Author’s Note: A video version of this post is also available here.
There was a time when random people could write X-Files episodes. There was also a time when The X-Files was still on the air. Neither of those times are now.
Okay, I’m kidding with the first claim. You at least had to write a spec script good enough to grab the attention of the people making the show. You then had to pitch it to them, endure some rewrites, and then maybe, just maybe, your script would appear on Fox on Friday evenings.
Anywho, I won’t write a spec script, even though The X-Files is my favorite show of all time. I abandoned screenwriting once I completed my college studies in it six years ago (plus, I’ve since lost the requisite software). Instead, I’ll pitch my X-Files story to you, kind reader, just for funzies.
I claim no ownership over Mulder, Scully, or the show itself. They’re the intellectual property of Chris Carter (the show’s creator), the Fox network, and whomever else. Consider this some harmless fan fiction.
An Overview of The X-Files
For those who’ve seen the show, feel free to skip ahead. For those who haven’t, The X-Files is a TV show that premiered on Fox on September 10, 1993. It’s a show about two FBI agents: Fox Mulder (played by real-life sex addict David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (played by secret British person Gillian Anderson). Each week, Mulder and Scully investigate cases with strong elements of the paranormal, ranging from alien abductions to flukeworm-human hybrids to murderous swarms of cats (I’m not making that last one up). Mulder believes in the paranormal ever since witnessing his sister’s abduction by aliens. Scully is a scientist, and she therefore applies logic and reason to their investigations. This conflict forms the foundation of most episodes.
Also, Mulder loves sunflower seeds. That’ll come up in this episode.
And Now, My Pitch
The name of my episode is “Bag of Peanuts.” The story goes like this…
Cold Open
Five guys (late 20s, early 30s) teeter down a deserted stretch of beach at night. A few carry beer bottles, one has a cooler, and one tosses a football to another. The subtitle tells us we’re in Secluded Glen, Massachusetts (though their accents should tell us that, too).
“I can’t believe he did this to us, Mahk,” says one guy. He’s wearing a number 12 New England Patriots jersey. “Twenty years in Fahxborough and now he’s leavin’ us for Flahrida. It’s a freakin’ disastah.”
Mark receives the pass, tosses it back to the guy in the jersey. “I know, bro, I know. It’s sad. There’s no more loyalty in sports, you know? Players just hop around from city to city. It’s like they’re—I dunno. Like they’re tourists.” Mark sniffs. “You guys smell that?”
“Yeah. You faht or somethin’?”
They share a chuckle. Mark goes deep for a pass, then trips over something on the shore. Something gooey.
“Think I found what smells,” he says.
There’s a huge mass of…something…washed up on the beach. Hard to guess, but it appears to be globs of random organic, aquatic mass that’s been squished together. Bits of an octopus here, part of a jellyfish there. One of our guys eloquently describes it as, “A whole hunka crap.”
Mark and the others lean closer to it. Too close.
Suddenly, a tentacle reaches out of the mass and snags Mark around the neck. There’s a momentary struggle, then the entire mass rolls back into the ocean and vanishes, like it was never there.
That leaves four guys on shore. “Mahk!” shouts the guy in the Pats jersey. “Mahk? Where are ya, Mahk!?”
Cut to…
Credits
(Even if you haven’t seen the show, you probably know the intro music.) Now for the episode.
Act One, Scene One
Special Agent Fox Mulder sits on a crowded beach wearing sunglasses, a waterproof pouch, and, for some reason, a red speedo. Unlike the other beachgoers, he’s not reading a book or going for a swim. He’s simply peering out at the horizon. Every once in a while, he pops a cashew into his mouth, then grimaces. A siren whines on the main road behind the beach.
Mulder’s phone rings. He wipes sand from the screen, then answers. “I’m already sunburned, Scully.”
“Well hello to you, too.” Special Agent Dana Scully is on the other end, calling from the FBI office. “Sounds like you’re having a fun vacation.”
Mulder sighs. “Hello Scully. About as much fun as one can have at a public beach.” A dog bounds out of the water with a frisbee in its mouth, then shakes itself dry—right next to Mulder. “I can barely contain my excitement.”
“Maybe you just need a few days to unwind.” Scully tries. “To get your mind off work.”
