The online rumor mill was already churning: dad did it, mom did it, Feds did it, maybe all three. “BREAKING: Horrific morning reportedly leaves five dead in domed Reformer neighborhood stay tuned…” I’d blasted the news online an hour earlier, seconds after I got the tip about a Reformer father, mother and their three young girls: church on Sunday afternoon, all dead by Monday morning. No television crew, no gawkers even, but I had a hunch the solitude in Hillside Heights wouldn’t last long. A bronze sign reading “The Sparrows” hung over the front door, breaking my heart a little. “Dome shields new Reformer oasis from atomic wind flowers, orange trees thrive.” I never mentioned the artificial chirping. I wrote an article about Hillside’s dome tech a few years ago: Rockwellian, with water fountains and light posts on the main drag, and the sound of chirping birds pumped through hidden speakers in fake trees. I almost felt envious, but it’s all aggressively synthetic. Driving through the neighborhood in my backfiring Nissan was impressive and depressing, in a way only domed Reformer communities can be – nicer homes, cleaner air, no Geiger sirens, no hot wind blowing, no fallout dust, bright colors everywhere, like living in a crayon box. It was my second time inside Hillside Heights. All doors closed, no signs of a break-in. The Mercedes in the driveway might as well have been waxed overnight. There were even flowers, real flowers, in marble pots at the stoop. Yellow tape was strung between Victorian columns, masking the front door, but the place looked otherwise pristine: purple trim seemed freshly painted, lace curtains still drawn, the grass impossibly green. When I got to Hillside Heights at 6:30 a.m., the only people at the mansion were two beat cops, posted on the sprawling front porch like Royal Guard. The garbage woman knew more about the dead family than anyone, even the Feds. Revisions: Showdown at Diego’s Diner (rough draft) Makes me wish THEY sponsored a writing contest… …the Edit All my love to the workshop and its tens of thousands of members. Side note… this was the first story I sent to Critters, the online genre workshop, and I’m so incredibly grateful for the feedback on plot, character and theme. I still feel like I need a shower, but the deciding factor was the story itself - I can’t think of a better submission for a contest potentially funded by a fanatical cult. So yeah, I went ahead and sent “Showdown at Diego’s Diner” to the Writers contest. Growing group of finalists denouncing the contest.No royalties for printed authors… bummer.
There was even a time when a winner asked about Scientology and he was told, ‘Not this week.’” “They maintain very deliberately a solid firewall between Scientology and the contest. But the Voice found no evidence of sketchy recruitment tactics, and points out none of the judges or past winners are Scientologists: The Village Voice reports the literary agency behind the contest, Author Services, is owned by a branch of Scientology, and as late as 2012 the gala was possibly (likely) funded by the church. He’s living the dream thanks to Hubbard’s contest.īut when Hollywood latched onto the Church of Scientology as the latest, greatest fad, and the media exposed its founder as a reclusive wannabe prophet - plus allegations of church abuse and LDS-style brainwashing by his right-hand man - Frederick publicly declined his invite to the Writers’ annual L.A. He made the contest finals in 2002, then took home first place and $1,000 in 2003. Carl Frederick is a quantum physicist who moonlights as a sci-fi writer, so he’s already got that going for him. From what I’ve read, the cult and contest share little except a founder, but that’s like giving Oppenheimer a pass because he didn’t personally pilot the Enola Gay - he only worked on the bomb.ĭo I really want to be associated with Scientology, even in spirit? Ron Hubbard.īefore you unfriend me or send me to The Hole or whatever, know that I judged the shit out of myself first, when I learned the Writers of the Future contest is loosely tied to the father of Scientology. Would you judge me if I entered a fiction contest created by L.