Via Unboundworlds.com:
Finally.
Yes, that was the word settling around my heart that summer day in 1977. We’d arrived at our friend’s family cottage for a final respite before moving out west for grad studies. Linda insisted we immediately pile back into the car and go to the nearest town, where there was a theater showing a movie we had to see. Now.
What? Leave the delights of the beach and BBQ to sit in a theater? Not to mention we hadn’t heard about this “Star Wars” and frankly, the “wars” part of the title didn’t appeal to me.
After a token protest, we went. We were, by now, late — also not a good thing — but having come this far we edged our way through the flickering dark to our seats, sandals squeaking, excusing ourselves over and over — then I saw what was on the screen and froze in place, half-hunched over.The cantina scene was playing and there were aliens. Finally!
The cantina scene was playing and there were aliens.
Finally!
It was a grubby bar — WITH ALIENS! My heart thumped with joy as much as the music. Finally!
Eventually, someone pulled me into my seat. A seat I wouldn’t leave, mind you, until we sat through the movie a second time to see what we’d missed. (The usher didn’t even try to budge us.)
The next moment I went “finally!” it was out loud, but the audience forgave me. I’d realized Luke’s landspeeder was filthy, just like one of my brother’s prized junkyard finds.
Finally!
Please realize I already loved science fiction. I read all I could find. Adored “Star Trek” (and “The Twilight Zone” and anything else our telly could get). More than that —
— in private, I wrote it.
My science fiction, you see, had dirt and slime and aliens galore. Some stank. Some wore perfume. Whatever. I wrote those things in my stories because I wanted them there. They made that fascinating possible future, us in space and not at all alone, feel right.
I believe “Star Wars” outed me as a writer too. Some time later, comparing notes about what we both found so amazing about the movie, I blurted something about how it was like mine. For the curious, Story X in my file drawer. Yup, finally. Suffice to say there were astonished looks. And much encouragement, too.
Time did pass, there were sequels we loved, then we produced our own, offspring that is, and did what fans do: waited with desperate impatience for them to be old enough to sit through “Star Wars.”
Finally!
I am proud to say our offspring and their friends played countless hours of “Jedi vs the Evil Empire,” pew-pewing their way around the neighborhood. They remain fans, as are the majority of our family.
Meanwhile, I wrote my own SF. Story X, my first novel. A Thousand Words for Stranger, with speedy starships needing repairs and aliens and, yes, grime and slime, came out from DAW Books in 1997, 20 years ago in fact. Being a published author (finally!), when the new “Star Wars” trilogy began, I was invited to the midnight premiere as a guest reviewer. Wow.
Though having just sold my own prequel trilogy, I admit I watched with more than simple fan joy — I was now a writerly colleague and, believe me, I felt all the angst of how to make complex backstory work.
When I wasn’t inwardly going, “pew pew!”
Fast forward. When “Rogue One” came out, our offspring saw it first and waited with desperate impatience for us to do so, so they could talk about how much they loved it.
I confess to a warm moment of… finally… about that too.
The point, I suppose? Star Wars in all its forms (and we’ve boxes, believe me, and two Millennium Falcons because you do) has not only entertained us, but brought us together in a shared vision of what could be. Of imagination and wonder. Across generations, definitely, but also across a brilliantly wide spectrum of people including many who — and we’ve all heard them — don’t like that science fiction stuff.
Oh yes, they do.
Finally.