“My mind’s always on work.” A volleyball lands mere inches from Mulder’s beach chair, making him jump. “For instance, if I stood up and sang David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ loud enough, do you think aliens might come and take me away from all this?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Mulder grumbles. “They don’t even have sunflower seeds.”
“Who doesn’t? The aliens?”
“Secluded Glen. This town. The convenience store clerk said the tourists must’ve bought them all. So instead I got…” He gives the package an icy glare. “Cashews.”
“It could be worse, Mulder. You could be down here doing expense reports with me.”
Another siren whines on the road. “You know, Scully, my family used to come to this town every summer when I was a kid. Only took a couple hours to drive here from Martha’s Vineyard. Back then the beaches were empty and the roads were clear. The sunflower seeds were plentiful. My sister and I would bury each other in the sand. One time we even nursed a horseshoe crab back to health.”
“You what?”
“But now Secluded Glen’s been taken over by…” He glowers at the people around him.
“Tourists?” Scully finishes.
“Exactly.”
“Mulder.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a tourist.”
“I am not a tourist. I’m a…” More sirens wail. Mulder turns, watches a cop car zip down the road. He sees siren lights flashing down the beach. “Can I call you back, Scully? I think I might’ve found a way to unwind.”
“Sure. Go get yourself some sunscreen.”
They hang up. Still gazing at the lights, Mulder reaches for his bag. He feels around on the sand, finds nothing. He looks down. No bag.
Mulder peers up at the sky and sings softly. “Ground control to Major Tom…”
Scene Two
Mulder trudges up the beach wearing his sunglasses, the waterproof pouch, some water shoes, and of course, the speedo. He’s also clutching his cashews.
An older woman wearing aviator shades and a sheriff’s badge frowns at him. “The nude beach is a couple towns over,” she says.
Mulder reaches into the waterproof pouch and shows her his ID. “Special Agent Fox Mulder. FBI.”
“Jean Sitwell, County Sheriff. Is it Dress Down Day at the Bureau today, Agent Mulder?”
“I’m on vacation,” Mulder counters. “And someone took my beach bag. Anyway, I thought I might lend a hand over here. Seems like you’re busy.”
Sitwell flips open a notepad. “Missing persons case. Mark Starr, age 30, Caucasian, brown eyes, brown hair, last seen with four friends on this beach. They were celebrating a bachelor party, and Mark was the best man. They get drunk, walk down to the beach, something pulls Mark in, his friends call us.”
“Wait.” We can see the excitement on Mulder’s face. “Something pulled him in?”
“Let me remind you, Agent Mulder, that this was a bachelor party. All four witnesses were—and probably still are—very drunk.”
“What exactly did they see?”
Sitwell sighs, then reads off her notepad. “They think they saw a large mass of dead fish…or octopuses, or jellyfish, or maybe all three. They said it smelled terrible and looked like a dead carcass.”
“A globster,” says Mulder.
“A what?”
“A globster. It’s the commonly accepted term for an abnormal phenomenon describing mysterious, unidentifiable carcasses that wash ashore from the ocean. The St. Augustine Monster, the Stronsay Beast, the Montauk Monster, the Chilean Blob. Scientists often dismiss them as misidentified corpses of basking sharks or manatees or other known marine life.”
“And your point is?”
“My point is, this is the first globster in history that’s attacked someone. You’d better close the beach, sheriff.”
Sitwell snorts a humorless laugh. “And what? Put out an APB for a lobster?”
“Globster.”
“All due respect Agent Mulder, but you’re sounding like a crazy person right now. Those boys were drunker than skunks last night. It’s a sad thing, but Mark probably fell in and the other four couldn’t save him. Now you wanna inspect the scene, that’s just fine. You wanna talk to them, go right ahead. The groom’s name is Norm Sherman—I’ll even give you his number. But close the beach and go hunting for a clump of seaweed? No sir. We’re not doing that.”
Mulder sighs. He peers down at the package in his hand. He offers it to Sheriff Sitwell. “Cashew?”
Scene Three
Scully clicks away at her computer, looking dreadfully bored. Her phone rings and she answers it. “That was fast.”
“I’ve got a piece of globster for you.” We switch back to Mulder and see him peering into his waterproof pouch. There’s a gooey, jelly-like substance inside, with bits of dead stuff floating in it.
“You got me a lobster?”
