Stephan Hunter was a Pulitzer Prize winning movie critic, first for the Baltimore Sun, then the Washington Post. He has seen LOTS of movies and knows a shitty film when he sees one. The past tense refers to the fact that he has retired from the movie critic business. He is now a thriller writer (a very good one) and his most recent book (G-Man) has an afterward explaining his impetus for writing it was just how incredibly horrible and fucked up his 2009 movie Public Enemies was. For FPW fans the book is worth buying just for the afterword.

Enjoy

My favorite writing project to work on?

Hands down, FTL Newsfeed for the Sci-Fi Channel.

Yes, I know it's Syfy now, but back then it was the Sci-Fi Channel.

FTL was the first – and for a while the only – original programming on the Sci-Fi Channel. It was an interstitial show, a daily one‑minute news blurb from 150 years in the future that ran at various times during the day Monday through Friday, and repeated on the weekends. In fact, an FTL was the very first piece of programming broadcast by the channel (introducing Star Wars).

Let me give you a little background.

In the summer of ’92 I got a call from a guy named Bob Siegal from USA Network saying they were launching the Sci-Fi Channel soon and could I design a world 150 years in the future? I said sure. Then he said he needed it all done and set to go in 6 weeks. I was finishing The Select at that time, trying to get it ready for the upcoming Frankfurt Book Fair, and knew I couldn't deliver. Matt Costello and I had shot the bull a few times at various NECons and I'd been impressed with how bright and quick and versatile he was; I'd also gathered that he had a work ethic similar to mine (which is, simply, sit down and do it). Plus he lived only an hour outside the city. (The Sci-Fi Channel was Manhattan based.) So I gave his name to Bob Siegal.

Matt called me back and asked if I was sure I didn’t want it. I reconsidered and said why don’t we split the work? We worked our butts off, meetings, conference calls, faxing, modeming, and finally e‑mailing files back and forth – this was cutting edge in 1992. We delivered (on time, I might add) a future scenario detailing the socio‑political‑economic‑technological status of the entire globe and near space for the year 2142 that, quite frankly, blew them away.

We didn't write the actual scripts at first. A fellow named Russ Firestone adapted them from our bible. We'd lay out the story arcs in narrative and in a flow sheet that showed what was happening when and where throughout the year on a month‑by‑month and week‑by‑week basis. We'd usually hand that in during the summer, then get called sporadically throughout the year to provide fillers for the newsfeeds. But they let Russ go after two seasons and asked us if we wanted to do the whole thing. We signed in July 1994, and from September '94 onward, scripts as well as story were all ours.

That was when the fun began.

As before, Matt and I would meet a couple of times a year to map out the large story arcs. But as scripters we’d sit down every quarter and break the arcs into 13-week sections, then block out the 65 individual spots (5 per week for thirteen weeks) that were taped in NYC over a four-day period every three months.

We’d sit in one or the other’s kitchen and toss quips back and forth, each taking the topic in question to the next level of possibility, until we started laughing. That was when we knew we’d gone too far, and we’d back up a step.

Matt and I were very well paid for having a lot of fun – hell, we would have done it for free. Plus, we were given carte blanche. The folks from USA Network (the parent company) running the channel weren’t sci-fi oriented; it was a kind a mystery to them, so they let us do what we wanted. The show was surreal in a way: serious, sinister storylines peopled with goofy characters. I remember executives coming up to us and saying, "Is this really science fiction?" We'd nod sagely. "Absolutely." They'd walk away scratching their heads. But we had an insurance policy: We’d cast the head of USA Network, Kay Koplovitz, in a major role as (what else?) the president of the North American Union. Not a Glenn Close by any means, but she was a trouper, learning her lines and hitting her marks.

