The movie was Contact, based on a book by Astronomer to the Stars Carl Sagan. A scientist (played by the lovely and talented actress Jodie Foster) intercepts a message from aliens. The coded missive contains blueprints for building an intergalactic transporter that teleports her to a galaxy far far away where she is enlightened by mysterious beings and returned to Earth. But no one believes her story.
After the movie, I left the theater and walked to my car beside the steaming pavement, glistening wet under metallic pink street lights from the earlier rain. Sometime during the film, I realized, I had made a decision. I was going a journey of my own.
Not to see aliens (necessarily). To write a book. A Carl Sagan-type book. I called myself a writer. I had written some poetry, a few stories, a play. I had never written a book. Maybe I could.
But where would I go?
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