An image had rooted itself in my mind.That of an ingenuous fresh-faced American arriving at Casablanca's airport at the start of a mid-life crisis.I could see him clearly.Dressed in a crumpled old Burberry raincoat and fedora, he was a clone of Humphrey Bogart of Rick's Caf Americain.Each night before I drifted off to sleep, I allowed myself to imagine the adventures of the Casablanca-obsessed visitor.Within a week or so I had an entire storyline planned out.Drilling down into the dark side of Morocco's seething modern metropolis, it exposed the subculture of speakeasies, gangsters, corruption, and vice - a realm inspired by Hollywood's own take on Casablanca.I'm a book writer through and through, but believe writers should experiment, and so try my hand at screenplays from time to time.Writing movies is the absolute opposite of creating novels. Book...
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