The Movie Was Better
Two years now, and I have been stalled on the novel I drafted 3-4 years ago, decided was unwieldly, and decided to tighten up. "Decided" here means I had a velleity to tighten it up into a swiftly moving current of irresistible reading pleasure. I did not do this, though I still fully intend to. The story was simple enough. At a young age, though not a particularly tender one (who's tougher than a 14-15 year-old, I ask you) I was dragooned into being a panelist on a proposed kiddie show in New York. The writer/producer of this kiddie show seemed to have impeccable credentials. He had been a writer for two well-known daytime television programs, one an NBC game show and the other an intellectual children's show syndicated out of Boston by WGBH-TV. Soon after I was invited to join the cast, it became obvious to me that our impresario was a confused pederast who had brought me aboard as a sort of "beard." All the other kids involved in the show were boys--boys