​Friends! 

I have taken a job working as a senior marketing writer/editor for a leading start-up tech solutions company.

I've been working through the weekends on this one... so I have not had the bandwidth to contribute to my blog.

I'll revisit when I catch my breath.

Many thanks for your interest!

Despite the fact that I wrote for Star Trek: The Next Generation, and Harlan Ellison wrote for the original series, and I indeed met the man, I was little more than a passing shadow in his life. In actuality my ST:NG credit was on my distant horizon at the time or our meeting, and Ellison’s many sci-fi credits were part of his gloried and well-established legendary mythos.

Though while I doubt he’d ever recall meeting me, I readily admit, he made a lasting impression on me. “I don’t have time for this preppy,” were his words at the time, as I was introduced to him by a mutual friend at the Writer’s Guild Conference at Lake Arrowhead. Indeed, I think I was wearing a forest green La Coste polo shirt and chinos at the time, so guilty as charged, and a first impression had been made for him that told him all he felt he needed to know about me. I didn’t take it personally. I was told ahead of time, that Mr. Ellison was known for brash actions and talk, and I think the fiery spirit behind that is something worthy of observing and appreciating.
​
Under Construction. 

​More to come!
​

One of the most supportive and helpful men I ever encountered in Hollywood, Russ Woody was my neighbor at our apartment complex of Holiday Manor in Studio City. We lived there the same time as other rising notables in show business including Brian Benben, Madeline Stowe, Carla Olson, Paul Pape, Pam Springsteen, and Jake Steinfeld.

Russ achieved notable success early in his career, having first worked as an assistant on various network shows, where he built important networking relationships as he worked on his writing. And before I knew it, he had an office at CBS Studio Center (just a 10 minute walk from Holiday Manor), and he already had garnered prestigious writing credits on such top-rated shows as the ensemble one-hour dramas Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere, as well as hit half-hour comedies as Newhart, Valerie and Webster. He went on to be a producer/writer for more hit shows including Becker, Cybill, Murphy Brown, Mad About You and The Drew Carey Show.

Before he moved to the big house in the hills, Russ was a warm welcoming neighbor and colleague, and he readily shared insight into his work process with me, and he was a kind supportive critic of my writing. One of the things that struck me about his process remains unique from every other writer I encountered in my years working in Hollywood was his diligent system of studying the shows he was working on, or was targeting to get work with.

Russ had a vast library with years of TV Guides, all neatly organized (this was before the Internet became ubiquitous) and from it he amassed the loglines of every show he targeted for study. In doing so, he created his own ‘Bible’ of the show, and he could map every storyline a given show had produced for every season. This way he could shape his story pitches to the shows in areas he knew the series had not yet explored. Russ also would audio record multiple episodes of a show he planned to write a spec script for. For example, when I was writing my own spec script for Newhart, he lent me ten audio cassettes he had recorded of the series to help capture the voice of each character to promote effective dialog writing. It helped me immensely. 

Russ’s methodical, comprehensive and in-depth study of each series world obviously put him in a great positon to eventually take on the producorial role of later hit series with authority. His system of approach helped me shape my development in the Hollywood writing craft with my following years of work on my own network television series pitches and assignments.  

​Me and Russ
at the
2015 Los Angeles Times
​Festival of Books.

​Russ is a novelist as well!

When I would mention to people from Australia that I knew Billy Thorpe, they would often be awestruck.

As an American, I had to have his story explained to me, because I knew him in a number of different settings, but none for what he is legendary: the lead singer of Billy and the Aztecs, a wildly popular and iconic band from the 1960's Down Under.

I knew Billy for over ten years during his expatriate residency in Los Angeles, from which he returned to Sydney, Australia where he enjoyed an incredible resurgence of nostalgic popularity for his iconic music and his indomitable and charismatic personality, and legendary life. He died unexpectedly from a heart attack at the peak of this renewed celebrity.