“Globster. Possibly a homicidal globster. I could use your help if you’re up for it.”
“Does this mean your vacation’s over?”
“Actually, this is turning into the best vacation I’ve ever had.”
Scully smiles. “I’ll be on the next flight to Boston.” She hangs up.
Scene Four
Mulder gets into his car and drives away. The cops have already gone. And yet we remain on the beach. The camera inspects the beachgoers: people playing volleyball, little kids building sandcastles, people tanning. We drift out to the water.
A woman floats on her back, whistling, having a grand old time. Then she jerks upright. “What was…?”
She looks down and sees a massive shape float beneath her. She screams and swims madly toward land.
This inspires other nearby swimmers to do the same. One of them, a young kid, sees the shape and draws his own conclusion.
“Shahk! Shahk!”
Now there’s complete chaos on the beach. People running and shrieking everywhere. Meanwhile, nobody seems to notice a big conglomerate mass of decomposing tissue wash up on the shore. No one except a dude wearing swim trunks, a “Secluded Glen, est. 1901” shirt , and a visor.
“It’s dead!” he shouts. “Yo, people! Calm down, alright? Whatever it is, it’s dead!” He notices something on the side of the mass and gasps.
It looks like a stretched out human face, oozing and juicy but still identifiable. Viewers will recognize it as Mark’s face. (Gross!)
The dude recoils, but too late. Tentacles reach out from within the glob and pull him in. Then the entire mass rolls back into the waves.
The dude’s visor sinks into the sand.
(Here’s where the commercials come in. Ads for Charmin or something.)
Act Two, Scene One
Mulder (now wearing a pastel Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and flip flops) meets Norm Sherman a hotel bar.
“You don’t look like an FBI agent,” Norm remarks.
“If I’d known I’d be working a case on my vacation, I would’ve brought a tie.”
“Oh. So you’re a tourist.”
“I’m not, I…” Mulder sighs. He turns his attention to the bartender. “Miss, do you have any sunflower seeds?”
“Nope. Almonds, though. Want those?”
Mulder eats a couple throughout the scene. He looks pained while doing it.
Norm recounts the encounter to Mulder, noting that the creature didn’t seem to care about any of the five guys except Mark.
“What do you think it wanted with him?” Mulder asks. “What made him different from everyone else?”
Norm throws out a few possibilities: Mark was the only one in grad school, the only one who spoke another language, the only one who’d been to Canada. Finally, with a great deal of uncertainty, he concludes, “Mahk was the only one who didn’t grow up in the Glen, I guess. The rest are from around heah.”
Mulder thanks Norm for his time, pays his tab, and departs. He does not take any almonds.
Scene Two
On his way back to his car, Mulder checks his phone, sees a missed call from a Massachusetts area code. He calls back, gets Sheriff Sitwell.
“Agent Mulder, I’ve been trying to reach you. You’d best get your ass back to the beach. There’s been another one.”
Scene Three
Meanwhile, Scully’s plane touches down in Boston. She gets a rental car, drives. Eventually, she passes a sign for Secluded Glen.
She arrives at the local lab, flashes her ID, enters. Now to inspect the substance Mulder collected at the scene.
Scully sets the specimen on a slab and starts a recording. Then she turns to grab some instruments. “Current time is 1:05 pm, eastern standard. Beginning initial examination of apparently dead tissue, what Agent Mulder has dubbed a…”
She turns back to the exam table. It’s empty.
“…Globster.”
Scully inspects the room. The specimen is inching across the floor, sort of like a worm. She goes to pick it up and it bites her finger. She then traps it beneath a container.
“Still better than expense reports,” she says to the glob.
Scene Four
Mulder arrives back at the now-vacant beach. Sheriff Sitwell awaits with some forensic investigators.
“Looks like a shark attack,” Sitwell announces. “Some kid screamed about it, some woman saw it come near the shore. Big one, must be, but ’tis the season.”
Mulder points out that a shark couldn’t have gotten this far ashore, especially during low tide, unless it beached itself.
Sitwell doesn’t look pleased. She hands Mulder the visor. “Still collecting evidence, but we’re pretty sure it belonged to the vic.”
Mulder stares at the hat. It reads “Secluded Glen” across the top. “Only one type of person would wear this thing. This man was a tourist.”
