Tag: writing

Margerumalia – Stories From The Professor

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – June 13, 2025

It’s kind of incredible for me to imagine that this picture of my father was taken when he was younger than I am now. He was almost ninety when he died, so I still have a ways to go, but this picture of him is solidly placed in my memory as “Dad.” 

Dad, whose work as a Professor of Chemistry took the family on two sabbaticals in Europe. Dad, who planned camping trips and canoe trips, who played tennis and squash, who liked listening to jazz, who had season tickets to Big Ten football games. Dad, who was quick to pull out a pen and write on a napkin when we had math or science questions at the dinner table. 

Dad, the teller of stories!

Mom read us books as we travelled cross country and she was very much a part of the hiking, tennis, music, sports, and wanderlust, but when we found our campsite and built the campfire, Dad had a story to tell. 

Dad and his brothers grew up in a small town outside of St. Louis, now part of the greater metropolis, and when he was a teenager he got a summer job with the Parks & Recreation Department that included, among other things, telling stories to the younger kids. I imagine them gathered beneath a shady elm tree to stay out of the sun in the hot, humid Missouri afternoons.

He couldn’t remember the content of those stories. Like improvisation, you’re only in the moment, following your imagination, following your impulses.

I later learned that this was my preferred approach to writing stories, the “pantser” approach (from “flying by the seat of my pants”). I think my improv training played into this approach, but with Dad it was instinctual. 

He got ideas from people around him or the landscape or the animals. When my younger brother was avid about collecting rocks and we were traveling west, Dad invented a character who was nicknamed Rock Hound because he, too, had a huge interest in rocks, and his tracking skills were developed from that fascination.

Fast forward about twenty-five years to when I was teaching Theatre at Carthage College.

My wife and I still talk about the lecture Dad gave when he offered to tell the chemistry students about his latest research. There were about a dozen students and a couple faculty, so we sat in on the lecture, too. 

Neither of us can remember the content of his talk, most of the science was over our heads, but we still recall that he was telling a story. He presented the question that the research team wanted to solve, told about the experiments they created to find the answers, described the hurdles they encountered along the way, and wrapped it all up with what they discovered. 

Classic story structure! Short of ending it with “…and they all lived happily ever after.” 

Thanks, Dad, for raising me with stories to show how it’s done. 

Fast forward another twenty years.

Dad was in Memory Care when I was writing MAMLA and I would spend three days a week with him while Mom was getting dialysis all afternoon. He’d read the newspaper while I wrote the latest adventure of the Shafer Family. One time he asked me what I was writing so I read him the passage where Ryan and Maria were escaping the dire wolves and he said he it was very exciting. 

That memory makes me smile. Approval from the teller of tales.

TTFN

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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.

Margerumalia – Out For A Spin

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – June 6, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: http://www.swient.com/how-to-recognize-vertigo-in-children

I went to see my doctor to tell her I had vertigo. She said it was all in my head. [Rim-shot.] 

I always wanted to try stand-up comedy, but could never come up with any good material. Having seen the recent trend toward life-experience-as-stand-up I thought I might have something. 

I do. Or I did. I had vertigo.

Do you remember going on a ride at the playground where the whole point is to enjoy the dizzy? Where the spin is the fun? Vertigo feels like that, only it’s not intentional, nor fun.

About 3 AM I woke up to a shout. It was me. I stood up from the bed and the entire room was doing that spinning thing. I fell back into bed. Which didn’t help. At all.

I reverted to the earliest skills of childhood and grabbed onto furniture to toddle my way to the bathroom. I collapsed in front of the porcelain god and waited for the inevitable upheaval. It didn’t come.

I’ve learned a thing or two about my body over the years, and one is that it prepares for the old heave-ho with a few deep breaths, much like a pearl diver getting ready for the big the plunge. That night I spent over thirty minutes clutching onto the toilet bowl while hyperventilating. 