Not only was it hands-on experience in screenwriting – the equivalent of writing a four-hour-and-twenty-minute movie every year – but we got to work with great people. We had Gilbert Gotfried, Timothy Leary, Peter Straub, Jeffery Lyons, Kreskin and others doing guest spots. Rhonda Shear (remember USA’s “Up All Night” movies?) was a regular as Bimbetta Mondaine; so was Tom Monteleone as a future mafia capo. Vida Pelletier took over as our producer and we loved her. She was up for anything. We’d make an off-the-wall suggestion and she’d say, “Yeah, we can do that.” We got to work with the crazy people at Image Post who did fabulous editing. All those crawls you see on the news stations now? FTL had those to the Nth degree back in the early 90s.

In the fall of ’96, after a run of a little over 4 years, we received word that this current batch of newsfeeds we were taping would be the last. The network wanted the FTL budget for its own movies and such. The last feed aired Christmas week. We wished we’d had enough warning to allow us to tie up some of the storylines, but all in all, no regrets.

FTL launched 9/24/92 and ended 12/20/1996. Where are those 1,106 episodes? I doubt very much anyone has them all – including USA Network. (Or, if USA does they have them, I doubt they know where they are). I have most of them, but a gap occurred when the network switched video production companies. So I think I can safely predict that there will never be a complete compilation of FTL Newsfeed. And as time goes on, my videotape copies will deteriorate to the point where they are unplayable.

Sic transit Gloria.

Dirty Dick’s Bar
Nassau, Bahamas
March 1963

I’m sixteen years old. I’m wearing a horizontal-stripe boatneck beach shirt over plaid Bermuda shorts, brown loafers, white socks. In my back pocket I’ve got a creased British Arrow paperback of More Not at Night that I picked up in a used bookstall off Bay Street. All topped off by a straw hat with a one-foot crown.

Get the picture?

Total. Geek.

I’m in Nassau on a family vacation. My folks and their good friends, the Blindts, have flown themselves and all six kids to the Bahamas to escape the New Jersey winter. The daily ritual has become: Beach and touristy stuff all day until 4 o’clock or so when we all traipse down to the famous Dirty Dick’s Bar on Bay Street for afternoon libations. The adults hang at the bar in the front room while the kids – three Wilsons and three Blindts, varying in age from 10 to 16 – are relegated to the backroom. Martinis for the adults, cokes or virgin cocktails for the kids. The only good thing about the backroom is the jukebox.

We don’t talk much. We’ve been together all day so there’s not a lot left to say. Mostly we listen to the music (if I hear “Yellow Bird” one more time, I will kill) and I read my book. I love the warm weather and the beach, but the bar bores me.

(“Up and at ’em. We’re heading for Dirty Dick’s.”
“Aaaaw, again?”)

Until…

I don’t recall if it’s our 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] or 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] day there. We usually have the backroom to ourselves at that time of day, but today I look up as three young women enter. They’re wearing open blouses over bikinis. They have mocha skin, full, pouty lips, and tons of ebony hair piled atop their heads. They’re only a few years older than yours truly, who develops an instant crush on the tall one – but I could have an equal crush on any of the trio.

And then they start to dance to whatever's playing on the jukebox. In their bikinis.

I am mesmerized. Can’t take my eyes off them. They are from a different world. They are so cool, so comfortable in their smooth, flawless, bikini’d skin, and they sway so gracefully. I remove my straw hat, but I keep my book out because I can hide my staring by pretending to read. They’re totally in their own world and I am wallpaper.

Finally one of our parents announces it’s time to go to dinner.

Really? Do we have to leave already?

Next day I’m hanging over my father asking when we’re going to Dirty Dick’s.

When we return – finally! – the three exotic ladies are already there. Dancing. In their bikinis. (My brother thinks he remembers them doing the limbo. I doubt this. I have no memory of it and am sure beyond question that images of them limboing in their bikinis would have been deeply branded on my still-developing hippocampus.)

