, that "bitch" made a rival network hundreds of millions of dollars. Sure she was trouble. But it goes with the territory. In my experience, Talent is a coin whose flip side is Temperament, if not downright Trouble. (Present company not excluded.)

Frank said, "Anyway, the network asked me and John Ashley to get the show off the ground. And after we backed up a truck to the studio gates and they'd shoveled in enough money, we said okay."
***
FREEZE SCENE FOR SAD BACKSTORY

The John Ashley Frank was referring to was his longtime friend and production partner. A really great guy. Sadly, Ashley died from cancer not many years after this conversation.

He'd won his start in the business working on a John Wayne movie back in 1956. The movie - an awful thing with a fabulous group of Players - was called The Conqueror, with Wayne totally miscast as Genghis Kahn.

Far worse - the movie was shot at St. George, Utah, about a hundred miles downwind from the government's nuclear test site in Nevada. (Testing was above ground back then.) Worse still, when they returned to LA to finish the movie, Howard Hughes (who made movies and starlets in those days) shipped tons of the dirt from the Utah location back to the studio for an added sense of film realism.

The result: Of the 220 people in the cast and crew, 91 later developed cancer and 46 died of the disease - including Wayne, the amazing Agnes Moorehead... and our John.

Coincidence? Government says so. Cancer specialists say otherwise. Who to believe? Hmm.
***
RESUME SCENE

Frank said, "So, whaddaya say, guys? Write one more for the road?"

Chris made with his favorite reply: "Is the Bear Catholic? Does the Pope shit in the woods?" And that afternoon a messenger dropped off a package with an outline, character sheet, and VHS tape of the movie - which Frank told us to mostly ignore since there was really nothing in there that would make a series. But, it did give us a look at how Chuck Norris handled himself. The martial arts scenes - all choreographed by him - were a marvel. Natch. His acting was kind of wooden, but passable.

"Not bad for a guy who went to acting school on the GI bill," I told Chris.

"That's right," Chris said, "You met him before, didn't you."

I had - although I doubt if Norris would remember me. It was when I was a kid reporter for the late, unlamented Inglewood Daily News. Norris, an ex Airman (he served in Korea, among other places), had yet to kick his way up the ladder to Karate fame. He worked at an aerospace company in our circulation area - shrewdly hoarding every penny to open up a chain of karate schools.

I interviewed him at his Torrance school, and quite liked the guy. He was shy, earnest, and totally focused. He was about my age and we hit it off right away. I had an interest in the martial arts - I'd lettered in Judo at Kubasaki High School in Okinawa, and we swapped stories about life on military bases in Asia. After that interview, his success came as no surprise.

When Chris and I were done with the TV movie, we scored a copy of Way Of The Dragon - the film he did with Bruce Lee. Although Chris and I were both big Bruce Lee fans, we had to admit that Norris held his own in his scenes with Lee.

We came up with some stories and met with Frank's Story Exec - whose name I unfortunately don't remember, because he was a definite Pro and a helluva nice guy. There weren't any offices for Walker yet, so we met at the guy's house out in the Valley.

We made our pitch and the one he especially liked was titled "Right Man, Wrong Time." Basically, it was about a beautiful country singer who is being stalked by a former beau - a Jerry Lee Lewis type madman who is on the skids.

We gave him a sawed-off shotgun to make things interesting, and a couple of very large Red Neck bully boys to make them doubly so.

***

TRUE STORY ASIDE

When Chris was (by his own admission) the world's worst Rock And Roll PR man he was one member of a team repping Jerry Lee Lewis. Opening night of one gig Jerry Lee shows up and becomes infuriated that the club's marquee gave him second billing. Story goes that he got a shotgun out of his trunk and blew the marquee to smithereens. See what I mean about what's on the flip side of the Talent Coin?

***

BACK TO THE ACTION

The Story Exec got on the phone to Frank, told him about "Right Man" and a couple of minutes later he was saying the four magic words: "Who's your agent, boys?"

We wrote the first draft. Things were in a flux on the show and the Story Exec was swamped, so we met with Frank personally for our second draft notes. It was at his house, if I remember correctly. Big place. Nice art, tastefully decorated and Frank's study was filled with books. Many of them first editions from writers he admired. Some of ours were among them. (Aw, shucks.)

He said, "This is great, guys. But there's a couple of things we need to do throughout." We nodded, pens hovering over notepads. Frank went on, "You've got some scenes here that Chuck just isn't equipped to handle. We've got a guy who has three expressions: Poker Face. Poker Face With A Frown. And Poker Face With A Smile. And sometimes the smile looks more like he's gonna kill some-fucking-body, than anything else."

Chris and I knew right away where we'd gone wrong. We'd set up a trap for ourselves. This was a love story, after all. And a bitter sweet one at that. Normally, we could expect our lead to show the appropriate emotion at the appropriate time. Woo the girl. Win the girl. Lose the girl and Fade Out, The End. Where we'd gone wrong was to treat Norris like any other professional actor, giving him some real meaty scenes to work with.

Big damned mistake. We'd handled similar situations for Frank before - where the Lead's acting abilities were weak, but he was surrounded by very professional character actors and actresses.

