DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story belong to me or them or no-one, I'm not sure, but as long as they get to have a little fun I'm sure they won't sue.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Pitching an Idea
The network executive, fresh-faced and barely out of puberty, looked at the writer as if she'd grown a third eye. In all his years - one and a half and counting - in the business, he'd never heard such blasphemy. "You want the women to do what?"
"Talk to each other about something other than the men in their lives." Having passed her thirtieth year, the writer should have known better, but a sense of optimism had gripped her that morning in the shower; she would rather have been gripped by someone warm blooded and hot to trot, but at 5.30 a.m. she'd taken what she could get. "You know, like real people?"
The vague look that crossed the executive's face let the writer know that 'real people' were a concept beyond his understanding. "What would they talk about?" he asked.
The writer shrugged in a way she hoped conveyed the endless possibilities, rather than her lack of a single thought, but from the frown on the executive's normally wrinkle-free brow, she knew she hadn't succeeded. "Work. Politics. Religion." It sounded boring even to the writer. "World domination!"
He had thought the writer somewhat unbalanced before, but at that moment the executive was convinced she was certifiable. "You want a show about women bent on world domination?" His frown deepened. "What are they, lesbians or something?"
The writer exhaled loudly. "I want a show where the women are more than accessories to the men in their lives." She would have liked nothing better than a show about lesbians bent on world domination, especially if they showed a little cleavage along the way, but she wasn't about to mention that within hearing distance of a network exec. "A crime show where the women get to do their jobs without bursting into tears or taking everything personally and devolving into emotional wrecks." She leant forward. "Or how about a show where the women aren't married off or saddled with baby storylines every other week."
"Viewers like baby storylines and marriages," the executive argued.
The writer climbed on the counter to tower over the boy. "No, they don't!" She wanted to slap him. "Babies are boring." Her brother and sister-in-law had provided her with enough proof of that. "Suddenly, instead of rushing out the door to tackle crime or perform miracle surgery, your characters are arranging childcare and bemoaning their lack of a sex life." She once again thanked God that she'd never been tempted to reproduce. "Unless you're a man, of course, then you get to swan off and have affairs all over the place, while the little woman is stuck at home with the brats."
The executive began to eye the exit nervously, trying to gauge whether the writer was truly insane or just 'artistic'; both of which could prove dangerous to his health. "Let me get this straight, you want me to commission a show about baby-hating, lesbians bent on world domination?" He scratched his brow. "You do realise I work for CBS, right?"
The writer sighed. "Okay, forget I said anything." She flipped the burger on the griddle. "Do you want fries with that?"
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