Paging Mr. Winshaw
A Moment in the Life of a Showrunner...
Tap-tap-tap went the mad hound’s typewriter as the pages flew out at Mach speed. Founts of fantasy erupting from the words, strange adventures jack-hammered out of an ink ribbon. Not even the phone could pull cigarette-smoking, Canadian-tux-wearing Stan Winshaw away from his work.
Boy was it trying though.
With a final slap of the typewriter and the last page of script out on the wooden desk, the tan wolf jolted up and went for the phone. The clack of his worn-down boots could’ve rocked the house off its foundation.
“Winshaw. What’s up?” he said, radio voice in full flower.
“Stan, it’s Artie, here at WHOL, the hell ya been the past few hours?”
“Doing the new Firedale,” Winshaw replied. “Been jamming on the sucker all day. Plus Ellie and Tommy have been out so I could focus. Script’s done."
“Terrific! Another real winner I hope.”
The only reply Arthur Kane got was the greatest sigh of his life.
“Alright, what’s up, Tiger?”
“It’s just that,” Winshaw started, trailing off. “I dunno, something feels off. Sounds crazy, but it hit so fast, nothing registered for me. Besides, Tommy hasn’t gotten a chance to read it and that boy is the best developmental editor I got, even at the age of six. Man, I just don’t know if it sings yet.”
Now it was Art’s turn to sigh. “Stan my man, relax. You done about 10 killer shows, the kids are writing in everyday, they are in love with it. You don’t got a reason to get cold feet.”
“But this one feels different, man. Is it too dark? Am I going too nebulous? I just—”
“STANLEY WINTHROP WINSHAW—Good God man, you made me say your full name! What am I, your wife?”
There came a moment of silence. It wasn’t sighing so much as breathing now. Trying to calm down. Art softened his voice before replying. “I gave you this hour carte blanche, didn’t I?”
The tan wolf nodded, fanning himself with a few tugs of his denim jacket.
“I’ve let your imagination run riot, haven’t I?”
Winshaw replied with a soft “yeah.”
“And if I had, for a second, thought there was anything in this adventure series that could corrupt or disturb the youth tuning it, would I have let it on the air?”
Stan shook his head. “You wouldn’t have.”
“I’m probably the only ‘exec’ who runs the outfit like this, so don’t forget it. You’re a clever kid, you got way too many ideas to waste on over-thinking yourself to death.”
The tan-furred writer smiled. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Anything else?”
Art chuckled. “Tell ya what, I got copywrite that needs doing, but I think Chuck Bergen’s free. Towel off, clear the head, go over it, and try it out on the junior partner tonight.”
Before he hung up, Stan shot off a question. “By the way, Art: what you think of ‘Blazing Black Sites?’ Title for the episode after this one.”
“Do you dig it?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the over-under the Number Two digging it?”
“I think Tommy will dig it.”
“Then go for it.”
No sooner had the phones clicked off than the downstairs door opened, and the cavalcade of family came in. Before Stan rushed down to greet them, he turned back to his desk. With a big grin on his face, he put out the cigarette, gathered up every page and, with his red-hot Southern accent at full tilt, hollered down the staircase, “Hey Tommy, guess who’s back in town?”