I said, "Gotcha boss. Throw the lines to the real actors and give Chuck the button on the scene."

Frank said, "Yeah, like that."

He shook his head, then said, "You know, I probably won't be with this show long. To make it work, I've gotta come down hard and Chuck isn't going to like it. I told the Network that. Said I'd make the show a success, but when that point came Chuck's gonna want to fire my ass, then take credit for the success."

Chris and I made noises of concern. Frank laughed and waved them away. "Don't worry, I've got a fuckin' Fail-Safe Clause built into the contract. Let him take credit. He's not a bad guy. In fact, I like him. But, pretty soon he's not going to like me."

With those final words in mind we gathered up our stuff and headed out. Turned in the last draft a couple of weeks later, and then it came time for Chris and Karen to call the Bekins man and make the big move to little Ilwaco.

Kathryn and I stayed on another month or so. She to sell her business, me to find renters for our house in Venice.

A couple of weeks before we left, I got a call from Frank's Story Exec. He said, "We've got a situation here, Allan, where we have to rattle Chuck's cage. He thinks the other people on the show are getting all the acting glory, while he just gets to punch people out."

That worried me. I thought we'd done a good job of walking that tightrope. The Story Exec sensed my concern and said, "No, not your script. That's fine. Chuck loved it. It's already been shot and it's in post-production.

"But now what we need is a script that makes Chuck think that if he's not careful, we can make his worst fears come true."

I knew what he was after. "You want a story that really puts the spotlight on one of the other characters," I said. "Then Chuck comes in at the last minute and saves the day. So, who needs him, right? Any action star can do that."

"Right," the Story Exec said. "Frank said you boys were specialists in that kind of thing."

And indeed we were. We'd done it any number of times, starting way back at the dawn of our careers with Jack Klugman on Quincy and James Garner on Rockford Files. You write a script in which the Star is on vacation, or sick, or something. Throw the story to one of the regulars on the show - or even a guest star - then sit back and wait for the Star to read it. Give birth to a two-headed cow. Shout and scream at his agent. Then promise to be a good boy or girl again.

But there was one big problem with that kind of script.

I said, "If we do it right, you'll never shoot it." This meant there'd be no reruns, meaning no residuals - which count for a large part of a freelance screenwriter's income.

The story exec said, "Got you covered. Frank said to make a back-up script deal."

Ah, that was better. A backup script - one which will only be shot if something else falls out - pays scale and a half. Maybe even double. I made a mental note to tell our agent to negotiate for double. The move out of state, as Chris had said, was really expensive.

I told the story exec we'd give it a shot. I called Chris in Ilwaco and he agreed I'd done the right thing taking the gig. This was in Barbarian times, you understand. Before the Internet. (I know, I know. But, we still had Fire, and this new-fangled thing called the Wheel.) Chris and I both used CompuServe, which was sort of a mini-mini-internet. So, to save long distance charges (yeah, no Skype either...sigh...) we hammered out ideas and shot them back and forth on CompuServe.

It wasn't long before we had what I thought was the perfect story. I'd just read an article - or, maybe it was something I saw on 60 Minutes - about a Breast Cancer Boot Camp aimed at restoring self confidence in cancer survivors through strenuous physical activity, obstacle courses and group counseling.

Sheree J. Wilson
One of the regulars on Walker was Sheree J. Wilson who played the part of Alex Cahill - an assistant district attorney. Ms Wilson is as talented as she is lovely, so she was perfect for our purposes.

In our story, we gave her a background that made her particularly sensitive to the issue. Her character's mother, or sister, or whatever had died from the ailment. That gave us a reason to involve her in a newly-formed Breast Cancer Boot Camp and volunteer to spend a week with one group. Walker, meanwhile, is busy on some other case and we follow Alex Cahill as she helps these women win back their confidence.

Naturally, we had a McGuffin that produced a group of really nasty villains who go after Alex and the ladies. And they spend most of the episode bravely and cleverly fending off the bad guys. The resultant battle does a lot for confidence regaining, and just when it still looks like all is lost, Walker shows up and kicks serious butt.

Chris and I collaborated long distance on the script and then I punted it forward. The Story Exec loved it. More importantly, Frank liked it.

But most important of all...

I got the call from Frank a few days before Kathryn and I were due to leave town to join Chris and Karen in Ilwaco, Washington.

He said, "It fuckin' worked, Allan."

"Chuck hated it, right?" I said.

"Fuck, yeah. But you know the reason he gave?"

I said I couldn't begin to guess.

"Chuck said if you get cancer, it's your own fault because you're not living right. He won't do a show about fucking cancer, and that's that."

"You think he really believes it?"

"Who the fuck knows?" Frank said. "But he's back at work again, and really giving it his all."

"Glad we could help, boss," I said.

And that, was that.

Just as Frank predicted the show became a big hit, winning its time slot week after week. And just as he predicted, Chuck grew to dislike him and Frank exited the show to go on to better things. No boo-hooing for Frank. (a) He was already rich. And (b) You remember that Fail Safe clause in his contract? Well hide and watch how it played out.