Again, I am mesmerized until we’re pulled away to attend a dinner-theater restaurant somewhere inland. Little Anthony is going to be singing. The Beatles haven’t hit the US yet, but I’m already so over Little Anthony and his ilk. Same with post-Army Elvis. I much prefer what’s called R&B. (I don’t call it that; don’t know if I’ve even heard the term yet; I just know that Rufus Thomas and Smokey Robinson and Mary Wells have something I like.) But when you’re on a family vacation, you go where the family goes.

So we cab inland to this big outdoor restaurant with lots of round tables and a stage. After an indifferent meal, the show starts. But not Little Anthony right away. First we have to sit through an opening act no one has ever heard of: The Ronettes.

I look up and my jaw drops (quite literally) as the three exotic gals from Dirty Dick’s step onto the stage. They’re dolled up with huge eyelashes and thick eyeliner and squeezed into short slinky dresses, but no question: it’s them.

And they can sing! The lead singer – my second deepest crush of the trio – has this powerful voice with a natural vibrato. I’m mesmerized all over again. The nameless beauties are nameless no more: They’re the Ronettes.

I can’t wait to get to Dirty Dick’s the next day. I’m determined to screw up my courage and speak to them – tell them I saw them sing and think they’re great. But they don’t show. On their way to the next stop on Little Anthony’s tour, I guess.

Ah, well. We’ll always have Nassau.

Fast-forward six months to either shortly before or after Labor Day (not sure) when I’m 17 and have my driver’s license. I’m cruising somewhere (or maybe just cruising). As usual I’m listening to my fave Top-40 drive-time DJ Dan Ingram on WABC-AM; he says something about a new song from a group called the Ronettes.

Wait…Ronettes? That name rings a bell. I turn up the volume to hear “Boom…boom-boom-BAM! Boom…boom-boom-BAM!” (I started drumming for a garage band over the summer so I’m immediately pulled in.) And then that voice from Nassau starts singing, “The night we met I knew I…needed you so…”

I damn near drive off the road. It’s them! I know them! Well, not really, but I feel as if I do. Yeah. I knew them before they were on the radio. I knew them when, baby!

I love-love-love the song. And I get this feeling that, even if they never record another tune, I’m a Ronettes fan for life.


“Be My Baby” – this put the Ronettes on the map. Hal Blaine’s iconic drum opening, and then Ronnie kicks in, backed by Phil Spector’s famous Wall of Sound. Her fellow Ronettes – sister Estelle and cousin Nedra – aren’t on the record. They were back in NYC while all sorts of LA music folk like Sonny and Cher, Darlene Love, Nino Tempo, and others crowded into Gold Star Studios to sing backup.

“Baby I Love You” – Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, who wrote “Be My Baby,” returned to compose the Ronettes’ second hit, which is pretty much a redo of “Be My Baby,” right down to the “Whoa-ho-ho-ho” that became Ronnie’s signature. (Back in the day, when you had a hit with “Up on the Roof,” you followed it with “Under the Boardwalk.” You followed “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want To” with “Judy’s Turn to Cry.” And so on.)

“(The Best Part of) Breaking Up” – Ronnie’s got all pistons firing, especially her sultry “C’mon, beeby” in the outro. (Written by Pete Andreoli and Vincent Poncia.)

“Do I Love You?” – a long intro featuring Carol Kaye’s melodically mesmerizing bass line leading to Spector’s thickest Wall of Sound yet. (Also written by Andreoli-Poncia.)

“Walking in the Rain” – written by another married songwriting powerhouse, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. The Wall of Sound is downplayed during the verses but comes on strong on the chorus. Nice build at the end of the bridge. Notable for strategic thunder claps.

“You Baby” – Another Mann-Weil tune; not sure if this was ever a single, but it’s a super song, especially Ronnie’s moany little “Ohs” in the outro.

“I Wonder” – this Barry-Greenwich tune was never a single but a great record with a muscular Wall of Sound (including castanets and Hal Blaine getting all manic on the toms).

