I stayed on radio silence for almost a month. I’d steered clear of Jean’s condo, stayed off Lori’s radar. It was easy to do because I didn’t have any new script assignments, having completed my scripts for The Littles and The Get Along Gang. But I felt like I’m in limbo. Again, something’s in the air.
A part of me is thinking I might have a career in children’s entertainment. For a writer who’s written grisly murder mysteries, terrifying horror novels and a sprawling historical saga, it’s strange to think I could end up writing for children.
It’s a different deal writing for children. I think differently, knowing my work will be seen by kids, knowing I might make them smile and maybe, just maybe, have an impact on their lives.
It would be forty years before I’d would realize how right I was.
Kim and I will be on stools at The Stray Dog’s horseshoe-shaped bar in the resort community of New Buffalo, Michigan, where we live. Joey, the bartender, sometimes likes to out me to visitors from Chicago, telling them I created Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and The New Adventures of He-Man.
He does this with three young couples on the other side of the bar and soon I hear chanting of “POW-ER RAN-GERS! POW-ER RAN-GERS! POW-ER RAN-GERS!” Fireball shots arrive. I lift my shot glass and drink with the fans across the bar.
But then I see them getting off their stools and heading for me. I know it’s going to be a long night.