Thursday, May 24, 2007

I had a fresh idea strike me today. I've been wanting to do a follow up to the story about my character who survives the plane crash over the Atlantic. The one that starts out "he ate my peanuts." The story ends with him alive and floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Where do I go next? I'll tell you...

About a year ago I read this article about a thing called a micronation. These are places like Luxemberg or the Vatican, but smaller. It seems that during World War 2 a bunch of defense platforms were constructed around the border of British Territorial Waters as a defense against a feared Nazi land invasion (Operation Sealion). This land invasion never came. The majority of the platforms were sunk. Back in the 60s this rich couple claimed one of these platforms as their own. The long abandoned and dilapidated platform sits just outside of British Territorial Waters by 12 miles. It's in international water. So this couple takes this platform and declares it the sovereign nation of Sealand. Since then they've set up a government, drafted a constitution, minted coins, sold stamps, and dealt with political oppression from foreign nations. Britain claims that they have ownership of the platform which now (because of expansion, sits within British territorial waters. But, claims Sealand's king, when we declared our independence and sovereignty we were not within British territorial waters, and are therefor a de facto independent nation. It's about 6000 sq ft, and has a population of 500 people. It looks like an oil platform.

How does this factor in?

My narrator is floating out in the ocean. A raft full of peanuts and bottled water. The only survivor of another crashed Oceanic Flight (Lost Junkies feel free to giggle here). Originally I planned to dump him on the European Mainland. Hook him up with some gypsies, and send him on a mad adventure across Eastern Europe. The insanity ensues (and every hater of alliteration groans). That would be funny yes. But what about this? He is passed out on this raft. Floating for days and days. Miraculously he is blown all the way to the North Sea (defying survival logic and probably the Gulf Stream and Oceanic currents). He is on the verge of the death. Food is gone. Water is gone. His wit is starting to run dry. Then one morning he awakens to an odd tapping sound. Finds himself bumped up against one of these forgotten platforms. From there he goes to claim it as his own. And again the insanity ensues...

I dunno. Just a thought. More to come