I read the Adversary Cycle, and a few of the RJ books back in 2005, but now there are revised books, and I want to reread those six books as well as everything I haven't read. I'm wondering if there's much difference in the revised editions or if I can stick with the old editions. This is the difference of getting the books from the library or spending money I don't really have for the books on Amazon.
Another thing. I put the first book of the prequel trilogy on hold from the library after reading The Keep over the weekend. I'm assuming this is a good place to start with Jack, but I might be wrong. Can anyone tell me? Thanks.

This was one of the most satisfying series I’ve ever read. I loved all of the interconnections across the novels and short stories. I even noticed a few connections to short stories that aren’t on the secret history timeline (like DJ Lenny Winter’s old house next to Toad Hall in Monroe, or ‘The Answer’ appearing in the Compendium)

Apart from the Tomb, I read all the RJ novels in chronological order, so it was cool to see all weirdness in the Pine Barrens in 1983 start to make sense in the last few novels (like the chewing gum moment in Twin Peaks, all the pieces start falling into place)

It’s a shame the RJ film is still in development hell as there are so many cinematic scenes throughout the books that would look badass on screen, especially the image of Rasalom in his Armani suit, walking on water in the Everglades.

I just have a few minor questions regarding the secret history:

1. I know the black pyramid from the teen trilogy is eventually used as a key to open the door to the old town beneath the Johnson Lodge. But what happens when it is placed in the indentation in the top of the pillar in the middle of the q’qr cage pyramid? (I’m assuming a shaft of light doesn’t shine through it and show Indiana Jones where to dig for the Ark of the Covenant)

2. I noticed Will Burleigh briefly appears in Panacea which connects The Fifth Harmonic to the secret history. Does this mean that Maya Quennell’s healing method she says she adopted from an ancient civilisation before the Mayans, is a reference to the First Age?

3. And finally, whatever happened to P. Frank Winslow? I like to think he survived the events of Nightworld and is now trying to publish his new Jake Fixx novel, but everyone is too depressed to read it, what with all the millions/billions of corpses still lying around and cities in complete ruin. Or, he was horribly killed by chew wasps because the advance for his latest book wasn’t enough to buy storm shutters!

I don’t know how much more secret history stuff you’re planning on writing, but it would be cool to see another globe-trotting quest with the characters of Panacea, or maybe another RJ story like Fix set between Fear City and the Tomb.

I don't usually shill for projects and I'm pretty sure the role-playing interest on this site if likely low, but...

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/q-w...shop-and-c

just look at those weird, beautifully ugly things! When the Ally and the Otherness gamble for control of a reality, these are the dice they use.

So, I read a book on dark matter (Dark Matter and the Dinosaurs) and realized at the end I didn't understand any more than I had at the beginning. I felt like I was back in Catechism class at Our Lady Queen of Peace grammar school, trying to get a straight answer.

Don’t take this too seriously. Just having a little fun.

God & Dark Matter

Our galaxy is spinning like a pinwheel. What keeps all those stars from flying off into intergalactic space?
Priest: God
Scientist: Dark matter

Where is God?
Priest: Everywhere.

Where is dark matter?
Scientist: Everywhere.

Can we see God?
Priest: No, but we know He’s there.

Can we see dark matter?
Scientist: No, but we know it’s there.

Can we touch God?
Priest: No.

Can we touch dark matter?
Scientist: No.

Is God here now?
Priest: God is in us and all around us.

Is dark matter here now?
Scientist: Dark matter is in us and all around us.

So God hasn’t normal flesh.
Priest: Correct.

So dark matter isn’t normal matter.
Scientist: Correct.

Where did God come from?
Priest: It’s a mystery.

Where did dark matter come from?
Scientist: It’s a mystery.

How do we know God exists?
Priest: Without him the galaxies would fly apart.

How do we know dark matter exists?
Scientist: Without it the galaxies would fly apart.

I've recently found a love for adult coloring books and got to say, I would love a Repairman Jack/Adversary Cycle coloring book. Also a calendar. Any chance either of these items will ever exist?

I have been gone for a VERY long time! How is President Reagan doing?