Elephant Words week #8

I've stated many times that you should check out the Elephant Words site where six authors create new pieces of writing - one a day, on a rotating schedule - based upon that week's image (which goes up Sunday, meaning writer #1 has roughly 24 hours to get his or her piece onto the site. Three years in, they have yet to miss a day.) Here's another offering based upon the image below. It's something a little different. I hope you enjoy.

chris

Tonight I Sleep

I wander aimlessly,

The horizon a blank slate,

My steps nothing but random thoughts.

Remembering little of the past days,

All before me is empty,

A return to the day I was born.

Reaching back, I haunt my memory,

Searching. Frustrated.

Longing for understanding.

A gun, “I can see you.”

A loud crack. I hit the floor;

A haze engulfs me.

Voices carry. A sweet susurrus lapping

At the shores of my consciousness.

I hear its murmur but nothing more.

And then – sharp focus –

My chest tightens and that voice

Returns, “I can see you.”

What does it mean?

How could I know?

And my mind drifts with my body.

With nothing to anchor me,

I continue for days

Solace a meaningless word.

Day and Night merge,

My compass without bearings

I give up, go limp, fall.

That’s when I see it:

A break in the clouds

Delicate webs parting slowly.

The mast rises high up ahead,

Announcing its arrival while

The main vessel remains shrouded.

A chill runs my spine,

Shooting across my back

As it raises the hair on my neck.

I can’t explain this feeling.

Is it fear? Anxiety?

Or something else entirely?

I look down now and realize

That I no longer walk –

Must not have for a long time.

The sense of flying overwhelms me,

A revelation that leaves me

Wondering how did I not know?

The rolling mist fades more than moves,

Making way for the scarlet ship

Propelled by nothing, moved by everything.

And again, that voice,

“I can see you.”

But this time it’s familiar.

A mixture, like a good recipe,

Nothing distinct and yet wholly its own.

My son/grandmother/father/mother.

They all talk to me, speak

As they once spoke. And their

Sum total comprises that voice.

As too does the one that shot me.

I hear its faint tone lying in wait

Hoping to disrupt me.

But it will not happen.

I know who I am now.

I know where I am now.

Floating with purpose,

I move to the great vessel

Approaching from beneath.

It is something brand new to me

And something as old as time.

It is as it has always been.

Coming over the side, I spy

The crowd on deck and my heart jumps

As it has not for some time.

My family is waiting for me

As I have waited for them.

It has been lonely all these years.

And he is there as well,

Forgiven in a way I’d not thought possible,

And yet my heart does not darken at his presence.

He took them from me –

All of them –

And I vowed revenge.

But when it was time for that,

My hand faltered

Because I was not that man.

And now understanding floods me,

Threatening to overwhelm that which I once was,

But a comfort to that which I now am.

It has been a long journey,

But tonight I will sleep as

I have not for a long time.

Tonight I will sleep with my family.

Tonight I will sleep with my enemy.

Tonight I will sleep forever.

Warrior27: the Collection @ Small Press Expo in September

We’re a month out from SPX – the Small Press Expo in Bethesda, Maryland – and my co-conspirator, Dan Fleming, and I will have something new for the show – Warrior27: the Collection. 254 pages, digest-sized, black and white + color interiors, with many of the best pieces from the original issues and some new and never before published pieces, this is a big book of stories in multiple genres with artwork from some of the best artists in the world you’ve never heard of.

Over the past five years, Dan and I have self-published four issues of our comics & prose anthology, Warrior27 (an homage to the early eighties British magazine, Warrior). We wanted a receptacle, so to speak, for the stories we wanted to tell. We love comics – the synergy of words and pictures – and wanted to create our own tales regardless of genre or style. Our initial plans involved multi-part epics that would continue from book to book, but we learned early on that this wasn’t a feasible option considering the fact that we were paying to print these books and probably could not afford to produce more than one issue a year.

So we stepped back, reassessed our plan, and moved forward with self-contained short stories. Many writers have stated that one of the best ways to train for writing a lengthy narrative is to master the short story. Condensing the form to its bare essence allows for growth and expansion later, and many of my favorite authors – Harlan Ellison, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Ray Bradbury, Ernest Hemingway – are masters of the form.

We’re excited for this collection. Not only were we able to go back and color many of the stories that originally were published in black and white, but we have also been able to go back into the “archives” and include some things that never made it into print or onto the web before. In the weeks leading up to SPX, we’ll be showcasing some of the artwork found within the collection and teasing at some of the never before published pieces that now have a home, as we prepare for the trip to Maryland.

So come on back to see what’s coming up, and if you can’t make it to SPX, we’ll be offering the book for sale here on the site once the show is done. And maybe there will be an announcement as far as distribution down the line. We’ll see.