Let me be clear. There were two of us there in the middle of that whirlpool. Me, hugging the bowl. And my body, preparing for that dive.

For. Thirty. Minutes. 

I know because I wear my Apple Watch to bed so I can keep track of my sleep statistics. Turns out that Apple doesn’t clock vertigo. 

Last year I was teaching high school students how to fall safely on stage so they could do it over and over again in performances without getting hurt. THAT was when Siri checked in on me and offered to call 911. During a case of the spins? Not so much.

It was time. I needed help. I called out for my wife.

We sleep in separate bedrooms. I snore. She tosses and turns. We learned long ago that if we wanted to stay together we were going to have to split up. At night.  

I’d like to be able to say I called her name with a robust voice like Tarzan summoning Jane in the jungle. Instead I was more like a toad in the pond. 

“Debbie!” I croaked. “Come here, I need you.” 

I’m sure Alexander Graham Bell summoned Watson with much more panache on the world’s first phone call. 

Debbie, bless her heart, has baby monitor hearing and was at my bathroom door in three seconds flat. Well, I was flat. She was standing there asking me what was wrong, and should she call for an ambulance. 

Why did I do the stereotypical guy thing and say she didn’t need to call the ambulance? I mean, did I call out so she could wake up and enjoy the phenomenon of my total disorientation?

After ten more minutes of hyperventilation and I finally agreed to the ER Express. 

Somehow, even amidst the mind-storm of staggering to the bathroom, I had managed to slip into some sweat pants. Which was handy because one wants to be fully clothed when visitors come to call. I also dragged myself into the hall so the EMT’s didn’t need to extract me from the vomitorium.

In the ER they gave me the vertigo diagnosis, or labyrinthitis. Hey! Perfect for a guy who just released a middle grade novel about a family that has to find their way out of a museum through a maze! …or labyrinth.

I’ve got pills now, because, you know, the world revolves around pharmaceuticals. (Had enough with the revolving metaphors? Me, too.) At least the pills dull the nausea and the rotation sensation. (That was the last one, I promise.)

And I’ve had an MRI. Who knew a brain could be clinically described as “grossly unremarkable”? 

That phrase sounds like it should be from a play by Oscar Wilde: “She lacked poise, she lacked depth, she had a distinct paucity of charm, wit, and acumen. She was, in fact, grossly unremarkable.” 

The acupuncturist is the only doctor who has helped me get better. I hate needles, but that’s another story.

TTFN

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My middle grade novel, The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, is available through The BookBaby Bookshop at https://store.bookbaby.com/book/the-most-amazing-museum-of-los-angeles

Margerumalia – My Brush With Fame

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – May 30, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: https://www.nbcnews.com/news/obituaries/george-wendt-cheers-dies-76-rcna208080

“Norm!” everyone yelled when George Wendt walked into the bar. We raised our beer mugs in tribute to his passing this past week.

I started watching “Cheers” on TV the first year it came out. The show had an endearing theme song and it centered around a group of people who were a little quirky and enjoyed a good chat. I felt like I knew them immediately.

I almost did.

I was working as an assistant manager at Crown Books in Studio City when one of our regular customers—not unlike the regulars on “Cheers”—came into the store and asked me if I’d heard the news about the actor playing Coach. He had died.

Yes, I assured him, it was on every channel. The befuddled but sweet character was a favorite who was nominated for three Emmys over three years. I really liked that guy. 

“Did you know they’re planning to replace him?” 

“Really? That’d be hard to do. I don’t know if the audience would accept a different Coach.”

“They’re not gonna have another Coach,” Regular Customer told me. “They’re going to replace him with one of his ball players who is exactly like him, only younger.” 

“That’s a great idea!” 

“The character’s name is Woody. And he’s your age.” 

That’s the thing about working in LA, in a place called Studio City, the information orchard was always ripe for the picking, and this was within arm’s reach. RC was eying me now, waiting for my next thought. 

“Have they cast him yet?” 