Walker, Texas Ranger ran a full nine seasons - always at the top of the Nielsen charts. During that time, Chris and I finished up our book contracts, then broke up the band and took our acts solo. Remarkably, it was a writing partnership that had lasted nearly twenty years.

***

LONG DISSOLVE TO: BOCA RATON, FL

Where Kathryn and I now live.

We had spent three years living in the boonies of Washington State. It was there that an ice storm inspired the idea that would lead to The Warrior Returns, the final novel in The Far Kingdoms series.

Then we spent another three years in New Mexico, outside the tiny little town named (I shit thee not) Truth Or Consequences. This was Geronimo and Billy The Kid Territory so we had a grand old time.

It was also where I came up with the idea for the Timura Trilogy, and if you look at the cover of the first book - When The Gods Slept - you'll see that the artist exactly matched the view of the wilderness outside my office window. (Sans the cavalry and magical city.)

But it was time to get back to civilization so we heeded the urgings of my Aunt Rita and moved to the little beach town of Boca Raton.

By sheer chance, one night we ran across Walker, Texas Ranger on TV. I hadn't seen the show since our episode - Right Man, Wrong Time - aired, so held on a minute to watch the big fight that always ended the show. Chuck kicked ass, then you had the obligatory, laugh, ho-ho, with the regulars at the Bar - a standing set used for those purposes.

Then I watched the end credits. And, son of a gun, I saw the names of two old friends: Nick Corea, from our Incredible Hulk (See: Showdown At The Incredible Hulk ) and Gavilan days. And Bruce Cervi, who we had worked with on Gavilan, which starred Robert Urich. (Bruce is married to another Hulk alumnus and friend: Karen Harris, a whiz of a producer and writer.)

Kathryn who knew and liked them all, said, "Maybe you should call and say hello."

And so, that's what I did. It was a great phone reunion, and while I was at it - what the hell? - I tested the waters for a possible script gig and found them warm and welcome.

I sold them a notion I'd been toying with for awhile - a story without a home. While in New Mexico, we had visited some of the small border towns - including Columbus, NM, which Pancho Villa had attacked back in 1916. My grandfather - Frank Guinan - had been an underage soldier under General Pershing then and he and the other members of the unit fruitlessly pursued the wily Villa all over the badlands.

One particular thing about those towns stirred the writer in me. Some of them were run by old-fashioned Western Sheriffs, who ruled the towns like it was their personal fiefdom. Also, some of the towns - and the sheriffs - had been living off the proceeds from smuggled contraband for well over a century. In the old days it was guns and rustled cattle and horses. In modern times guns and narcotics.

So, I sold them a story - On The Border - about such a town and sheriff that went down pretty well with everybody, including Chuck Norris. Lee Majors played the bad ass sheriff. (Watch the episode: Click here for Part One. Click here for Part Two)

Damndest thing, though. The notes I got for the first draft consisted of a recording of the Exec Producer - Gordon Dawson reading the story aloud to Norris. As he went on, you could hear Norris cracking and eating what I took to be nuts of some kind.

He'd go - crack! - "Yeah, that's good..." Munch, munch - "But, maybe after that I'll just choke the guy out, instead of a big fight." Crack! Munch, munch. "See how I feel when we get there." Crack! Munch, munch. Crack!

It went on like that for two small forevers, me scribbling notes in between sounds of nut cracking and eating. And I was wondering - Geeze, when I met Chuck Norris all those years ago, it hadn't occurred to me that maybe he didn't read very well. He had his own business, right?

Then, I thought, maybe that's the trouble he's having with dialogue scenes. How can he memorize his lines well enough to dramatize them if he has trouble reading the scene? Or if somebody has to read them to him over and over until he got it? Kind of like Gordon was doing reading my story aloud.

I thought about asking some of the guys on the show about it, but decided it would be wiser to just write the damned story, Cole, and don't mess with the idle speculation.

The episode was shot, aired, and to this day both Walkers I wrote rerun more than just about any other show. Matter of fact, I just got a nice check a week or so ago. Chris was spot on when he talked about the built-in popularity of anything to do with the martial arts.

Several months later, Kathryn and I visited LA to see her family and mine. I had lunch with Frank Lupo, introducing him to my son, Jason Cole, a budding writer following in his old man's footsteps. (Check out his book ofshort stories: 50 Rooms)

From there I went to Walker, to visit with Bruce Cervi and his partner, John Lansing, along with some of the other people on the show. I told them I had just come from seeing Lupo and everybody laughed and looked at each other knowingly.

I must have seemed confused, because one of the guys explained: "We don't mention Frank's name around here."

"A definite fucking no-no," somebody else said.

And that's when I learned about Frank's Fail Safe Clause.

"It's like this," one of them told me. "Frank may have left the show - but every single time an episode airs he gets fucking one hundred thousand dollars right off the top."

"Holy shit!" was my reaction. "And that's been going on for all these years?"

"All nine fucking seasons," one of the guys said. "For one hundred and ninety four episodes."

I started to calculate in my head, but gave it up. All I could say, was, "Wow!"