Billy was a member of the Hole in the Wall Gang, where we rode together in Wyoming, and the musical composer for the computer game It Came From the Desert as well as the Paramount television series Star Trek: The Next Generation and War of the Worlds, both of which I worked on; and have fond memories of time spent with him. Our wives were also friends, and so our common time together witnessed select intimate instances where he sometime shared the occasional vivid insight into his kaleidoscopic journey through life, and the impressive spirit and will which carried him through it.

I saw first-hand Billy take a head over heels tumble off his horse in Wyoming, where his horse lost its footing, as we all rode down a steep rocky hillside in the high country. He came up from the wreck with a brilliant smile and a robust laugh, exuberant from the experience, as he subsequently showed his crushed canteen which had been strapped to his horse’s saddle, evidence of what could have happened to him. Billy and I later both got our buckles as members of the Hole in the Wall Gang, of which this Wyoming ride had been part.

Billy never ceased his spirit of continually reinventing himself. While I knew him he was not only the music composer for computer games and television series, but also as the author a novel based on his early life in Sydney that became a best seller in Australia, and he also formed a new rock group – The Zoo – with Mick Fleetwood (of Fleetwood Mac). But if you were with him, he was the most down-to-earth fellow, engaged and sincerely interested in who you were and what your life was.

What I learned from Billy was never to settle for the status quo, and never be ruled by what people think of you, but always face our time on earth with a positive sense expectation and of embracing the wonders life has to offer. Another value Billy displayed, despite the seemingly wild chapters of his life, was the importance protecting and preserving his family life; he also had two daughters he dearly loved and supported. This was the element he talked about delivering balance to his life, despite the glamorous privileges and glories he knew in his storied life.

He’s an author of over 40 books, but his mastery deals less in the crafting of words, but more with the perfecting of physical technique and the mastery of mind over body.

I first began training with Soke* Takayuki Kubota at his Hollywood, California dojo in 1978. And when I was a purple belt, he had me climb onto his shoulders, then clenched his toes into knuckles and proceeded to walk across the hardwood dojo floor with me onboard, on his toe knuckles, jumping from time to time, and then executing an occasional kick to demonstrate the perfection of his balance and power of his training. I’m not a small man, easily weighing fifty pounds more than him at the time, and his many feats of accomplishment fill lists in martial arts history. Yet this is one personal image continues to reverberate for me, these many years later, as I reflect on the impact this man had on me—the President of the International Karate Association and creator of the Gosoku Ryu style.

I was working as a production coordinator at a small production house in Hollywood at the time when I began at IKA dojo. Growing up in a nascent suburban, yet rural town outside Boston, I’d always had a curiosity about karate, but the opportunities to study the art were very limited, far less available than when I ultimately moved to Los Angeles, which is one of the top two martial arts cities of the world. I had played football in high school and rugby at Amherst, so I felt willing to take on a physical challenge or two related to robust action and the risk of taking a bump or two. This path did not disappoint in that department. Yet the core of Soke Kubota’s training, for me, involved something else as well. And it was this other factor which also applied to my writing and to my life.

Curiously this aligned with a concept I had studied in drama history at Amherst. It related to Konstantin Stanislavsky’s breaking acting roles down into objectives and units of action. Also, through the years, I have also observed, first hand, dozens of other martial arts training systems (even Steven Segal at his Aikido dojo), and Kubota’s systemic approach was not always adopted by all. Soke Kubota’s system involved breaking down each movement within a technique to the smallest components of movement and conveyed an understanding of the applied dynamics within the orchestrated movement. What was the basic stance at the beginning of a movement? How did it change, with hip rotation, as well as hand or foot movement (or both simultaneously)? How was it executed? When is the body fluid and relaxed, and when is it firm and hard? Then how does a technique flow naturally into the next sequence of movement?

