I love the word “no.” It is finality delivered economically. Zero wiggle room. You’re done, dude. No means no.

Unless you’re a pig-headed loon like me. Then “no” means, “figure out a way to make it a yes.”

Back in 2005, I presented 7th Son, a novel I’d spent three years writing and editing, to around 60 literary agents. Doggone, did I love this thing. Doggone, did I think it was a winner. But in hindsight, the book—a high-tech thriller about human cloning, implanted memories and seven “everymen” clones tasked with taking down a villain that’d make Cobra Commander wet the bed—had everything going against it.

It was a crazy genre-blend of sci-fi, conventional thriller, and military adventure . . . with dashes of political thriller and horror tossed in to further muddy its genre classification. There was no romance. There were seven main protagonists, all clones of one man, all with similar names. Perhaps most damning, the book was 1,200 pages long. (A typical thriller clocks in at 400 pages, max.) I hadn’t written a book. I’d written a phonebook.

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Last week, I suggested that sci-f/fantasy readers and authors could benefit from reading genres other than SFF. I contended that the quality of SFF stories can improve from exposure to mainstream genres, reduce the barrier of entry for newcomers to SFF, and create an even larger community of fans.

Today, I’d like to illustrate this by geeking out on some movies and TV shows that inject high doses of SFF elements into their stories, yet proved to be completely accessible to mainstream audiences. Some of these stories aren’t usually classified as sci-fi by norms, which is awfully cool: it shows us that SFF need not alienate audiences with a high barrier of entry, and that the surly “us vs. the world” underdog/junkyard dog attitude a vocal few SFF audiences and authors have need not exist.

I’ll then follow up with why I think these SFF-in-sheep’s-clothing stories are so successful, and what we fans (and writers) can learn from them.

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I’m a believer that we are all storytellers—many of us are good ones. We spin tales whenever we tell a joke, or recount the day’s events at the dinner table, or roll a D20, or recap the most recent episode of V to our buddies. I’m also a SF thriller novelist and, unlike some literary snobs I read about (and give the mental middle finger to), I believe we all have at least one great story inside us, taking up space, rattling at the cage bars, hungry to be let loose. That fictional story may very well be a good one, too.

You’re a SFF fan, which means you’re extremely imaginative. That’s good. Imagination is the key ingredient to being a tale-teller. If you’ve got a novel, short story or screenplay prowling inside your guts—but have never made the attempt to set it free—I, as Ambassador For All Writers Who Claim Ridiculous Ambassadorships For These Occasions, proclaim it’s high time you stopped listening to that fretful voice in your noggin (It won’t be any good . . . You don’t have time to write . . . It’s all been said before), plant your bootie in a chair, and get typing. You’re not getting any younger, ya know—and you’ll never learn to fly if you don’t flap those wings.

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