"It drives Chuck crazy," one of the guys said. "Whenever we sit down to budget a new episode, the first item on the list is Frank's one hundred thousand dollars. Gets a look on his face that would scare the fur off King Fucking Kong."

We all laughed over that, then I observed, "Only reason the show has been a hit for nine years is because of Frank Lupo. Without him, it would have been cancelled after three episodes."

And somebody said - "Want to tell Chuck that?"

As Chris would've said: "Not a fucking chance!"

*****
POSTSCRIPT #1 - A producer friend tells me that when Chuck heard about the deal, he fired his agent and hired Frank's.

*****
POSTSCRIPT #2 - A tragic footnote: Unintentionally, this has ended up as sort of a cancer episode. You see, Nick Corea died before I had a chance to see him again after all those years. The cause: Pancreatic Cancer.

*****
NEXT: THE BIG RIPOFF - HOLLYWOOD STYLE

*****

THE NEW STEN OMNIBUS EDITIONS:
IT'S HERE: JUGGERNAUT! 
Sten Omnibus #2
Click this link to buy the book!


Orbit Books in the U.K. has gathered up all eight novels in the Sten Series and is publishing them as three omnibus editions. The First - BATTLECRY - features the first three books in the series: Sten #1; Sten #2 -The Wolf Worlds; and Sten #3, The Court Of A Thousand Suns. Click this link to buy it.  The Kindle Edition OF BATTLECRY, includes all three books but is only available in the U.K. and territories. Click this link to buy it. Available now: JUGGERNAUT, which features the next three books: Sten #4, Fleet Of The Damned;  Sten #5, Revenge Of The Damned; and Sten #6, The Return Of the Emperor. Click this link to buy both the trade paperback and Kindle version. Next month months Orbit (A division of Little Brown) will publish DEATH MATCH, which will feature Sten #7, Vortex, and Sten #8, End Of Empire. Those will be issued as Kindle editions as well. Stay tuned for details. 
*****
THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:

The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we've now passed the 175,000 mark) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!
*****
STEN #1 DEBUTS IN SPANISH! 

Told in four parts, Episode Two now appearing in Diaspar Magazine, the best SF&F magazine in South America! And it's free! Here's the link. And here's the link to the first episode. 
 *****
Sten debuta # 1 en español! Narrada en cuatro partes, Episode Dos ahora aparece en la revista Diaspar, la mejor revista de SF & F en América del Sur! 

*****
THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK

Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.  


Friday, November 23, 2012

HIGHLANDER THREE: OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!


Amanda: MacLeod, why don't you believe me?

Duncan MacLeod: Experience. (From The Highlander Series) 
*** 
Amanda: The longer I live the more I get attached to myself. (Ditto) 
****

Crying gulls circled a bright yellow sun set in a sky so blue you just knew you had to be in California. Further proof: gentle waves lapped a glittering white beach, and there was a yacht berthed nearby where curvaceous young ladies in barely there bikinis gyrated to raucous music.

"Ah, The Golden State," Chris said.

The Highlander Story Exec chuckled, took a healthy swallow of his G&T and said, "You bloody Yanks certainly know how to bloody live."

I gestured, taking in the rich surroundings of the Marina Del Rey and said, "Producers on the downswing hang their toupees here. It's a helluva front. Lease a hot car. A condo unit with rented furniture and art. Find a broke boat owner and take over his payments. Stuff the boat with starlet wannabees, then play Mister Hollywood and invite out-of-state doctors and dentists to back your next film. Then party them down, hoping your creditors don't catch you before you score."

The Story Exec, a Londoner who used "bloody" as frequently as Hell's Angels use the Eff-Word, nodded knowingly. "Not too bloody different from the bloody Riviera," he said. "Except the birds are topless." Another big honk off the G&T. "Let's be bloody honest about it, mate," he continued. "When it comes to bloody filmmaking, it's the same the bloody world over. At heart, the bloody business is a bloody fraud."

I said, "We were sort of thinking along those lines when we drove over here. A meeting at a motel?"

The Story Exec had a laugh at this. "Bloody wondering if illicit drugs or sex were on the bloody menu, instead of a bloody story meeting."

Chris said, "I'm past the age of drugs. But sex..." He shrugged. "I'm not much into hairy faces reeking of gin, but, you know - if you go easy on the rewrite..."

Another big laugh from the Story Exec. "Bloody hell," he said. "I heard all about you blokes. If trouble strikes, they said, call bloody Bunch and Cole. Unless bloody Bunch and Cole are your bloody trouble. And then..."

He let the rest trail off. Finished his drink and waved for another round - One G&T, two Scotches. This guy was heavy duty. Damn, we might have finally met our match.

I just had to ask:"Who told you about us?"

"Your old mate, Bruce Lansbury," he replied.

Pam Hensley As Ardala
Chris and I got a kick out of that. We'd met Bruce (Angela Lansbury 's brother) - a Brit like the Story Exec - on Buck Rogers earlier in our careers. (See: Buck Rogers Is A Fatty - Ardala Definitely Isn't!) He was a good guy in our book.