Here’s an example, a simple front kick (mae geri): from a rooted front stance (zenkutsu-dachi), as the hip begins to rotate, the right leg first comes up to a high knee position, directly in front of the stomach (offering mid-section and groin protection with the shin before the kick is delivered); then as hip motion continues forward, the kick opens forward and extends, with toes curled back, pushing the front of the ball of the foot forward as the striking surface; as kick connects with target, the expanding forward energy continues, unfolding from the hips, with the back foot, heel rooted to the ground, empowering the delivery of a powerful penetrating thrust upon impact; then, just as quickly, the hips reverse direction, pulling the kick back out, bringing the knee back into a defensive position before returning to the front stance. During this entire technique, the hands are either engaged in a static defense, or performing a blocking technique, or a striking technique. The body position is leaning slight forward throughout the execution of the kick.

This system of instruction has presented to Soke’s Karate students from the youngest age of instruction, or to adults just beginning their study of Karate-do. In contrast, I’ve observed other martial arts teachers telling students to ‘do it like him,’ indicating a new student should emulate his or her best to imitation of another student whose energy is higher and more enthusiastic, but not necessarily more informed. The result, however, delivered  executing the core components of a technique without any sense of competency. The units and objectives are ignored.
In a Soke’s kata class (choreographed forms) a discussion of bunkai may also be involved. Here analysis or a breakdown of the technique within the form is discussed. The student comes to understand the different applications or purpose of each movement, some of which have more than one function. And as a student’s understanding deepens, their mastery of the given technique, or collection of techniques broadens. And with each informed repetition of a technique the simple utility and power of it becomes more available to the student, who then finds way of integrating different techniques together into a broader application of options. It’s like learning the vocabulary at first (each movement within a technique) and then reciting the sentences of a technique, and finally being able to compose original dynamic movements (whole paragraphs of expression).
​
And of course, the applications of this system of approach – to Learn, Repeat, Refine, Perfect, Integrate, Expand – has had a direct application on my development as a writer. That collective ability to manage the basics while embracing the flexibility to expand into new areas of endeavor with a framework of consistency and approach has fortified my strengths as a writer through the years, and I remain grateful for the instinctive and natural discipline Soke Takayuki Kubota has instilled in me.   

*Soke is a title most commonly meaning, a highest level Japanese title, referring to the singular leader of a school or style of martial art, and this context also denotes the founder of a style. 

​I first met John Young at the Ivy Club, the oldest eating club at Princeton University, which F. Scott Fitzgerald once described as "detached and breathlessly aristocratic," and it is still considered most elite and patrician eating club at Princeton. I was a junior in high school at the time, visiting my brother Mike, getting my first up close exposure to the Ivy League experience. We were all up in the lounge after dinner, watching The Appaloosa with Marlin Brando and John Saxon on television. For me, John’s first memorable quote was to my brother: “Nice zit, Barry.” He seemed so strong, witty, brooding and powerful at the time. Kind of intimidating.

Little did I know at the time that years later I would move to Hollywood after my graduation from Amherst College, and that John would be one of my first mentors in the trade of screenwriting. I’m not sure I was up to the task at the time, so self-absorbed was I in the myopia of my own projects that I could not hear, or listen to, the messages spoken between the lines of John’s feedback for my very early screenplay attempts. I was too young, immature and egotistical to get the heart of his message. I remain grateful for his lending me his writing office in Beverly Hills in those early years, while he was ensconced at his office on the lot at Burbank Studios (now known as the Warner Bros. Studios).

