Life at DIC Entertainment hurtled at lightspeed. Jean and Andy landed new series after new series. Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors, Rainbow Brite, Hulk Hogan’s Rock ‘n’ Wrestling, Kissyfur. The studio was expanding like the universe after the Big Bang. Writers, artists, assistants, production personnel; people were everywhere.

I was gliding on greased rails with Heathcliff and the Catillac Cats. As 1984 blazed into 1985, story springboards for all twenty-one episodes had been approved. All treatments were written, and scripts were coming in on a daily basis.

Things were going so fast that we were far ahead of schedule and I was starting to think I’d made a mistake when I told Lori I wasn’t going to write scripts for the series; that I was just going to story edit the other writers’ scripts.

As Ray Dryden, Eleanor Burian-Mohr and other writers happily arrived with a steady stream of scripts, I was getting envious. I missed coming up with my own story springboards, my own treatments, my own scripts. Writing is the closest a person can come to being a god. You take a blank page on a computer screen and create whole worlds and locations and then people and stories to populate them. It’s exhilarating.

But I’d be less than honest if I didn’t mention another reason I missed writing my own scripts. I was making $1,500 hundred a week as a story editor. Writing the occasional Care Bears script had been a nice boost to my income. L.A. was an expensive place to live and I’d gotten used to that extra income. Now it was gone because I’d decided not to write scripts for Heathcliff and the Catillac Cats.

As always, like the empath she was, Lori came to my rescue.