I switched subjects: "What is it with the motel? I mean, it's a pretty posh joint for a motel and all. But, Marla should have sprung for an office instead of sticking you all the way out here."

The Story Exec snorted. "Last bloody thing I need is to be in the same bloody office as Marla Ginsburg," he said. "When I bloody saw that the motel had business services - and heard old Marla was flying in from bloody Paris - I used my hard-earned lying skills to move things my bloody way. I'm bloody here. Marla will be bloody there. The only bloody time I have to hear her bloody voice, is on the bloody phone."

Our waiter came and we took grateful delivery of our drinks. Bad mouthing Marla was thirsty work. The Story Exec got the swizzle stick and lime-slice garnish out of his way and gulped fresh G&T.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he said, "I'm not bloody good at this sort of bloody thing, but I'd best get it bloody done with."

We didn't know what to expect. Did he hate our script? We hadn't wanted to write the sucker in the first place, but Marla had arm wrestled us into it, saying Fox Studios wanted assurances that A-List American writers would be among the foreign crew writing for the show. She also pleaded with us to use our influence with two key Fox producers we were tight with to back the Highlander Series.

Plus, she said, that if Fox went for The Highlander, they'd be sure to get on board with our TV series - Angels Of Mercy, based on the International humanitarian organization, Doctors' Without Borders. Oh, yeah - And did I mention she'd promised to pay us double the going rate for a Highlander script? (For the hairy-scary details revisit The She Devil Who Scared Hell Out Of TheHighlander and Highlander Two: It's Just A Free Day In LA)

Continuing to hesitate, the Story Exec twisted his glass around in its coaster, then he said, "I just wanted to bloody say what a bloody honor it is to work with you blokes. I read your Vietnam novel. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. And your science fiction books - the Sten series. Bloody fantastic the way you get all those bloody insights about the bloody World, and bloody Governments, and the way things really bloody work. All bloody tied-up in fantastic action and all those bloody awful Alex Kilgour jokes."

As you might imagine, this was followed by embarrassed silence on our side of the table. Then - raising his voice - Chris looked all about, saying, "Okay, Mom. Come out, come out, wherever you are! Where are you hiding? We know you paid this guy."

We all laughed, and things returned to normal.

Chris decided it was time to get down to business. He said, "What about the script we sent over? Are we heroes, or are we goats."

The Story Exec grinned, and said - "Heroes in my bloody book. And Marla's as well. She's already bragged to Fox about it as well. I just have a few notes... there's been some changes in a few of the bloody characters. Bloody Marla is driving me around the bloody bend with the bloody Bible. Every bloody time I think we have things bloody nailed down, she wants another bloody change."

Chris said, "I feel for you, brother. We're having the same fucking problem with the Bible on our show."

I added, "We've gone six or seven different ways with most of the characters. We had one, for instance, who was a nun in her previous life. Falls in love, falls out with the Church, falls out of love, then signs up with Doctors Without Borders. The character is based on an actual nurse we interviewed in Paris."

Chris said, "So Marla says, fuck a bunch of ex-nuns. Make her an ex-hooker who sees the light and goes to nursing school, or some-such."

I said, "Then, it's back to the nun again, except she leaves the Order because she's a lesbian. And when we meet her on the medical team she's having a mad affair with a woman doctor."

Chris said, "And that's not fucking all, folks. Next, Marla says never mind the lesbian stuff. Make her older and she's having an affair with a much younger guy."

The Story Exec laughed. "Similar bloody problems, mates," he said. "Including the older woman, younger bloody guy thing. Except in our case the bloody younger guy is our bloody hero - MacLeod -who may look younger, but is really hundreds of bloody years old."

"In both instances she probably thinks she's just making the series edgier, sexier and more commercial," I said. "Even if it doesn't make sense."

Grudgingly, Chris said, "Can't blame her there. Television and making sense? That's a fucking oxymoron of the first and second order. Murkier you make it, the more Nielsen dolts you pull in."

The Story Exec grunted. "I just bloody wish she'd make up her bloody mind," he said. "Let me finish the bloody bible so I can tell the bloody writers what is bloody what." He sighed. "Bloody producers are all over me because the bloody scripts are late. And how can they bloody cast, or bloody shoot, if the bloody scripts aren't bloody there."

I said, "Speaking of which. Tell us what changes you want on ours and we'll put everything aside and get back to you post bloody - I mean, fucking - haste " (The use of "bloody," I have found is infectious. We changed it to "clot" in Sten. Just as infectious. Try it sometime - "Clottin' hell. Too clottin' true, that. You clottin' dirty rotten clot!" See?)

Anyway, we got the notes - and he was right, they were minimal - and escaped the motel bar with our livers still semi-intact. Shipped the revised script to him a week later. Couple more notes caused by the endless Marla changes in the Show Bible. And that was our final draft, plus polish, so we were out from under.

Except for one clottin' thing: We hadn't been clotting paid.

Doctors Without Borders
And here's another thing: Marla was literally thousands behind in the money Gaumont owed us for all our hard work on our own television creation: Angels Of Mercy, the above-mentioned Doctors Without Borders project.