“Not yet. You should call your agent as soon as you can and get that audition. You’re perfect for it.” 

Not to say that I was dim-witted like Coach, but that I could play Woody easily.

When my agent took my call she admitted she was looking at me and one other client to submit. They would only let her choose one. I assured her that I was the one for the job and that I knew the series well, and please, please, please give me a shot. 

Okay, maybe I only said please once, but I got the chance to audition! 

I went to the casting agent’s office off Sunset Boulevard near the Hollywood Freeway and got to read the sides. Those are the script pages they give you for the audition. It featured Woody in a one-sided phone conversation where he clearly didn’t understand what the other person was saying. 

Did I ace it? I don’t know, I was pretty nervous and bubbling with adrenaline. They told my agent I did a good job, so that was nice to hear. 

And then they hired some guy named Woody to play the role of Woody. C’mon, people, you don’t have to take the script literally!

I continued watching the series after that and Woody Harrelson hit the mark on every show. Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t fault his performances. 

I kept watching “Cheers” all the way to the last episode and often thought about how my life would have been different. The closest I got was doing a play with one of the semi-regulars who hung out at the bar with Norm and Cliff.

I could’ve been friends with those guys. And they would’ve known my name.

TTFN

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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.

Margerumalia – International Museum Day

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – May 23, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: icom.museum

This past Sunday, I heard on the radio that it was International Museum Day. Well, why did you wait and tell me on the day of? C’mon people, give me some room to run with this little gem!

Having set my novel in The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, and building on that theme in the much-anticipated sequel The Most Amazing Museum of Chicago (I, for one, am dying to know how it turns out), I should be informed about this International Day for Museums. Heck, I even blogged a recommendation for Mike Gayle’s book The Museum of Ordinary People (Margerumalia, January 17, 2025). All museums honored here!

Clearly it’s up to me to seek out the information and share what I learned. You’re welcome.

Oh, dear. I went to the icom.museum website and I’m afraid it’s rather stodgy and very academic sounding. Their photographers, on the other hand, really know what they’re doing. There are lots of really interesting photos that make you say, “That’s interesting. I wonder what’s going on here?” Especially in the Sharing Is Caring section.

That’s what we want to know, isn’t it? What are these people doing here and why? …And then what happened? …And then what? Stories are our common bond. 

Somewhere in the Black Forest of Germany, my mother sensed that my brothers and I were bored by the tapestries, the thrones, and suits of armor gathering dust in the umpteenth castle of the day. So she took us outside. 

A small square pond about the size of a Little League infield sat low in a clearing surrounded by  tall shaggy oaks. Mossy bricks edged the still water and no breeze blew through this fine and private place. 

“Hello?” my mother shouted, only to be answered by her own voice. 

“Hello?” it said back. 

We looked at her blankly. 

“That was the Echo,” she told us. “Let’s see if we can find her.” 

And even though we knew it was a game, we dashed up and down the little hillsides, looking behind tree trunks and vine-covered stones to see if we could find the mysterious Echo. I think we even shouted a few times to hear her shout back in our own voices. 

After about twenty minutes of this game, my brothers and I were nearly spent and remarkably capable of touring another bedroom in the nearby castle.

Echo went with us. I know because I heard her mocking the tour guide with his own voice even though he didn’t shout.  

Fifty-plus years later, I still remember that exciting moment when Mom made the echo into a sprite called Echo. 

And this morning, two little boys walking with their mother and calling me “a grandpa” rushed ahead when I told them that the yellow post at the top of the hill was good luck if they touched it. We all earned our good luck this morning.

That’s the kind of museum I want to remember. And a lot of the curators have figured that out. Especially the children’s museums who say, “Go ahead. You can touch it,” because they know we learn through all of our senses, not just our eyes.

