Nothing dates a science fiction story quite like it being set in what is now the present with elements that have not, and will not, come to pass. Flying cars, robot butlers, alien invaders–sure, that all sounds nice, but it’s just pretty busted, like my smartphone.

Los Angeles, 1995.  I’m in a Hancock Park mansion for three marathon days working on a low-budget mafia/vampire/zombie flick starring an ex-Playboy Playmate and an actor who’s been dead for more than a year.  My pay: $75 a day.  My position: props/art department.  The fact I’ve never worked with props or art department is never discussed.

“I think it goes without saying: that hair is a different color than that hair.”

“I’ve always loved you, Jessica,” I type in the messaging app of my friend’s iPod Touch.  “I won’t let anyone get in the way of our love.” Although Jessica and I did make out once, I’m not in love with her. I’m writing to her under the clever alias “Jason Smith” because my friend, Ceci, and I are bored.

Often times, people wonder if creativity can be taught, just like any other skill.  I’m sure that this is a question you’ve regularly pondered.  The inconceivable answer is “yes.”