Two weeks ago, I mentioned a few of the new comic book projects I’ve been developing. One of them – called Across the Universe – I described as “Star Trek for girls and for geeks like me.”

(I’ve been assured by professionals that this description is 78.2% less condescending than the simpler, original “Star Trek for girls.”)

I guess I should thank Scott Bakula for the idea. Back when Enterprise was canceled, I got to thinking about what it would take to make the Star Trek franchise successful again. Enterprise had aired on UPN, which was co-owned by CBS, so to amuse myself, I imagined what a Star Trek show created specifically for the CBS audience would be like.

How would you sell Star Trek to people who don’t know anything about Star Trek, let alone care about science-fiction?

Well, obviously you start with what they do know and do care about: recognizable characters, recognizable conflicts, and recognizable settings. You shift the focus away from action-adventure to a more universal human drama. You—

“Hold on a second. Did you just say ‘recognizable settings’? In a Star Trek show?”

Well, yes, imaginary interlocutor. That’s exactly what I said. I’m sure I’ll get an earful for this, but if you really want to create a Star Trek show with true mass appeal, you need to set at least half the show on Earth. And, let me add, on an Earth that’s still recognizable as Earth.

A starship in space. The people they’ve left behind. The idea that names itself: 

          Across the Universe

If done right, it could be brilliant. But if it's done wrong, it could be supremely UNbrillaint. (For some reason, I keep hearing the words Star Trek Wives over and over in my head.) If it’s really going to have a mass appeal, the show will needs a single, central relationship that everyone can relate to.

As a society, I suspect our first instinct is pre-programmed:  

Young lovers are separated by galaxies, but they never give up hope of reuniting!

Too easy. Also, too ABC. Also, I can imagine the speculation now: “Will they or won’t they (ever be in the same solar system at the same time)?”  

Anyway, CBS’ viewership skews older and more towards families. Given that, it makes sense to base the series around a parent-child relationship. Make the child a daughter to bring in teen girls. Make the parent her father so the guys don’t feel excluded. That’s the best choice from a demographic standpoint and, as it turns out, from a thematic standpoint as well.

This might just be me being all sexist and 20^th century-ish, but there’s something compelling about the girl who needs her father and the father who’s desperate to be there for her, but can’t be.

They face a shared tragedy – perhaps the mother has just died – but father  and daughter are separated by a billion light years of space. (We can assume that the father is up to something important – potentially universe-saving – that prevents him from returning home for her.) His daughter is hurting. He’s hurting. But life goes on for both of them.

That’s our show (“Hurrah!”) with one big flaw (“Whuh?”).  

We’ve created two separate shows!!! One that might as well be called “My Dad in Space” and another called “My Daughter on Earth.” The characters may be related, but their stories aren’t yet.

So we create a space for their stories to come together: a special holographic chamber. Or, more accurately, two holographic chambers – one on either side of the universe.

The father has his story, the daughter has hers, and they intersect in this special room where they can see each other and speak to each other but never, ever touch.

That’s the basic set-up for the series. There are a few more twists, but that’s the gist.

Now, a tough question:

Why is this a comic?

Up till this point in the column, I've been talking about Across the Universe like a TV show, complete with discussion of networks and demographics. And, admitedly, that's how I first started thinking about AtU. That was my way in.

But I'm not a television writer, and I'm not looking to write for television. I'm a comic book writer. And no matter what the story is, I'll find a way to twist and turn it until it fits into a series of pages and panels.

With Across the Universe, I've been focusing on key images: the daughter standing alone at her mother's snowy grave; the father's shuttle dwarfed by a line of alien battlecruisers; father and daughter's hand passing through each other intangibly.

Across the Universe is a great fit for what I described last week as the "Melbournesque" style of storytelling. You'll recall that Melbournesque stories are self-contained, high-concept, and character-driven, with a mix of comedy with drama.

Across the Universe has a sharp high-concept, if I do say so myself:

 It’s also clearly more character-driven than plot-driven.

It’s heavy on the drama, but believe me when I tell you that there’ll be some funny in there too.

Most importantly, the story I want to tell has a clear beginning, middle, and end. It'll be four issues and done. Alienation and reconcilliation. I have no intention of drawing out the story of these two characters and their troubled relationship indefinitely.

Another question: