Late night confession time. When I was a teenager, the height of writing ambition would have been a Star Trek novel. Here you were, carrying a torch. I didn’t want to write. I didn’t even want to write when I started writing. I wanted to be a screenwriter. I wrote some really bad screenplays. I’m sure there are worse, but mine were bad. Beautifully formatted though. The nice thing about it was all the writing techniques I went through with it. I still think I’d do a fine job breaking out a story, I just don’t have any interest in that sort of writing for my writing. Purposeful meandering. Guided meandering. Whatever. The funny thing about the Star Trek was I went from Star Wars books to Star Trek books; Trek books were far dorkier than the Star Wars ones. The return of Star Wars in the nineties, starting with the books, starting with the comics, it was beautifully executed. Lucas lined us all up like suckers and fed us Episode I and he changed Hollywood again. But. One last point. I didn’t read the Phantom Menace novelization. I read novelizations like a fiend until Spring 1999 because I shamed myself out of it. But, even when I was drinking the Phantom Menace Kool-Aid, I didn’t read the novelization. Unless I forgot, in which case, I’m ashamed. I should’ve been smarter.