TTFN

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My middle grade novel, The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, is available through The BookBaby Bookshop at https://store.bookbaby.com/book/the-most-amazing-museum-of-los-angeles

Margerumalia – The Great Chicago Fire

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – May 16, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: NewYorker.com

Did the Great Chicago Fire really begin in the O’Leary’s barn or was that just a story?

Were the sidewalks of Chicago in 1871 made of wood like you see in the old westerns or were they made of paving stones? Because wood burns, stones, not so much. 

Why do the photos of Chicago from that time period show telephone poles along the streets when telephones weren’t invented yet? The patent for the Bell Telephone wasn’t granted until 1876.

It’s interesting the questions that pop up when you’re writing about historical events. I hadn’t thought about the number of things I’d want to know to create a realistic picture of the past.

In The Most Amazing Museum of Chicago two of my characters travel back in time to the Great Chicago Fire and I want the readers to feel like they were really there. 

Yes, the fire did start in the O’Leary’s cow shed but there are multiple theories about how it began and who was responsible, so I get to make that part up. The kids in the story will witness it and may be partly responsible. The O’Leary’s house was spared because the fire spread north away from their home and you can find maps on line showing the devastation that followed. 

The sidewalks of Chicago in 1871 were wooden slats in some places and paving stones in others, depending on wealth and location. Modern poured concrete wouldn’t come into use for another twenty years. It was probably used in the later rebuilding of The Windy City.

And the telephone poles are actually telegraph poles. I had no idea that the telegraph lines would be all over the place like that. I don’t know how I’ll use that information, but it’s interesting to know.

I’m reminded of when I directed a production of The Outsiders a couple of years ago—not the musical version that’s currently just on Broadway—and I had to tell the kids not to give each other high fives after they successfully fought off the other gang of teens. When I told them the move hadn’t been invented yet, they looked at me like I was telling them shoes hadn’t been invented yet. The high five developed out of the “gimme five” hand slap of the 1960’s and wouldn’t be commonplace until the early 1970’s. The Outsiders takes place is the mid-1950’s, so a high five would be completely out of place. The actors found other ways to celebrate their victory.

As a writer friend pointed out, you don’t want to cause your reader, or audience member, to get distracted by things that are out of place. You just want them to be in the story.  

TTFN

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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.

Margerumalia – Wander Indiana

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – May 9, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: Steve Healy/Indianapolis Star

Fresh out of college and soon relocating to Los Angeles for grad school I got my first credit card. A Shell Oil Credit Card, my first dive into high finance. Debt.

“You’ll need to establish a credit record,” my college roommate had assured me. “I have three gas cards already. And a card for Sears & Roebuck!”

If I ever wanted to get a swing at the big leagues—Bank Americard and Master Charge*—I’d have to spend some time in the minor leagues.

Okay: grown-up life. I’m in it to win it.

I pulled into a Shell station on the outskirts of Los Angeles and filled the tank of my VW Rabbit with unleaded gasoline, careful not to ruin my transmission with the regular leaded kind. 

The attendant came out to my car after I finished pumping and I handed him my Shell Oil Credit Card, just like I’d seen Dad do over the years. Within a few minutes the attendant was back with a little plastic tray that held my card upright in a slot behind the receipt baring the imprint of my name and card number.

Before handing me the little plastic tray, though, he went to the back of the car to write down the license plate number. He was several years younger than me and sounded like he spoke more Spanish than English, so I figured he was being careful to do everything correctly, and by the book. 

I watched him in my rearview mirror look carefully at my Indiana license plate and write something down, only to look at the plate again and write something more, and then look at the plate again and write something more, repeating that process several times over. He seemed to be writing one number, or one letter, at a time. And he didn’t look confident that he was getting it right. 

When he finally brought the little plastic tray to my driver’s window, I saw what had happened. He got the license number written accurately but in the little box for the two letters of the state, he had written in careful bold capitals WANDER, with the letters spilling over into the box beside it. 

Indiana had launched a bid for more tourism called “Wander Indiana,” and the new license plates had the word WANDER in brighter, bolder letters than the name of the state. I figured this guy’s hesitation was because he had never heard of a state called Wander. 

Hey, I’d lived in a couple of foreign countries where I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Even on my first day of Primary School in England, I was mocked by my schoolmates when I asked where to find the bathroom. 

“You want ta take a bath?” 

“No…” I fumbled figuring I had used a gross Americanism. “The…the restroom.” Yes, that’s what they would call it! 

“You want ta rest?” 

Now I was blushing furiously, trying not to say that I had to pee. They took pity on me. 

“You want ta use the loo?”

I had forgotten that word. “Yes. Yes, please!”

I looked at the word WANDER on the onion skin receipt and decided not to say anything. I signed the box at the bottom, took my Shell Oil Credit Card and handed over the tray, thanking him with a smile and a nod. 

I wondered if he would wonder about that state called Wander.

TTFN

(*They’re now called Visa and Master Card.)

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My middle grade novel, The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, is available through The BookBaby Bookshop at https://store.bookbaby.com/book/the-most-amazing-museum-of-los-angeles

Margerumalia – Spring Has Sprung

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – May 2, 2025

Yes, spring has sprung in the Midwest and the multitudes are multiplying aplenty. 

I was washing dishes at the kitchen sink when this baby bunny appeared in our front garden, calmly chewing away at the greenery and helpfully eating the head off a dandelion. He was just so darn cute that I had to pull out my iPhone and capture the moment. I love the way the sun gave him backlighting that produced a halo effect around his head and shone through his perky pink ears. 

I had a toy bunny sticking out of my Christmas stocking when I was four and he still sits on my desk shelf today. I petted him bare in a couple places over the years, and I can’t help but think how much the bunny in the garden reminds me of that treasured friend.

On the other side of the house, Rocki Raccoon is usually at our back door in the morning, peering in to see if I might bring her a nice bowl of cat kibble. The other raccoons who stop by are like pigs, literarily snorting and grunting while they use their butts to shove their siblings aside and dive their greedy forepaws into the bowl, spilling kibble all over the back deck. 

Rocki is very polite and appears to be praying at the window beside the door as if to say, like Oliver Twist, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” 

And when I bring out the food she takes the food delicately and chews for a bit before kissing my hand in thanks. Okay, she might be wiping her nose on my fingers but I like to think of it as kissing my hand.

I’ve read that dog food is better to feed a raccoon, but try telling a raccoon only to eat the dog food when you’re also putting out rich, odorous kibble for the cat. Not gonna happen!

Besides, Rocki is clearly pregnant and she’ll be needing all the nutrients she can get. I think we’ll get to greet her babies before the end of May. 

Speaking of pregnant animals, Tabitha is also pregnant. I hoped I had successfully chased off a Tomcat who was assaulting her in February, but I guess it was only a short reprieve. Considering where he was trying to poke her, I wonder if he’s even the father!

Soon we’ll be capturing kittens again, hoping to find them homes. We learned a lot about the process last year with Tabitha’s other kittens. We just never figured out how to capture Tabby herself and take her in to get spayed. She’s a wily cat who runs away at the slightest noise, but swats at our hands if we put her food bowl down too slowly. She’s a survivor.

Writing about these animals is something like creating character sketches for a novel or short story. Each of them has their unique personality traits, just like you and I. 

Enjoy the spring weather wherever you may be.

TTFN

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KITTEN UPDATE: Two days after writing the Margerumalia above, Tabitha arrived at our back door looking much slimmer than the day before. We have no idea where she goes at night but somewhere out there a litter of kittens is eagerly waiting their mama’s return. 

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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.

Margerumalia – High Rollers

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – April 25, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: forums.wdwmagic.com

What does a starving actor do to earn money in LA? Work at a coffee shop? Did that. Paint houses? Did that. Tend bar? Did that… Hey, ever been on a game show? It’s easy money! Just learn the game, answer trivia, and roll the dice. 