John’s core message was simple and I dare say redundant. It was voiced in a number of settings during our informal discussions as my neighbor, my first residence in Hollywood – where I first moved into the servant’s quarters of a larger house near his home in the Hollywood Hills looking across Cahuenga Pass to the Hollywood sign. His theme and concern was about the critical importance of life experience, and what he saw as the lack of it with the growing hordes of aspiring young writers coming to Hollywood to sell their ideas. Creator of the successful television including China Beach, and Emmy-nominated Executive Producer of West Wing, from the beginning of John’s life in Los Angeles, he sought ways to attain a richer life experience. One case in point, like famed novelist Joseph Waumbaugh, he sought to enlist as a member of the L.A.P.D., so that he could live some of the stories that for so many Hollywood writers were the product of imagination. They turned him down, especially because of the Waumbaugh model, where he had been with the Los Angeles Police Department for years, and later wrote a succession of novels with LAPD officers as the protagonists. The department suspected he was signing up to later have grist for stories. But the drive that took John there is the thing he exemplified.

The theme of the Vietnam War was profoundly resonant for John as well. While to the viewing public they would be familiar with China Beach, and his work on Rumor of War, my brother shared with me a poignant story about John during the Vietnam War. His closest cousin from New Jersey – where John is also from – spent time with John in Los Angeles before deploying to Vietnam. The cousin never returned. And that sense loss at such a young age only deepened John’s life experience and intimately honed his personal perspective on the human condition.
One can’t compete with their life experiences. Each life path is uniquely its own, but John’s story influenced me to seek more of a direct engagement with the challenges and opportunities of life. One instance was while researching a screenplay (and later a novel) I traveled to Guatemala during the time of the death squads, and heard the gunfire in the streets first hand. I studied karate for decades and competed in tournaments. Another was joining the Hole in the Wall Gang in Wyoming, where we rode ranch horses, and drove cattle, and where I was once in the high country, alone, and thrown off a horse, cracked three ribs, and had to get myself back to camp on my own. And beyond those challenges of testosterone, I’ve experienced the pain of divorce, the panic of poverty, the lure of control substances, the fear and survival of of cancer, the exhilaration of recognition in my writing, and the scorn of snubbing dismissal of my writing by industry elites, the passion of new love, the joy and responsibility of fathering two children, the betrayal of trusted friends, the challenge of forging a completely new career in life, the long-term commitment of being a corporate professional, the excitement of new horizons in world travel, and so much more.

I credit John with placing that seed of integrating a demand for plus ultra (more beyond) into my personal code, and assuring that continually seeking new life experiences is critical for the writer, and the promise of a rewarding life path.

I was on the phone over the weekend, giving comments on a friend’s screenplay treatment, and I found myself referring to the information below at a number of points in the discussion, so I thought it only appropriate to share it on a wider scale and to let it add to the critical mass of this blog.

Joseph Campbell’s “Hero with a Thousand Faces” is readily acknowledged by George Lucas as being a critical source of inspiration for the Star Wars movies. Back in my Hollywood years all the writers in my circle of friends would nod in dutiful respect at Campbell’s work as a mythologist who had studied the myths of mankind and distilled eternal patterns in the storytelling of mankind through the eons, going all the way back to the most ancient times. Bill Moyers also did a PBS series of interviews with Campbell entitled “The Power of Myth,” and produced a coffee table book on the interviews. I watched the series, bought the book, and of course have “Hero with a Thousand Faces” along with a number of other books by Campbell. 

So, when I saw that Christopher Vogler, a Disney story analyst, was giving a two-day weekend course on “The Hero’s Journey” based on distilling Joseph Campbell’s work and tailoring it for the screenwriting craft, I was immediately all in and registered for the seminar. I was not disappointed. This was easily over twenty years ago, and I had taken numerous other screenwriting seminars, and classes at UCLA extension, but this was information that went straight into my brain shelf and stayed there.
His system of framing the story telling process began when Christopher wrote a seminal internal memo at Disney, and you can go to his webpage to get the deeper details of his work. Here I will recount at the highest level the framework of storytelling he extracted from Campbell’s work (which is also found on Vogler’s website), and which remains a helpful and reliable framework review tool when considering the elements of a writer’s story structure and how these elements synch with the eternal and global schema of the hero’s mythical journey. In this blog they are also referenced within the three act structure traditionally used in screenplay writing. Christopher provides more insightful and scholarly explanations on his website, and I encourage you to check it out. Keep in mind some elements might fall in a different order in some stories. Here are the steps of the hero’s journey:

