This past week, I bought myself an Atari “Gamestation Pro.” It has all the old Atari 2600 games, including classics from the arcades, such as Asteroids. It’s a lot of fun and was pretty close to a no-brainer for me, as I bought an open-box at a steep discount. When they first came out a year ago, I wanted one but didn’t want to spend “that much money.” Now it was like, sure, whatever. Take it out of petty cash.
Forty-six years ago, I was obsessed with getting an Atari 2600. Back then, it was $300 and the games were between $20 and $40. That was way more money than this 13-year old kid had, and my old man wasn’t moved by my frequent requests to be given the money.
Through an incredible stroke of luck, I was able to referee hockey matches at the local rink and earned $10 a game. Three months later, I bought the Atari 2600. It was like a fantasy for this 13-year old. (Not like the fantasy when I found my brother’s stash of Playboy magazines, but a fantasy all the same.)
The Myth of the Bootstrapper
Now, this is not a story about how I wanted something and went out and got a job so I could buy it for myself. Not even close.
Without my parents buying me ice skates, paying for lessons, paying for the membership at the rink, and paying through the nose for all the hockey gear and team fees, I wouldn’t have been in a position to referee matches. They weren’t rolling in dough, so it was a big deal to play hockey.
Playing these old Atari 2600 games this past weekend brought up all the nostalgia, the pains of missing my parents, and how lucky I was to be a kid who got to play hockey.
The way I got that first Atari 2600 is a story that can be told a couple of ways. There’s the version where I’m a scrappy kid who gets a job and buys a toy.
There’s the version where the parents are pissed that I squandered $300 on a stupid game (and folks, those games are kind of stupid). And then there’s all the nostalgia for a family doing whatever they can for each other out of love.
I love a good story
My journey into writing made me confront, and figure out, what makes a good story.
We all have desires, and some of us have specific goals. The motivation can be for good or evil reasons. That’s where things start to get interesting.
Once we get what we want, the story is over. But if we have to search for what we want, fight for it, or change who we are for it, the story gets interesting.
I see that play out in my daily life everyday, with myself and those around me. Story has become the lens of how I see life. It helps with my relationships and how I deal with people generally.
As I mentioned, my drive to get an Atari is a story. Maybe not a great one in itself, but there’s something there.
Becoming a writer has become my story
Through the lens of story, I see how evil plays out in the world. It’s typically people with desires and goals of their own, but they don’t care how they get them, and are willing to be unkind to others to get there. That’s why I tend to write crime stories.
I especially hate sociopathic business leaders who treat their employees as a disposable resource, a number on a financial statement. The wave of artificial intelligence tools will be a threat to rank and file employees in the coming years, maybe even months.
My two current novels have crime themes in business settings, and my next two probably will as well. To sum up, I love “story” and hate sociopaths who exploit their employees (or anyone, really).
Joe Flaherty is Dead
One of my comedy heroes, Joe Flaherty, died last week. He was on SCTV for years, and showed up in many a movie and TV show after that. Friends knew him as the funniest man in whatever room he was in.
He played the dad of the main family in Freaks and Geeks, the show from the 90s about the 80s. In one episode, the son, Sam, who was 13, wanted an Atari 2600. He wants it but he doesn’t have the money, and doesn’t know how to get it. The Atari is a trigger for the shows inciting incident, which reveals that Sam’s friend’s father is having an affair.
At the end of the episode, the dad—Joe Flaherty—surprises his son with the Atari. He just wanted to make his son happy because he’s a good kid. Sam hugs his dad and cries. It seems to be about the game but, really, Sam is happy that his parents aren’t about to get a divorce like his friend’s parents.
Joe Flaherty, oblivious of the turmoil in Sam’s friend’s family, delivers one of his perfectly understated lines, “Boy, he wanted that thing more than I thought.” With his signature stupid grin, Joe releases all the tension of the story. I cry thinking about it.
Of course, someone wrote that line for him (probably Apatow), but I think of it as pure Joe Flaherty and a great story.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
I finished the second draft of the novel so I switched gears the past two weeks, working on a side project called Renewable Creativity.
You may be interested if you’re a writer or creator. I’m blogging about how to strengthen your creative spirit and tap into it, and hopefully inspire you to do your art.
Maybe You’d Like
This week, I’m working with a group of fantasy writers to bring you a bunch of stories:
Full Moon Nightmares (kind of apropos given the eclipse)
https://storyoriginapp.com/to/g51r8Cj
Next Picayune
I’ll be back in two weeks with another story. Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune!
All the best,
Mickey
P.S. The MyArcade GameStation Pro (i.e., the Atari console) costs more than I’ve made selling books, but it’s really cheap.