I did that, too. On HIGH ROLLERS. 

My game show host was Wink Martindale who passed away recently at 91 years old, may he rest in peace. He’s in the picture holding the game dice. The other picture is also him from when he hosted TIC TAC DOUGH.

(Side note: Alex Trebek was the HIGH ROLLERS host before moving on to host JEOPARDY.)

The essence of the game is to eliminate the numbers 1 through 9 without “crapping out.” That means if the remaining number is a 9, you have to roll a 4 and 5, or a 3 and 6 to win.

That’s the luck part of the game and you get to yell “Good numbers!” when you throw the dice down the length of the red felt table.

But the game is a combination of luck and skill. First, you must be quick on the buzzer and successfully answer trivia questions before your opponent. If you answer right, the dice are yours. If you answer wrong, the dice go to your opponent.

The second part of the skill set is strategy. When you eliminate numbers from the board you earn a slew of good prizes, but only if you win. By answering the trivia question correctly you get control of the dice. Now, do you roll, or do you force your opponent to roll? 

The game show contestant coordinators were very good about explaining that almost every game is won by forcing your opponent to crap out. If they roll snake eyes when there’s only a 9 left on the board, they lose. You win! 

You want to roll the dice yourself when there are plenty of numbers on the board, and hand off the dice when there aren’t many winning combinations left. You choose.

I was buzzing in on trivia questions right and left on my first game and I played the strategy. When I took over as reigning champion I defeated my next opponent with several quick answers and good rolls before he crapped out. The strategy worked!

My reward for defeating my first challenger was an opportunity to roll for the Big Numbers! That bonus round involved rolling the gold dice and eliminating as many numbers as possible on the Big Board. I scored a decent amount of cash to add to my prizes, but crapped out before I could earn the big $10,000 prize.

“That’s okay,” Wink assured me, “you’re doing great with the questions and I’m sure you’ll get another shot at the big numbers.” Thanks, Wink.

The next challenger was a cute blond I had seen in the contestant holding room. She gave me a fetching smile and stepped up to the table. I knew I would feel bad about preventing her from earning any cash or prizes, but I had bills to pay.

I dominated the quiz portion and even buzzed in before Wink finished reading the questions. That could have been dangerous because he stopped reading whenever a contestant pressed the buzzer. But I got them right one after the other. 

I eliminated my share of the numbers and then passed the dice to the cute blond for the rest of the game. 

Damn, if she didn’t eliminate every last number! Even the producers backstage were shaking their heads as I signed the paperwork to collect my cash and prizes. 

“You answered every question right!” 

“We were sure you were going to win that one.”

Easy money, huh? Only if the dice roll your way. 

Oh, I did get one more prize. I got the cute blonde’s phone number.

TTFN

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My middle grade novel, The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, is available through The BookBaby Bookshop at https://store.bookbaby.com/book/the-most-amazing-museum-of-los-angeles

Margerumalia – Local Author Fair

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – April 18, 2025

BOOK SIGNING

Tomorrow is the Local Author Fair at the Tippecanoe County Public Library and I’ve been practicing a short reading from Chapter 6 of MAMLA. It’s the part where Maria and her mom take an elevator up to the clouds and have quite the ride getting there!

I wrote in my January Margerumalia about a resolution to retrain myself to speak with the kind of clarity I’d developed as an actor, and I’m just a little nervous in spite of daily practice. I know I’ll be my own worst critic, but it’s because I used to be able to do this so easily.

I have a remarkable confidence about getting up before a group of people, and I’m continually surprised now when I stumble over my words. The words that I can hear so clearly in my head.

Please keep me in mind and send me good vibes so I can give my listeners an entertaining piece of the story.

If you’re nearby, the Local Author Fair is April 19th from 1:00 PM to 4:00 PM. I’ll be signing books, and giving away mazes and bookmarks. There ought to be many more interesting authors to meet and greet as well.