Meanwhile, the steady streams of changes in the Show Bible were driving us up the wall. Eventually, we got that nailed down. Then she called to tell us she wanted fifteen - why the fuck fifteen? - more story précis.

I said, "Marla, we already included ten in the Bible."

"Well, we think there should be more," she said, sounding pissed off. (Lately, she always sounded pissed off.) "It will be a big help to show the studios that the series has legs."

I said, "Jesus, Marla. There are enough disasters every single day in this screwed up world to make hundreds of stories - if not thousands. Don't you think they'll get that?"

"Well, fifteen more stories down on paper will help them get it more," she said.

I said, "Fine. But, if you check your handy-dandy Writers Guild Book Of Minimums, you'll see that every additional story premise will cost Gaumont more."

"I don't think that's very reasonable," Marla said.

"The Guild does," I replied. "Call them and complain."

"Oh, come on, Allan," she said, "we're all on the same team, aren't we? We're all working toward the same goal, right?

She was stalling again and I was getting steamed. I said, "At least you're being paid for your work, Marla. We are not. We've complained. Our agent has complained. And still, you are way short of what is owed."

Marla snorted. She said, "Why is it that every time I talk to you the subject of money comes up?"

I said, "Because every time we speak, you still owe us the money."

A long pause, then she said, "Okay, Allan. I'll see what I can do."

When I hung up, Chris glared at the phone, then at me. "What the fuck does she want this time?"

I told him.

Chris was outraged. "Fifteen stories? For Fucking Free? Who the fuck does she think she fucking is? That's weeks of work. And, while we're at it, where the fuck's our money?"

I told him that too.

"Shit," Chris said. "This is getting way out of hand. We've gotta do something."

I couldn't agree more. But do what, exactly? In my experience, when all is lost, and you don't know what to do next, hang on a beat or two while the world spins on its axis, and by and by it might come around to you with a solution in tow.

A few days later: The phone rings. It's a producer/writer friend I won't name because she might still be on friendly terms with Marla. Chris punched the speaker button so we could all talk.

After some preliminary chit-chat and a progress report on a World War II series idea the three of us had been laboring on for lo these many, the Producer/Writer Lady said: "You guys are working on something with Marla Ginsburg, right?"

"Two things," I said, only mildly surprised. In Hollywood people usually know your business before you do. I mean, at the Universal Studios commissary, frequently a star's sandwich is cancelled before he/she is told that their series has "gone into hiatus." (See: The BoxmanCometh.)

What followed is a case in point.

I said, "We did a Highlander script for a favor. And we've got a TV series with Gaumont based on Doctors Without Borders."

Our friend sighed. "Well, hang on, boys," she said, "I have some disturbing news about the latter."

Our ears perked up like dogs on a hunt. Tell us more, please.

Our friend said, "I've known Marla for years. This is a tough business and it's even tougher for women. There aren't many of us on the executive level, so we tend to stick together."

"Except when you don't," Chris said.

"Yeah, yeah," our friend said."Until we don't. And that's why I'm calling. I owe you guys a heck of a lot more than I owe Marla. In fact, I don't owe her anything."

Off With Our Heads!
I suddenly knew what was up. "Don't tell me," I said. "Marla called to blow in your ear about shoving us out and you taking over our show."

In the silence that followed, Chris looked at me quizzically, then nodded. He knew I was right.

Our friend said, "Shit, Allan. Do you guys have a tap on my phone or something?"

Chris laughed. "We'll never tell," he said.

I said, "I'm right - yes?"

She said, "Yes, Allan. You are so right. Marla says that your idea is brilliant, but you two are uncooperative, despite all she's done for you. She said you block her at every avenue. Always wheedling for more money than the deal calls for. And on top of that, she says, you begged her to do a Highlander script, then did a lousy job."

I said, "That's funny. She said she loved it. And so did her Story Exec."

Our friend said, "Well, he's no longer a factor. Marla just fired the guy and sent him packing back to England. She says he was a drunk."

I couldn't help but laugh. Every writer drinks - or used to drink. As Dylan Thomas put it: "I'm not a writer with a drinking problem, but a drinker with a writing problem." Or, as Dorothy Parker quipped, "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy."

But Chris did not find Marla amusing. He said, "Fuck her. Everybody in town knows our work. And that we never, ever swing the lead."

Our friend said, "If you don't mind me asking, what does she owe you?"

We told her. She said, "Jesus, guys!" Another pause, then she offered - "Do you need the name of a good attorney?"

I said we had a great guy - Marshall Caskey - who eats possum and grits for breakfast and dines on producers for lunch. Then we thanked her for the heads up and got off the phone.

Chris said, "Should I call Caskey?"

I said, "No. If we get all legal, she'll just declare war. Let's call Marla instead."

"And then what?"

"We figure out a way to hit her where it hurts enough to cough up our dough," I said.

Glumly, Chris said, "There goes Angels Of Mercy."

I had no reply.

After we worked out a game plan I called Marla. Made up some bullshit about getting the fifteen extra stories ready - seeming to surrender ground on the extra payment. Then said we needed to run through the stories with her to make sure we were solid before nailing them out.