Sitwell gives him a look. “Probably. Most people in town right now are. They come in from wherever, take over the beach, then leave when it gets cold.”
“Hmm…” Mulder gets a call. He picks up and…
“Mulder, it’s me. You know that dead tissue sample you collected? It wasn’t quite dead after all.” She describes how it inched away, then bit her.
“Sounds like homicidal Flubber,” Mulder remarks.
Ignoring that quip, Scully continues. “They don’t have the most sophisticated equipment here, but I got enough to run some DNA tests. This sample contains traces of squid, turtle, crab, jellyfish, several types of fish, and…you’re gonna love this part.”
“If you say ‘alien’ I might faint.”
“Human, Mulder. This thing has human DNA.”
Here Mulder pauses. “Well, if it ate Mark Starr then that must be his DNA.”
“One step ahead of you. I cross checked the DNA with Starr’s and got a negative. Then I checked it with the FBI database, and this time I got a hit. One Ronald Preston Botley. He’s some sort of crack genius biologist who’s done contract work with the government on and off for the last decade. He owns a private biological startup called BioArt, headquartered right here in Secluded Glen.”
Mulder nods. “How soon can you meet me at BioArt HQ?”
Act Three, Scene One
Mulder and Scully arrive at Ronald P. Botley’s company headquarters. When Scully sees what Mulder’s wearing, she can’t suppress a laugh.
“What? Pastels are in right now.”
As they walk, Mulder asks, “Do you have any sunflower seeds? I’ve been craving them all week and I still can’t find any.”
Scully checks her pockets, finds a package of peanuts. “It’s all I’ve got.”
Mulder eats some, still not looking too happy.
BioArt’s offices are somewhere between startup and hippie commune. Long-haired twenty-somethings (mostly men, mostly white) ride by on skateboards. Several kinds of beer are on tap (Mulder jokes about having one, and Scully agrees she might need one after this case). Classical music plays over hidden speakers. There’s a library, a garden, and a chef waiting to take salad orders. Also, no cubicles—totally open floor plan.
They’re greeted by Botley himself, founder and CEO of BioArt. Picture Mark Zuckerberg cosplaying as a young Jerry Garcia.
Botley shows them around the space, even points out a few biological breakthroughs they’ve made, such as a species of fish bioengineered to breath out of water.
Mulder hits Botley with some questions:
- “How secure are the subjects in this facility?”
- “Where were you born?”
- “Want a peanut?”
To which Botley answers:
- “Very. We’ve got state-of-the-art miniature environments, each with its own security team. Nothing can escape.”
- “Right here in Secluded Glen. Why do you ask?”
- “No thank you, Agent Mulder. I’m extremely allergic to peanuts.”
Mulder shrugs. “Being a local, you must not like the tourists, huh?”
“Oh certainly. Tourists, no matter where they’re from, they’re all the same. They swarm the beaches, they take over the shops, they fill up the ferries. Do you realize how much longer my morning commute takes in the summer because of them? If they could all just leave and never come back, well…I’d be a happy camper.”
“How frustrating,” Scully says flatly. “Last question. Can you explain how your DNA appeared at the scene of a murder last night?”
Botley appears baffled, asks for the exact date and time. Botley immediately asserts that he was in the building working late. He cites a few employees who can verify it, plus some custodial workers. He even suggests checking the security footage of the building for additional verification.
“Thanks for your time,” says Scully.
Scene Two
As Mulder and Scully exit BioArt, Mulder proposes his patented whacko theory.
“Just bear with me for a second here, Scully. What if this facility is the globster’s birthplace? And what if Ronald Botley is its father? They said themselves they tinker with genetics on all sorts of marine life. What if they created a conglomerate species?”
Scully, as always, acts as the voice of reason. “We still can’t be sure this is anything but a shark, Mulder. The witnesses at the first attack were all traumatized and scared and inebriated—not necessarily in that order—and at least one witness at the second attack reported seeing a shark.”
“Then how do you explain the glob that attacked you? How do you explain Flubber?”
Scully doesn’t have an answer for that one, so Mulder continues.
“I think Ronald Botley imbued this creature with his DNA, maybe as some sort of experiment. And not only did it get that—the creature also inherited his disdain for tourists.”
“Mulder. Are you seriously proposing that our prime suspect is a rolling ball of goo that washes up on random beaches just to eat…tourists?”