1. THE ORDINARY WORLD – Here the main character’s known world is established in the status quo along with the hero’s limited awareness of things to come.
2. THE CALL TO ADVENTURE – This is also referred to as the inciting action and the spark or catalyst that gets the story started. A challenge or problem which must be addressed is established here.
3. REFUSAL OF THE CALL – Realizing this situation is bigger than the main character (hero) ever anticipated, he at first says this is not his problem, it’s not for him. There’s a reluctance to go forward and a debate of the merits or importance of the journey is staged. Returning to the old ordinary world looks appealing now.
4. MEETING WITH THE MENTOR – Sometimes combined with the refusal of the call, this entails the encounter with an individual who has more knowledge of what is beyond, and what’s needed to be successful there. This is a guide of sorts who may or may not accompany the hero on the journey.
5. CROSSING THE THRESHOLD – The point of no return which includes a committing to the goal, whether prepared or not. This might include a sense of awakening. It may also involve the hero’s first confrontation with the powers that have created the problem or challenge.
   [This story point is the conclusion of ACT ONE.]
6. TESTS, ALLIES AND ENEMIES – Here the hero faces trials that may be both physically and emotionally challenging. Allies to the hero’s cause appear, as do enemies, which are part of the testing cycle for the hero. At least one of these enemies will likely appear in the climax of the story. These elements bring the story to its mid-point where the story shifts dramatically based on new information, and enlightenment, that raises the stakes for the hero’s journey and requires renewed commitment to facing the challenges ahead.
7. APPROACHING THE INNERMOST CAVE – As the hero approaches the ultimate goal, preparation, learning and training are often part of this stage. This stage too can entail succumbing to temptations, or a fall from grace, where complications rise and the stakes get higher as unexpected obstacles are discovered.
8. THE ORDEAL – This is the dark night of the soul where the hero hits rock bottom, where the hero faces his inner demons, fears, weaknesses, etc. A symbolic death of the ego of sorts may be part of this stage, which ultimately brings about a rebirth. The hero is newly endowed to face the challenge or problem with a quantum leap of empowerment. This may include an epiphany or discovery of a hidden secret that releases the hero from a constricting bond, or intensifies the motivation and determination.
   [This point represents the conclusion of ACT TWO.]  
9. SEIZING THE SWORD, REWARD – Empowered with new knowledge or strength, the hero commits to the attack the challenge, the final push with a new dynamic. This often entails a new or revised plan to achieve the goal based on new strengths acquired, or new knowledge discovered. This is presents a charging toward and into the climax of the story.
10. THE ROAD BACK – The twists and turns before the hero prevails, the enemy to the quest may show new strengths that have not been anticipated, which must be met with conviction and strength, and possibly bringing the hero to the very brink of survival.
11. THE RESURRECTION – At the climax, the hero is severely tested once more on the threshold of survival and is purified by a last sacrifice, another moment of death and rebirth, but on a higher and more complete level. By the hero’s action, the polarities that were in conflict at the beginning are finally resolved.
12. RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR – This is the denouement where a new life for the hero is confirmed, and a new status quo has been established. The hero returns to the ordinary world and brings the prize that be shared by all for the greater good.
    [The conclusion of ACT THREE and the story.]

Christopher Volger also has a book which he wrote sometime after I took the course with him: The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers.

D.C. Fontana is a legendary writer, known best for her work on many of the Star Trek television series, including the original series, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, as well as Babylon 5, Dallas, Streets of San Francisco, The Waltons, Kung Fu, and so much more. She is also a senior lecturer at the American Film Institute. Like I said: a legend. I met Dorothy Fontana – professionally known as D.C. Fontana – while working on the first season of Star Trek: TNG, and our friendship has endured ever since. I’ve been thankful for her intelligent insight, ready support and unconditional love, a rare combination in Hollywood. And when asked what’s the most important element in her writing and her stories – as she did in a recent Writers Guild of America online interview –  she’ll quickly reply “Love.”