Marla very sweetly said, "That sounds good, Allan. I'll talk to my girl and she'll get back to you."

When it was done, Chris said, "She's thinking that with those fifteen extra stories she's got the first season licked, which means she needs us even less."

Once again, I had no reply.

A couple of days later we drove to the new offices of The Highlander. I don't recall where they were situated, but it was a short drive so it was probably up near MGM (now Sony) Studios. I do remember that to our pleasant surprise we were greeted by two old friends and work partners - Barry Rosen and Gary Goodman.

We'd done a couple of deals with Barry and Gary (even put them in one of the Stens, but I don't recall which one) and had nearly gone to work for them on the new television incarnation of Zorro, which they helmed. (We'd gone over to Frank Lupo on Werewolf, instead.) Now, it seems they'd been brought in as Show Runners for The Highlander, which boded well for the series. With the two of them running production it would probably get on the air, stay on schedule and budget, and be of reasonable quality.

After a boisterous greeting, Chris said, "How the fuck did you guys end up here?"

Barry (or, maybe it was Gary) said, "Bad luck, I guess."

I said, "How are you getting along with Marla - or dare I ask?"

Gary (or, maybe it was Barry) replied, "No, you don't dare."

I said, "Are you two running the Story Department, per usual? Or, is that question also out of bounds."

Both men looked uncomfortable. They'd always prided themselves on their story sense, and their ability to get along with writers.

Barry/Gary said, "Marla's the Exec producer. Is that explanation enough?'

Chris opened his mouth to ask if they'd seen our script, but I gave him an elbow shot to shut up. No sense drawing Barry/Gary into the dispute.

As we moved down a long hallway, we passed by the open doors of a conference room, were we saw a mixed group of very grim looking people.

I said, "Somebody die?"

Barry/Gary said, "They're our writers."

"Fuck!" Chris said.

Barry/Gary finally broke down. "She's got them terrified," they said. "She hates everything they write and she has these meetings where she picks at least one person to dress down in front of the others. So, everybody's frozen in place, scared to write, and scared not to."

"Why am I not surprised?" I said.

Then one of them broke off to see to about some crisis and I think it was Gary who took us the rest of the way to Marla's office. She was at her desk, leaning over what I took to be a script, and writing marginalia (the scathing sort, we assumed) at a furious pace.

She looked up when we entered, then went back to her task while Gary got us seated and called to an assistant to fetch us some bottled water, then hurried away.

After a long minute, Marla put her down her pen and held out a hand. "Let's see the stories," she said.

I said, "If you don't mind, Marla, let's take this one thing at a time. First, there's the matter of the script we did for The Highlander. The final check - which is for fifteen thousand dollars - has been overdue for some time."

Marla glared at me. "That script isn't useable," she said. "You're going to have to rewrite it."

I heard Chris grunt, but he kept quiet - leaving me to do the talking. The last time he and Marla had an exchange was in Paris and Chris had farted his righteous reply. (See: Highlander Two: It's Just A Free Day In LA) They hadn't spoken since.

I didn't bother arguing. It could only lead to - Yes it is! No it isn't! Is! Isn't! In short, a lot of yadda-yadda that would go nowhere and solve nothing.

Instead, I said, "We have already done two drafts and a polish, Marla. We have completed our legal obligation to you and the Show and now we'd like you to do the same for us."

Marla kept glaring at me. Her face was all sharp angles - like a very large someone had pinched her head in. She was motionless, except the tap, tapping of her pen on the desk. Before she could reply - and perhaps this was deliberately timed - her secretary buzzed her. Marla got up, said she had something to attend to, and would be back in a few minutes.

Chris and I looked at each other, but didn't say a word. This was our habit when left alone in a producer's office. You never knew who was listening. Several scripts were stacked on one side of the desk. The one on top had a big Magic Marker star drawn on it - with exclamation marks on either side. I picked the script up and flipped through it. Handed it to Chris and he did the same. When he was done, he wordlessly handed it back.

Marla returned. But this was a new Marla. She was all smiles, sweeping in like Loretta Young on her old TV show. She settled behind her desk, then saw the script in my hand.

"Oh," she said. "Have you read it Allan?"

I said I had. She looked even more delighted.

"Well, I'm glad of that," she said. "That script is extra special. My baby from the start, so I have spent a lot of personal time working with the writer. And now... it's almost there."

Poor writer, I thought.

Then Marla fell into my hands.

She said, "What did you think of it, Allan?"

I looked down for a moment. Then gave a long and weary sigh.

I said, "Frankly, Marla, I thought it was amateurish. Clumsy. Terrible dialogue. Awful characterization and there are scenes in there that would break the budget of even a network show." (It actually wasn't that bad. Not great, but not too awful.)

A long moment passed. How long? Imagine the world breaking off from the Sun. Imagine it cooling and seas forming and various critters appearing and disappearing, the continents shifting, people popping up, farms, villages, then cities, on and on, until finally we are back in Marla's office, near MGM (I think) and she is just staring at me, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have earned her a slap from her mother back when Marla was still in frilly white socks and Mary Jane's.

