Here is yet another installment of Inside the CSI Writers Studio. Today's topic? Mama Grissom. Mea culpa because this is completely unbetaed. But it is dedicated to Sylvie, the wonderful writer of delicious works. So without further ado...

Sometime before season 11... in a galaxy far, far, away...

The team of writers for a particular top-10 television show had been discussing characters for an hour. Enough time had passed to allow rings of condensation to form under water bottles and pages of notepads to be filled from corner-to-corner with doodles of sharks in pools and vampires and werewolves and other things that would never possible be considered a plot device on a distinguished show in its 11th season.

"OK then," said Philip Beck, one of the lead writers, "let's go through Nick one more time. We're agreed that we could definitely get three more bomb explosion incidences with his character, am I correct?"

Beck's newest intern, Lorraine Judd, a wide-eyed young writer who believes... in all things... continuity, depth and credibility in story lines... the neophyte, sighed before relaying the notes she took during the meeting. "Yes, Mr. Beck. But, if I may, doesn't it seem a bit much for him. He was almost blown up in the first episode."

"Right, Lorraine, the FIRST episode. That leaves 24 left. He'll be fine."

"OK, sir," Lorraine acquiesced. "Did you still want to brainstorm types of explosions."

"GO!" Beck yelled to the writers gathered.

"Explosives taped to suspect's body!"

"Done in Season 1," Beck said. "BUT... Is the suspect a country music star in a guest star role."

"Consider it done."

"Great. NEXT!"

"BAD SANDWICH!"

"EXPLOSIVES HIDDEN IN HIS BASEBALL CAP!"

"EXPLODING TOILET!"

"Nope. Nope. And he's more of a urinal guy," Beck said. "Give me something else people!"

"Well," Lorraine said. "There could be something at the airport. Maybe a bombing there either on a plane or on a person."

"Is the person a country music singer," another writer asked, in a snide voice.

"Umm, it can be? I'm not sure that's germane to the topic at hand..."

"NO JERMAINE JACKSON! NO JACKSON TIE-INS AT ALL," said another genius writer.

"I didn't say Jermaine Jackson, I just meant..."

"It's OK, Lorraine," Beck said with an understanding nod. "Airport. Good idea kid. That's two people. Give me another!"

"GOLF BALLS! Our boy GE loves to golf. We could have an exploding golf ball."

Lorraine laughed out loud at the suggestion, and then realized she was the only one. "Oh, that was serious. Sorry." She wrote it down and hoped she wouldn't find an explosive in her car.

"OK," Beck said. "I think that's good for now. Great stuff. Simply great. Now, before we move on to Catherine and how we're going to deal with her character... Oh, by the way, before I forget, do we have enough vaseline to put on the lens for her special soft focus?"

"I think she looks great. Wonderful for her age," Lorraine said. "Why don't we just make her look natural? Is it really necessary to make her look artificial?"

"Dear sweet child," Beck said, a bit of "tsk-tsk" in his tone. "I ask again, do we have the vaseline at a ready for this season?"

"Sure thing, boss man."

"Good. Good," Beck said, putting a check on his list. "OK, before we move to Catherine, I wanted to throw an idea about Sara and Grissom."

"Grissom?" Lorraine interrupted. "But he's not on the show anymore. Is he coming back?"

"Well, no," Beck said. "Unless... Diane, do you have an update on that."

Diane blushed. "He's got a really nice laugh. I was using my binoculars to spot woodpeckers and I saw him walking his dog and caught up with him after running 12 blocks, and when I asked him, he just laughed," Diane said, with a dreamy look in her eyes. "He has a nice laugh."

"Wait a minute, Diane," Beck said. "First off, isn't that the fourth time you've 'coincidentally' spotted him with binoculars and didn't we tell you to go through his agent?"

"I was told, and I quote, 'It's not stalking until the person in question warns of stalking incidences and asks said stalker to cease and desist.' And he hasn't said that," Diane continued. "Now he just laughs. Did I mention he has a nice laugh."

"Yes, Diane, thanks for the update," Beck said. "Anyway, I have this idea for Sara and Grissom..."

"How can there be an idea for Grissom when he's not there?" Lorraine asked. "Logically speaking, the only thing we could say about a character that isn't physically dead is whether he is alive or dead."

"Oh, contraire, my little TV artist," Beck said. "There's lots we could do. And my idea is to bring in Grissom's mother in the picture."

"You mean have a two Mrs. Grissoms episode?" said another writer.

"I LOVE THAT TITLE!" Beck exclaimed. "Write that down, Lorraine, that's gold."

"But wait a minute," Lorraine said. "How can we mention Grissom's mother. I thought she was dead."

"Dead?" Beck said. "We never said she was dead."

"But... it was assumed... I mean, Grissom never mentioned his mother except on two occasions, and one time it was when Grissom brought up a rosary," Lorraine said.

"The word dead was never said," said a lone writer in the corner, looking like he hadn't shaved in days and slowing sipping a cup of java that still seemed steaming, even though he brought it in the room an hour ago.

Lorraine looked at the writer. He was freaky, but most television writers are. "OK, that's true, but it was kind of assumed. I mean, he said the rosary quote: 'was his mother's.' Honestly, that made his dear mom sound dead. And a woman wouldn't give up her rosary unless... well... you know."

The mysterious writer cooly turned to Beck. "I'm assuming you are looking at way mama Grissom and Sara get to know each other and kind of tie a nicely bonded bow at the end of a tenacious scenario?"