SOPHOMORE EFFORT

As a freshman in college everything is new, everyone seems to know so much, and it’s all you can do to find your place in the scheme of things. 

Returning as a sophomore you now know how all the pieces fit together, and you laugh with superiority at the foolish freshmen who are so hopelessly lost. 

By the time you hit your stride in your junior year, you’re working hard and have more than a little compassion for the new class of hapless frosh. 

Senior year brings the stunning reality that you’ll soon be leaving this safe haven, and have to earn a living in the big bad world. 

I’m reminded of this quotation of Dōgen, the 13th Century father of Zen Buddhism: 

“Before one studies Zen, mountains are mountains and waters are waters; after a first glimpse into the truth of Zen, mountains are no longer mountains and waters are no longer waters; after enlightenment, mountains are once again mountains and waters once again waters.”

In writing The Most Amazing Museum of Chicago, I’m suddenly aware of my sophomore effort. I want the sequel to be able to stand alone, but also bear a resemblance to the first book. I thought I knew how to proceed. “Hey, I’ve done this once already!” But now I’m starting to realize how much I don’t know about how I did it the first time. 

The mountains and the waters are so much more than merely mountains and waters. I’m on a journey to see them once more as just mountains and waters. 

My acting teacher used to remind me, “Anything can happen.” If I take that Zen-like approach without the loaded expectations, I can still forge ahead.

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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.

Margerumalia – The Star Trek Consultant 

Eric Margerum

Newsletter – April 11, 2025

PHOTO CREDIT: paramountplus.com

I was working the early morning shift at a coffeehouse in Los Angeles called The Blue Parrot (named after the bar in Casablanca). It was sort of a tropical-themed Starbuck’s where I learned how to froth milk—whole and skim—make croissant sandwiches, and wipe down each and every table on the patio with steaming soapy water before we opened at seven.

A morning regular who struck up daily conversations with me when I brought him his latte and English Muffin told me he was a science consultant for “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” I enjoyed asking him questions about the series and he indulged me because I was a bit of a fan as well as an aspiring actor.

When “Star Trek III” came out I told him I had seen it and really enjoyed the story about the “Search for Spock.” He eyed me for a few seconds and asked me if I noticed anything else about the movie. 

I knew he wasn’t consulting for any of the movies so he wouldn’t be offended if I pointed out a discrepancy. 

“Well, there was one thing…” I said. 

“Yes?” he leaned into the question, obviously keen to hear my answer. 

“When the Klingons used the cloaking device, the Enterprise couldn’t fire on them because they couldn’t tell where they were. But then Sulu came up with a solution to launch a photon torpedo that followed the ion trail of the Klingon ship.” 

“And the problem with that…?” 

“Well, the cloaking device was introduced back in the original series. If a photon torpedo could track an ion trail they would have done that a long time ago.” 

“Thank You!” he said, practically leaping out of his chair in righteous victory. “If YOU could see that, why didn’t any of the science types see that?”

He wasn’t insulting my intelligence but he did seem to have a bone to pick with the folk making the movies.

“Do you think they didn’t catch it?” I asked. 

“No,” he said firmly, “I think the producers wanted an easy solution and told the consultants to ignore the problem because no one would notice.”

I learned something that day about storytelling: integrity. I’m not talking about moral principles, I’m talking about the integrity of a dam that successfully holds back the floodwaters. Whether it’s a science fiction story, a whodunnit, or a romance, there is an internal logic that has to be followed, the integrity of the story. Otherwise you lose the audience and they won’t trust you the next time. 

By the way, my wife and I figured out that she had been coming to The Blue Parrot for months before we met but she always arrived after my morning shift. I picture a romantic comedy in which the couple keep missing each other until the inevitable meet-cute. 

Live Long and Prosper 

* * * * *

My middle grade novel, The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles, is available through The BookBaby Bookshop at https://store.bookbaby.com/book/the-most-amazing-museum-of-los-angeles