That's how long.

And then her mouth closed and she slammed the desk with the flat of her hand so hard that I thought she must have either broken it, or possibly the desk.

She raised her head and shouted to the outer office. "Tell Gary to get in here right this minute!"

Gary must have been nearby because in a flash-and-a-half he came charging into the office, a worried look on his face. He looked at me, then Chris, then Marla, and saw we hadn't killed her. Was that a look of disappointment I caught flickering across his face?

Through gritted teeth, Marla said, "I want them gone. And I never, ever want to see them again."

She looked at me and said, "Fine. You want your money? I'll give you your God Damned money. And I'll gladly pay fifteen thousand damn dollars to get rid of you."

Back to Gary."Write them a check," she said. "And bring it here."

Gary dashed out. And I figured, what the hell, let's go for the rest.

"There's still the matter of Angels Of Mercy," I said. "It's a good project and I'm sure we can find other buyers."

The wrath etched on Marla's sharp features was a wonder to behold. She said, "Don't you dare show that project to anyone else. The Company has invested a great deal of money in it. Don't think you can just walk away with our property."

I shrugged. "Not your property. We created it. Says so on the front cover of the Bible, and more importantly, it's in our contract. Better still, it's in a contract also on file in France. And you know the French - they're worse than the Germans when it comes to following the Letter Of The Law. Especially when it comes to the Arts. You can't do a thing with Angels Of Mercy without our approval."

"We'll see about that," she said.

Then Gary came rushing back, carrying a check so fresh the ink was practically running off the edges. He gave it to her. She glanced at the check, then slammed it down on the desk in front of me.

"There," she cried. "Take your damned blood money."

I took it. Looked the check over carefully. Fifteen thousand bucks, sure enough. Showed it to Chris, who studied the check with care. He nodded, slowly unzipped his briefcase, found a good place for the check, and placed it there. He zipped up the briefcase and we rose in unison.

I said, "Thank you, Marla," and we strode out of the office - but not quite out of Marla's life. Not yet, at least.

First thing: We drove straight to a bank where Craig Studwell - Chris' friend and next door neighbor - worked. Craig was a big shot at the bank, a vice president of foreign investments or something. In a very few minutes Craig had someone clear Marla's check and wired the money into our business account.

Okay, so much for The Highlander. There was still the matter of our proposed series. Yeah, it was dead as far as we were concerned. But the money was still very much alive.

We kept our fingers crossed that Marla wouldn't twig to how we had pushed her buttons. And the pretzeling must have worked because Marla's attorney called a few days later. He made threatening noises about Angeles Of Mercy. He said he was messengering over a contract that - for a fee he felt was overly generous - would flat out buy our limited interest in the project.

I said, "Interest? We own the project. It's our house. We built it. We only let Marla crash in a couple of the rooms. That's a heck of lot more than a limited interest."

He repeated that Gaumont had been more than generous and so on and so forth and after that conversation, and several more, plus contracts flying back and forth to our agent, to us, and so on, and so forth, we finally settled on an amount for a complete buyout.

It was enough to carry us through the rest of the year and then some.

I don't know if Marla ever figured out what actually happened. I do know, however, that our victory was hollow. It would have been a helluva show and I have kept watch over the years and there has never been a whisper about a Doctors Without Borders TV series.

It's a shame, but hardly a crying one. If every "worthy" idea that got shot down ended in tears, the whole damned Town would be nothing but a big salty lake.

Ps: Last I heard, Marla was hawking a line of clothing in Canada.
  
NEXT: CHUCK NORRIS NEVER BLINKS. NEVER!

*****

THE NEW STEN OMNIBUS EDITIONS
IT'S HERE: JUGGERNAUT! 
Sten Omnibus #2
Click this link to buy the book!


Orbit Books in the U.K. has gathered up all eight novels in the Sten Series and is publishing them as three omnibus editions. The First - BATTLECRY - features the first three books in the series: Sten #1; Sten #2 -The Wolf Worlds; and Sten #3, The Court Of A Thousand Suns. Click this link to buy it.  The Kindle Edition OF BATTLECRY, includes all three books but is only available in the U.K. and territories. Click this link to buy it. Available now: JUGGERNAUT, which features the next three books: Sten #4, Fleet Of The Damned;  Sten #5, Revenge Of The Damned; and Sten #6, The Return Of the Emperor. Click this link to buy both the trade paperback and Kindle version. Next month months Orbit (A division of Little Brown) will publish DEATH MATCH, which will feature Sten #7, Vortex, and Sten #8, End Of Empire. Those will be issued as Kindle editions as well. Stay tuned for details. 
*****
THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:

The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we've now passed the 175,000 mark) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!
*****
STEN #1 DEBUTS IN SPANISH! 

Told in four parts, Episode Two now appearing in Diaspar Magazine, the best SF&F magazine in South America! And it's free! Here's the link. And here's the link to the first episode. 
 *****
Sten debuta # 1 en español! Narrada en cuatro partes, Episode Dos ahora aparece en la revista Diaspar, la mejor revista de SF & F en América del Sur! 

*****
THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK

Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.