"Yes, Monty, that's the idea," Beck said to Monty, a once easy-going guy who turned solemn, dark and quite thought-provoking after a life-changing three-episode writing stint on "Charles in Charge." "Personally, I was thinking could have a Vegas episode where Grissom's ex-girlfriend - a friend of his mother's - is a suspect for murder."

"You mean, Grissom's mother has lived in Vegas the whole time?" Lorraine asked. "Then why didn't we ever hear about her? Why didn't Grissom or anyone else talk about her?"

"Who said he or anyone else had to?" piped up another writer.

"We know Catherine's mom, daughter, even her father, and we know about Brass's Ellie and his friend Annie," Diane recalled. " We met Nick's parents, and they were from Texas. Hell, we even knew about Warrick's grandmother and that Grissom went to her funeral. And Greg talked about his grandparents, and mentioned his parents to Grissom."

"But we never really heard about Grissom's mother, and now you're saying she's been in Vegas the whole time?" Lorraine continued. "I mean, wouldn't it make more sense if we focused on Sara's mother? I mean, Sara's still one the damn show."

"Lorraine, you're focusing too much on logic," Beck said. "Dear, it's all about what the viewers will watch."

"THEY'LL WATCH SOME NONSENSE WE PULLED OUT OF THIN AIR?" Diane said, with a hearty laugh.

"YES!" Said every other writer in the room in unison.

"I just... I don't think that's right..." Lorraine said, sadly.

Monty took a loud sip of his steaming hot cut of java and looked straight at Lorraine. "My dear, it can still be quite logical to bring in mama Grissom. You just must be willing to look at things from a proper perspective."

"Excuse me?" Lorraine inquired.

"You have this image of Grissom as a good boy coming from a fine mother who single-handedly raised him to be the law-abiding, justice-seeking quirky workaholic," Monty said, his voice full of praise and humility. "A man who would never turn his back on a vulnerable woman who gave him life and probably showed him his first taste of true, unconditional love."

"Umm, well... yeah... I mean... sure... I did?" Lorraine said, not knowing if she answered correctly.

"And in that train of thought, how could anyone ever FATHOM that such a man would never talk about or visit or share or even randomly acknowledge the existence of this woman in his life."

"Yeah," Lorraine said, more confidently. "EXACTLY!"

"Well, maybe, you, my dear, are unequivocally mistaken about dear, sweet Mama Grissom," Monty said, his mouth creasing at the end to reveal the beginnings of a snarl.

The dynamic look of the writer sitting in the corner did not escape Lorraine, although the change did make her pause. "Umm... mistaken you say?"

"Perhaps Grissom didn't exactly like being around his mother, but could never voice that feeling for fear that he would be seen as a heartless, cruel man who turned his back on a frail, vulnerable woman who gave birth to him," Monty said, as she slowly rose from his seat. "Perhaps Mama Grissom isn't exactly the pureblood of 1950s sacrificial motherhood as one might want to believe. Perhaps, in reality she was a tyrant who ruled her roost with a silent, albeit, iron fist - one that could crush a young man's soul as easily as a can of soda."

And with that Monty stood straight up, picked up another writers diet Rock Star Energy Drink and crushed in his hands, letting the over-caffeinated beverage spill over his fingers and onto the table.

"A woman who viewed her only son with contempt because he was a man and he had youth and he had a bright, intelligent future ahead of him. He had privileges, while she had responsibilities," Monty said, his voice elevating with every word of his monologue. "Perhaps she enveloped her son in a world of silence, not dictated by her physical disability but rather by her cold demeanor and heated stares that she used to pick at him and pick at him and pick at him. Pressuring, pushing him until he might explode in thinking vile thoughts such as, 'LADY, YOUR HUSBAND'S NOT DEAD; HE'S HIDING!"

"BUT DOES HE SAY THAT OUTLOUD? NEVER! That would only illicit a tirade of guilt-ridden angst that would eat away at his heart like a tape worm feasting on a big, fat intestine!"

"Monty," Beck tried to interrupt. "That's an interesting perspective, thanks for sharin..."

"AND PERHAPS RUNNING AWAY WAS THE POOR MAN'S ONLY RECOURSE!" Monty continued, not phased by the hiccup of another voice. "Of course he was a 50-year -old bachelor and a workaholic who relied on relationships with bugs. Of course he pushed the love of his life away for so long. Why would he ever trust love. Huh? HOW COULD HE? CAN YOU ANSWER THAT? CAN YOU ANSWER THAT MOTHER! …. WHY IS MY COFFEE SO DAMN COLD?"

With that, a young production assistant grabbed his cup and darted out of the room, only to return 14 seconds later with a steaming cup of java. "Here you go sir. Just the way you like. Shhh... shhh..."

Monty took a quick sip and calmed a bit, but not before mumbling, "Makes perfect, logical sense, doesn't it?"

Lorraine caught the cue. "Absolutely, sir. Perfect sense."

As Monty rocked back and forth in his seat with his hot cup of java, Beck took control again. "Well, that was an interesting session. Ha ha," he lightly chuckled. "I guess all we have to do is give Mama Grissom a name..."

"BETTY." Monty screamed.

"How about Nadia or Loretta," said another writer.

"HER NAME IS FUCKING BETTY!" Monty commanded.

"All right then, I think that's enough for today," Beck said. "Good job everyone."

After two writers physically carried Monty out of his chair and out of the room, most everyone followed, except Diane and Lorraine. The young writer seemed lost in her thoughts. Diane approached her. "You OK, sweetheart?"

"What the hell happened on 'Charles in Charge?'"

"You don't want to know," Diane said, patting Lorraine on the back. "Want to know something better, though?"

"Sure."

"Petersen has a really amazing laugh."

END

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