Red Son

While I’m taking a bit of time away from The Collector’s Legacy, I’ve started some preliminary work on a new book, The Jimmy Project. This work-in-progress is a classic superhero story with a bit of a twist.

The question that ended up being the catalyst for TJP was this: what if Superman was raised by Uncle Sam instead of Ma and Pa Kent — and then discovered that he was actually one of the bad guys? That’s a very bare bones description of the idea in general, which was sort of inspired by one of my favorite Superman stories, Red Son. I wanted a Superman-ish tale where Superman wasn’t just a big boy scout, but had some real internal conflicts… like the fact that the nature of his powers actually hurt the people around him when he uses them.

Right now I’m in the planning stages of this project, but I did start work on a first chapter. As always, this is a rough glimpse of the idea, and I’m sure as I continue to work through the planning stage (and the actual writing of it), that many things about this will change.


The fields of the Midwest rolled by in a blur, stretched out on either side of the highway like the golden fleece of legend from Greek myth, blanketing the countryside. The heartland of America, yellow and green and growing beneath a sky so blue and clear you could see the Atlantic if you got up high enough.

The steady bumping rhythm of the highway was almost enough to put Jimmy to sleep. Traveling wasn’t the same without the wind in his hair, or the whole world spread like a canvas beneath his feet. He sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass, imagining it was a blast of frosty ocean spray from the Arctic instead of the window of a military transport.

“Bored?” the old man next to him asked. Colonel Bryce couldn’t syphon, but he always knew what Jimmy was thinking anyway.

Across the aisle, the three fonts loaded their weapons. Not that they would need them. Jimmy wondered if his team had used them for anything besides target practice in years.

“I’m not allowed to get bored on missions… sir.” The title wasn’t necessary, not when it was just the team. But Jimmy liked to use it anyway. It made the suits in Washington more comfortable. And from the way the new girl kept glancing at him every time he didn’t say it, it probably made her more comfortable, too.

“What a man’s done and what’s allowed aren’t always the same thing, Jimmy,” the Colonel said with that lopsided look he got when he was trying to force down a smile.

Jimmy studied the lines on his face as if they were clues on a treasure map. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Speak your mind.”

“I’d like to stretch my legs. Run alongside the transport.”

“We’re going 60 miles per hour,” the new girl said from across the van. She had paused in the middle of readying her sidearm. Her thundercloud eyes settled on Jimmy. “You’re going to run alongside us?”

“Font Jesse didn’t do her homework,” Daniels said in that obnoxious whisper of his, the one that was good for almost nothing, but most especially sharing secrets. Next to him, O’Dell grinned but kept his mouth shut.

Bryce ignored all three of them. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Jimmy. We’re getting close. Seeing you might just raise an alarm.”

Jimmy leaned back against the bench. The van was roomy enough, but he was dying to run. He didn’t understand how these people were all so used to cramming themselves into tiny metal boxes for hours on end. It was no way to get places.

He shot Colonel Bryce a mischievous look. They both knew there was no way the man could stop him from leaving. Nobody in the world could stop him.


Thoughts? Comments? Hit me up, friends.

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