Last night, Mr. K and I had an evening without Thing#1 and Thing#2. A rarity, I assure you. We sat in a beer garden, enjoying the company of other adults and people watching.
“I’m trying to figure out what to start on next. I mean I have a couple of ideas but not really sure. You know.” I tell him. I proceed to throw out one of the storylines, young man dealing with internal demons, overcoming adversity, blah, blah. Good shit, really. I pause to gage Mr. K’s reaction.
He nods his head and looks off into the middle distance as if visualizing a scene. “You should write a story about aliens in Roman times.”
“OK” I say. We watched The Burrowers, the night before, so I know where this is coming from. A mash-up of western vs. human-eating aliens, it wasn’t bad if you rolled with the cheese factor. The special effects were pretty good. It was actually kind of fun.
I nod my head, considering it. Hell, I love sci-fi. “So what would my main character do?”
He looks at me and blinks. “Kill the aliens.”
“Ok, yeah, but what else? Why?”
Again, the look. “Kill the aliens to save the Roman Empire.”
My turn to look off in the middle distance. “That’s an idea.” I say neutrally.
“Don’t forget to put me down as co-writer on this one.” Mr. K clinks his beer bottle to mine.
“You bet.”
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