n+1 plot segments in search of a line

With Hollywood as a guide, you know that legendary outlaw Butch Cassidy died in a blaze of gunfire in 1908 after being chased down in Bolivia and surrounded by cavalry. That established history is being challenged by a rare book collector and author, Brent Ashworth and Larry Pointer, who are enthusiastic about the idea that Cassidy shook free of his pursuers, hightailed it to Europe to get plastic surgery, and then retired to Washington state to pen his memoirs under a pseudonym. And the Associated Press, who reported the imaginative theory, entertains the notion for a bit:

"A rare books collector says he has obtained a manuscript with new evidence that may give credence to that theory. The 200-page manuscript, "Bandit Invincible: The Story of Butch Cassidy," which dates to 1934, is twice as long as a previously known but unpublished novella of the same title by William T. Phillips, a machinist who died in Spokane in 1937."

The idea, it seems, is that Cassidy assumed the name William T. Phillips to write a novel about his exploits, which sound a little bit like fan fiction:

"The manuscript has an ending fit for Hollywood. Cornered by the Bolivian cavalry while holding up a pack train, Butch and Sundance make a stand. Sundance is killed. Butch escapes to Europe, has plastic surgery in Paris, and schemes to return to the U.S. and reunite with an old girlfriend from Wyoming."

Now in my mind, Butch escaped, mortally wounded, and stumbled upon a Bolivian shaman. Who nursed him back to health and told him the spirits had saved him for a reason. Armed with his skills as gunfighter and brawler mixed with Incan magic, he became The Jaguar, a masked hero of the 20s and 30s before vanishing.

Because this is how my mind works. I look at odd bits of history and twist them to build worlds. Having Butch Cassidy morph into a two-fisted pulp hero just feels right to me. This comes from a childhood consumed with both Batman comics and Enid Blyton's "Adventure" books, what we'd call young-adult books concerning a group of four annoying English kids who were constantly solving mysteries. Graduating to Agatha Christie and Alexander Dumas only sharpened my love of the hidden story, the faces behind the masks.

It's why when a major insurance company started running ads with the personification of mayhem showing all the things that could go wrong, I immediately realized that Mayhem was a reformed supervillain, with the power to warp probability towards the worst possible result. Now free, possibly stripped of his powers and wanting to start over, he's the well-paid spokesman for this insurance company. Of course, it's entirely possible that he's faking his depowering and redemption to lure his greatest enemy, Captain Wonderful, into a fiendish trap . . .

. . . damnit, I did it again. I honestly can't stop. Earlier today, while driving home from a doctor's visit, I had to inch past some roadwork on Bascom Ave. An impressive number of people were standing around a very large hole that spanned two lanes. At least 14 workers in hard hats and safety vests were standing around the hole, looking in. Several were on cellphones.

Because obviously there was something down there they didn't expect, something not of this Earth, covered in strange runes and designs that cause pain just by looking at them. And tonight, when there's no one left but a lone security guard and barriers with flashings light, the thing at the bottom of the hole will awaken.

All of that came to me in the minute or so it took to roll past the construction site. My notes are filled with fragments like this. My difficulty lies in forming a coherent, compelling plot and characters around these bits and pieces to form a complete story. This is what I need to work on. Writing one great short story and polishing it until it is good enough to be published. Forget the novel-length stuff, aim for a good short that comes in at under 7,500 words. That may seem arbitrary, but most publishers of science-fiction and fantasy request submissions in that rough area, and 7,500 words is the cut-off for the Best Short Story Hugo.

I even have a title that is just begging for a good story. At the Citizen's Police Academy last week, we were being instructed in how to perform a traffic stop. One thing our trainer kept emphasizing was to always make sure you can see that hands of everyone on the car you have stopped. Because, as he told us, "it's the hands that are going to kill you."

It's The Hands That Are Going To Kill You by Douglas E. Berry. I like it. I already have a few ideas.

For an idea of what a Hugo-worthy story looks like, I suggest checking out “And Then There Were (N-One),” by Sarah Pinsker. You can find it by searching the title.