Through the years Dorothy and I have spoken about this theme on numerous occasions and her perspective is: “If it doesn’t have some element of love, then why are we watching or reading the piece?” I can’t disagree. And I think having a common reference on what that word means in different settings of the human experience is critical. The ancient Greeks provided a description of four categories of love. 

Agápe – An unconditional love that accepts the person for who they are regardless of their flaws, the pure and idealized love for fellow human beings. While one may not like someone, yet they choose to love the person as a fellow human being. Agápe manifests itself as sacrifice and giving while expecting nothing in return. It includes the concepts of brotherly love, charity, as well as the love of God for man and of man for God.

Phileo – An affectionate, warm and tender platonic love, it is a more targeted, specific and elective love. It manifests itself as loyalty to friends, family, and community, and reflects virtue, equality, and familiarity. It embraces the desire of friendship with someone. While one may have Agápe for your enemies, Phileo love is more personal and individual. Phileo also encompasses love of an activity, for example of music, art or sports.

Storgē – It's the common or natural empathy, like parents feel for off their offspring. It almost exclusively refers to organic relationships within the family. Storgē is an unconditional love which accepts flaws or faults and ultimately compels the one experiencing this love to forgive without condition or reservation. It’s committed, sacrificial and makes the recipient feel secure, comfortable and safe.

Éros – Is the passionate and intense love, an intimate, emotional and sexual love that arouses romantic feelings, and sometimes accompanies a phenomenon of drive, obsession and individual transformation. Although this romantic love delivers a powerful commencement to the beginning of a relationship, to survive, it must evolve. Ultimately this love must mature to focus more on the needs of the other person, and vice versa. Sometimes, if the person “in love” does not feel original exciting passions, they will stop loving their partner.

So at the very core – the very heart of any of my writing – I find see the need for love to be woven into the stories I write. It’s the glue that binds people together and drives them forward and commits them to action that will have consequence for all.

Incidentally, as I write this, I’m reading a novel by a popular author, who specializes in blends historical mysteries with fast-paced action. I’m naturally attracted to the genre. However, I picked up one of this author’s books before, and stopped it in the first fifty pages due to story gaffes and dramaturgy I quibbled with. In the current novel those problems don’t exist, yet the story focus remains all about the mystery and the action. There’s no love. Nothing of the four categories above. Sure there’s a bit of sex, but it’s without the Eros, more of a mercenary feel to it. I’ll probably finish the book, because of the interesting historical subject matter, but I don’t feel compelled to seek out more writing by this author. That’s a lesson for me, and Dorothy provides insight into why I’m not compelled to reach out for more of this author, or will I ever become a fan. There’s no love.

A fun footnote: As a touching gesture of her love in our friendship, Dorothy named one of her characters in her Star Trek novel Vulcan’s Glory after my daughter who had just been born at the time: Enterprise Chief Engineer Caitlin Barry.

Sequential versus non-sequential writing

In Hollywood, Steven de Souza is a legend. He’s one of a handful of screenwriters whose collection of films has earned over $2 billion at the box office. His feature credits include  Commando, 48 Hrs.,The Running Man, The Flintstones, Die Hard, and Die Hard 2. I originally met Steve through a mutual friend who had been a producer at Star Trek: The Next Generation when I worked on the show. I got to know Steve better when working on stories for his animated series for CBS Cadillacs and Dinosaurs, a popular graphic novel series he was producing.

Steve is a member of Mensa International, and has a mind that moves at light speed. An amazing thing to be around, whether in a casual setting at his home, discussing current events and talking about ideas, or in a formal story meeting addressing a team of television writers… And yes, it’s intimidating at first flush. His ability to process dense information, formulate remarkable insights and communicate complex concepts was striking and deeply impressive.