“Think about it, Scully. It attacked Mark Starr, the only non-local among a group of four other perfectly viable targets. And then it devoured another tourist when it could’ve attacked anyone else on that beach. It even went after you in the lab, probably because you’re not from around here.”
“Let’s say you’re right, Mulder. Let’s say this thing is only going after tourists. How do we catch it? It’s July in a beach town. Thousands of tourists are rolling in here every day for the rest of the summer.”
“Like any good fisherman, Scully. With bait.”
Act Four, Scene One
With night descending, Mulder and Scully head for the beach. Mulder theorizes that so long as a non-local is in or near the water, they have a fair shot of being attacked.
“But you’re immune,” Scully reasons. “You’re from Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Hey. Martha’s Vineyard is not Secluded Glen. Totally different.” He removes his flip flops and steps into the water. Scully does the same.
“Scully, I’m not gonna ask you to risk your life for this case.”
“You don’t have to.”
So they stand there in the water up to their knees, waiting. To pass the time, Mulder asks, “Did you go on vacations as a kid?”
“A handful,” Scully says. “But my father’s military career made everything feel like a vacation. We’d stay in places months at a time, sometimes a couple years. Inevitably, though, he’d get the call and we’d be off to elsewhere.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“Actually, it was kind of fun.” Scully peers out at the sunset beyond. “We still had our family. Still had each other. Visiting new places every few months wasn’t so bad. Not when I liked who I was traveling with.”
“And now you’re stuck with me.”
“Mulder,” she says, “you’re my favorite tourist.”
“I’m not…” Mulder gazes at the horizon. “Likewise.”
Something splashes in the water. Both agents draw their guns and…
It’s just a seal. Maybe the bait idea isn’t right. Just then, Mulder gets a call from Sheriff Sitwell. She just got a call from someone who claims a giant carcass washed up on the beach.
“Don’t let anyone near it,” says Mulder. “We’re on our way.”
Scene Two
The agents arrive at the new location. They find Sheriff Sitwell, local law enforcement, and a bunch of people they don’t know. They’re all gathered around a bulky carcass. Everyone’s covering their noses.
“Stay back,” Scully warns. “Federal agents. Everybody keep your distance.”
“Look,” somebody says, “it’s got faces on it.”
Indeed, we see the tourist dude’s face plastered on the side, along with Mark’s deteriorating face elsewhere.
“By show of hands,” Mulder says, facing the crowd. “Who here lives in Secluded Glen?”
All but one person raises their hands. Mulder points at the odd one out. “You. Go home. In fact, I need everybody off this beach, pronto.”
One tourist steps forward. “Sheriff, why do we have to listen to this guy? He’s wearing socks with sandals, for God’s sake.”
“I can explain that,” Mulder says, but the Sheriff steps in first.
“Everybody stand back,” Sitwell commands. “Go on. The beach is closed. Get moving.” She escorts the people off the beach.
When they’re all gone, Mulder turns back to the globster. “Now how do we arrest this thing?”
“We need a cleanup crew out here,” Scully says. “Maybe the New England Region EPA office can get someone.” She calls. And the Globster stirs.
“I don’t think it wants that, Scully.”
The faces on the Globster stretch and twist. The entity seems to grow. A tentacle wiggles out from beneath the slime, then another.
“Run!” Mulder roars.
Together, he and Scully take off at a sprint. And not a moment too soon, because the globster starts rolling. Fast.
“We need to keep it away from the water!” Mulder calls. “We can’t lose it again!”
They veer left, now going the opposite direction of the water. However, that now points them toward the parking lot, and beyond that, the town.
“But we can’t lead it toward more people!” Scully calls back. She hooks another left, and now they’re running parallel to the water again. “How do we stop it?”
“I don’t know!” Mulder tries shooting it a couple times, but shooting while running is tough work. Even when he does finally hit, the glob keeps rolling, kicking up sand in its wake.
A pair of figures appear in the dark ahead of them: two teenagers making out on the beach. Scully screams at them to get the hell out of there, but they just stare dumbly. She and Mulder make a wide circle around them, and fortunately, the globster rolls right past.
“Was that a bouldah?” the girl asks.
“Mustah been,” the guy agrees.
