July 16, 2013


Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

F Trope: De-myth-tification (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Demythtification)

Ticha Griffith pushed her way through the crowd of well-wishers, fans, crazies and other nutcases and tumbled into the limousine. Flashes went off as the door closed. She said, “Great, now my butt will be on the cover of Sports Illustrated.” The man in sunglasses, black suit and black tie was rail thin and taller than almost anyone she’d ever known. He was taller than was natural – though Rev Nguyen had nothing whatsoever to do with nature. He didn’t say a word, staring straight ahead at the divider between the spacious limo rear and the chauffer up front. She hated silence, so she said, “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got my goddess, now it’s off to pick up my god.”

Ticha hated when he called them his “god and goddess”. She’d been raised by a charismatic-Baptist mother and a tent evangelist papa – not that she believed any of the crazy mumbo jumbo, HOOOOOly SpiRIT crap they’d fed her as a kid anymore. But still...

He’d started calling her “goddess” when she’d first been voted into the WNBA Hall of Fame and elected the Best Women’s Basketball Player On Earth two years running and he’d negotiated the highest pay and options package of any WNBA player ever. Her endorsements with the cereal company, the chicken fast food, and sports equipment giant put her annual worth at just over five million. She said, “I hate it when you call us ‘god and goddess’.”

 Rev smirked. She hated that smirk. He said, “Do you deny that your fans worship you? That they burn incense in your name? That they repeat just about anything you say as if it were Holy Writ? That they would willingly sacrifice themselves to be in your very expensive tennis shoes? That more than one would try and kill you to be in those shoes – but know that to try and kill a goddess would get them…”

“Shut up!” Ticha turned away and pursed her lips, knowing he was right. The limo pulled up to the best hotel in the city. The chauffer popped the door and O’Neal Ferdinand turned, showing his butt to her, as he waved, signed autographs, shook hands and kissed babies before ducking into the car.

Rev said, “So, how’s the godhood going, O-man?”

O’Neal had no hesitation. Flashing his trademark pearly whites – he DID have a toothpaste endorsement to keep up looks for – he peeked over his sunglasses and said, “Hallelujah, Brother. Hallelujah.”

Rev’s eyebrow twitched down. His lips thinned. Ticha scrunched into the corner of the limo’s bench seat, as far from her agent as she could get. For a moment, she thought she felt the tiny hairs on her forearms stand up as the air seemed to charge with electricity.

O’Neal glanced at her, winked then took off the glasses, saying, “Sorry, my Lord. I can’t seem to stop myself from teasing people.”

Rev said, “I’m not people. I’m your agent and your handler – godhood notwithstanding, I made you and I can unmake you just as easily.”

O’Neal snorted and pulled off the glasses. He lifted a finger as Ticha said, “So where are you taking us, Master Nguyen?”

Their agent looked at her and she might have sworn that behind the dark lenses of his glasses, there was a sudden glow – as of red hot coals – but she knew that couldn’t be. He was an agent. He had movies stars, writers, and a few other athletes in his stables. He didn’t call any of them “god and goddess” though. She frowned as he replied, “A special meeting I’ve set up with a really big-name agent.”

O’Neal said, “You’re my agent – I didn’t never say I’d be anyone else’s meal ticket!”

The cheek under Rev’s left eye twitched. He opened his mouth…

Names: (short form of Letisha) Latin, Welsh ; Irish, German

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