I got one particular jewel from Steve, which I’ve carried with me for years. That treasure resulted in never being blocked in my writing, ever again. It represented a paradigm shift in how I approached my writing. And when I’ve passed this concept on to other writers (both new and experienced), many of their jaws would drop slightly with the simplicity of the concept and the power of the action.

It boils down to this: most writers, like me at the time, write from A to Z. Linear. And if you reach D and it remains unresolved, or not completely developed, you battle with that piece till you can move on to E, and finally reach Z. Internal brain debates, maybe more research, etc. That constant stopping and starting results in a congested productivity, some stalling, and can ultimately result in writer’s block. Thinking back and forth, deliberating till you’re satisfied that the chunk you’re working on is good to go. Steve’s method is this: write what you are excited about in the moment, on that day. That means you may have started going from A to C, but when you hit D, you find you’re really thinking more about something in the back end of the story, even the finale. He’d say go for it. Write that today. And don’t stop to worry about spelling, etc., get it down first, polish and refine later. Then as you go forward, writing more pages, the block points (like D) will be filled in with your thinking in an organic manner. It could be that D is the last thing you write. The result of this method is your productivity swells; your excitement for the project builds on itself creating a powerful momentum.

Sometimes I still write from A to Z, but it’s because that’s where my passion is taking me, and the story unfolds organically. But at any time I hit a block, I know to just keep going with another element that’s playing through my mind. From my perspective, it is the definitive cure to writer’s block, which I have not experienced for well over twenty years. I credit Steve de Souza with that gift.     

The Inciting Action of an Author’s Inspiration


Many years ago I met Martin Cruz Smith at a party. His wife was sisters with a good friend and work colleague at the time. As the author of Gorky Park, and the popular Arkady Renko series of novels, he had just begun to enjoy some celebrity as an author, but in this family and friend setting he was an open and engaged, supportive gentleman. He was interested in and curious about the people he spoke with and we had a brief dialog. I recall his speaking style reminded me of Dick Cavett.

Martin knew I was on the early path of pursuing a writing career, and he shared some of his thoughts on the creative experience, and some of the work behind the scenes. He spoke about the concept generation of how he developed one of his books. He shared how on one occasion during the seventies, he was alone, traveling through southern New Mexico, when he came upon a dirt road off the main route. On a whim, decided to drive down it and check it out.  The road led to an old rusted gate, part of a chained link fence perimeter, with weathered government-issued signs forbidding entry. The place had something of a ghost town feeling. He got out of his care and climbed up onto the fence to get a better view inside, and before he knew it, two military MP’s had arrived out of nowhere in a Jeep. They demanded to know who he was and what his business was. And because he had Latino blood as part of his appearance, their manner was brusque and intimidating.   

Martin was finally released from that encounter and left with a feeling a need to know what the heck that place was, and why these military guys were around guarding something that appeared to be de-commissioned and decades old. That encounter generated the unquenchable spark of curiosity that led to him ultimately writing a novel that included this setting. It was this project he was working on at the time we chatted. Martin later came to learn this location was one of the entrances to the detonation testing site for the atomic bomb during World War II—a little over an hour south of Los Alamos, where the Manhattan Project was centered. And from this encounter, Martin’s mind’s eye opened into a world he felt compelled to portray. The result was his novel Stallion Gate.   In the years following my meeting Martin, I had read a number of his Arkady Renko books through the years, and enjoyed them. However, when I came across this title and read story description, I came to realize this is the book he was working on when I spoke him. By his asking himself that one question - "What's down that road?" - and by taking the answer to the ultimate destination, he created a process that resulted in a serious literary piece. Martin Cruz Smith driving curiosity from a simple and singular incident was an inspiration for me on the path to developing as a writer.