The agents run on, the globster still following. It’s now leaving bits of itself along the beach as it goes, tips of tentacles, fish scales, jelly goo. They come to an outcropping of rocks and dash past a sign that reads Please do not climb the rocks. They climb the rocks.
“Mulder,” Scully pants, “if this thing has Botley’s DNA…”
“Yeah.”
“…And it hates tourists as much as he does…”
“Right.”
“…Then maybe it shares other traits with him as well.”
“Like what?” The agents haul themselves atop the rocks, and not a moment too soon: one of the globster’s tentacles reaches for them and nearly grabs hold. They sprint down the other side, the glob still pursuing them.
“Immunodeficiencies. Mulder, Botley’s allergic to peanuts.”
Mulder checks his pockets as they run. “I threw them out. Couldn’t stand the texture!”
Scully scans the beach, then points. “There!” We discern a faint outline in the darkening distance: a box-shaped little building with a sign reading “The Snack Shack.” The agents run to it.
Scully gets there first, tries the handle. Locked. “Keep it busy!” She slams her shoulder against the door, trying desperately to break it down.
As the globster draws near, Mulder waves his arms. “Hey! Where’s the nearest gas station? You have any dinner recommendations? I’m here with my wife and our seven kids—what’s a good family-friendly excursion?”
The globster takes the bait. It now comes at Mulder, and he runs. “I’m cramping up, Scully. Hurry!”
Scully finally busts down the door of the Snack Shack. She flips on a flashlight, rummages through endless supplies of junk food. Twizzlers, Doritos, Lays Chips, Skittles, Milky Ways…
“Where the hell are the damn peanuts!?”
She trips over something bulky, curses. Then she gets the light on it.
A bag of peanuts. Industrial sized.
Outside, Mulder’s now running in circles, trying to keep the creature in the same vicinity as the Snack Shack. He’s slowing, though, and we see the creature gaining on him. Finally, it whips a tentacle out and trips him. Mulder tries to crawl away, but the tentacle snares him around the ankle and drags him across the sand.
“Scully! Scully!”
She emerges from the shack lugging a massive bag of peanuts. As the globster draws Mulder closer, Scully sprints forward and dumps the peanuts all over it.
The globster freezes. We watch as the peanuts sink into its gooey flesh. The tentacle goes limp, and for a moment, there’s silence—or would be, if not for the lapping of the waves and the heavy breathing of the agents.
“Is it—?”
The globster explodes.
Bits of dead marine matter rain down from above. When the sand settles, we find Scully and Mulder standing there, covered in fish guts. Mulder wipes some from his face.
“I’ll have the seafood stew,” he says.
Dissolve cut to…
Scene Three
It’s sunrise, and a cleanup crew has arrived—though not from the EPA. Their hazmat suits have BioArt logos on them. Sure enough, Ronald P. Botley is among them, too. He stands in the parking lot on the edge of the beach, leaning on his sports car, watching from afar.
Scully and Mulder approach him. They’re both still covered in fish guts.
“You can’t hide the truth,” Mulder says to Botley. “This was a test, wasn’t it? Is this some new biological weapon, or did you just want to see what would happen when you crammed too many organisms together?”
Botley pats Mulder on the shoulder, which makes a squelching sound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Mulder.”
“Two men are dead because of you.”
Botley shrugs. “I heard it was a lone shark.”
“There were witnesses,” says Scully. “Many of them, here and at the other attacks. You can’t suppress their stories.”
Botley steps into his car, starts the engine. “They’re tourists. Who cares what they have to say, anyway?”
He drives away, leaving Mulder and Scully alone in the parking lot.
Scene Four
We watch a car zoom down the road. The agents. Scully drives, and Mulder rides in the passenger seat.
“Mulder,” says Scully, “I know this vacation didn’t work out quite as you wanted. So I got you something.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Mulder opens the gift. Inside, he finds a package of sunflower seeds.
Scully smiles at him. “They just restocked.”
Mulder thanks her, then tears open the bag and offers her some. Scully declines, so Mulder cracks a seed and eats it.
“Scully?”
“Yeah Mulder?”
“Can we come back again next year?”
They pass a sign reading Fresh Lobster! And they keep on driving.
Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories about cats.
Despite a promising beginning, Who the Hell is Julian Strange? died a few months into its life. The characters felt uneven and the plot didn’t seem right. Ultimately, the manuscript itself wasn’t ready for life.