Thanks,
chris

Batman: the Dark Knight Returns pt 1

Over at the Legion of Dudes podcast, the dudes are stripping down Frank Miller's seminal work (along with Klaus Janson and Lynn Varley) of an aging Bruce Wayne and his return to crime fighting as Batman, after 10 years in retirement. They will be doing an issue by issue analysis/discussion of the book, which is something I am really looking forward to. The first part can be found here.

I've also begun re-reading this book again, and here are some of my scattered thoughts on the first issue.

- Other than some scattered issues (400, two parts of Year One, the Millennium crossover) this was probably my first Batman comic I ever read.

- The opening pages really set the scene – Lynn Varley’s muted colors, the claustrophobia of the 16-panel grid Miller uses, the smoke and haze he draws across Gotham, it all sets the mood, a feeling of things having moved on, things being bleak.
And Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne both look old. The lines on their face; these guys have been through a lot.

- PAGE 7: “Arkham Home for the emotionally troubled,” not criminally insane

- PAGE 9: When Bruce Wayne comments that, “we must believe in Harvey Dent. We must believe that our private demons can be defeated . . .” he is talking about himself and about trying to keep his urge to be Batman at bay

- It’s ironic that Jason Todd’s death was the impetus for Batman’s retirement, when DKR was created before “A Death in the Family.”

- Is it significant that Harvey Dent’s psychiatrist has a “Hitler” mustache? (Dr. Wolper did release Harvey Dent/Two-Face back into the world)

- PAGE 15: In Miller’s recreation of the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne, The panels where Bruce’s father dies and the emotion on young Bruce’s face is perfect. Miller really captures the moment here, and the utilization of the 16-grid works very well in showing this moment without any dialogue.

- PAGE 20-25: The way Miller reintroduces Batman, having him come from the shadows, only showing pieces (a hand, a foot, a bit of cape) is brilliant. It enhances the myth that is Batman, his wish to instill fear in the hearts of the criminals. And then on page 26, that’s how to use a splash page. Miller built up the anticipation with the 16-grid on the previous six pages, using small panels to create a frenetic pace, and then BAM! The Batman is in our face on that big splash. Brilliant.
** Interesting that Batman uses the phrase that he’s “born again,” considering Miller’s seminal work for Marvel and these both were coming out at roughly the same time.

- The voice-over by Batman as he takes out the bank robbers, really makes him a totally new character. He’s a bad-ass, and Miller taps into that feeling in all of us of wanting to be able to balance things, to make things right. These robbers shouldn’t be getting away and shouldn’t have the opportunity to do it again. Batman takes care of them in a way the legal system can’t.
Miller also showcases Batman’s intelligence as he lets the final guy lose his cool, waits for him to come closer before acting. Methodical and smart.

- PAGE 32: both sides of the coin are scarred. A classic example of letting the art tell the story.

- PAGE 33: The resurgence of the common man’s will that Lana (Lang?) speaks of on television with Batman’s reappearance is compounded by Batman's reappearance giving resurgence to the Joker’s will to live as evidenced in these panels.

- PAGE 40: Even though Miller is making Batman larger than life (with his return despite being sixty), he also grounds him, makes him very human (the voice-over on this page where he shifts his legs to stop them cramping, or the pain crossing his back as he climbs “it used to be easier.” On the next page) and makes readers relate to him even more because of this. It pulls the audience in, great storytelling.

- PAGE 42, bottom panel: that image with the huge cape flowing as Batman aims the rifle is priceless, like the way Berni Wrightson drew Batman in Swamp Thing in the 70s.

- PAGE 43: the reason for the yellow symbol, brilliant.

- PAGE 44: Another fantastic splash page. Again, worthy of the moment. Only the second in these first 48 pages.

- At the end of this first chapter, Batman understands that Harvey is only a reflection of himself. But, the question is, what will Bruce Wayne do about this revelation?

The second installment from the Dudes should arrive in a couple of weeks, and each successive chapter probably two weeks thereafter. I'm looking forward to it.

chris

Warrior27: the Collection

So,

Dan and I (with Dan doing the heavy lifting) are putting together our first collection of Warrior27. It will be digest-sized, include many of the best bits from the first four issues, plus have some new work. I'll post about the contents later, but for now, check out the cover image Dan created utilizing Andy Lee's beautiful cover painting from the first issue.



Enjoy,
chris

The Call of the Sea: a bit about process

So, earlier I included the piece of flash fiction I had created based upon the following picture:


You can find that story here

That really was not a fully fleshed out piece of fiction. So, I've returned to it in order to expand it and make it ready for publication, hopefully. I did a second draft and let it sit on the hard drive for a few months. But recently, I finally pulled it up to get back to it.

This is the first short section of the new iteration:

The call of the sea was urgent in his ears. As long as he could remember, Jared had known that uneven sway beneath his feet, the rolling passage of the lobster boat over the Atlantic.

But Jared Ames was also a dreamer. How else to explain his going off to high school? That rarely happened on the “Ledge,” particularly for the boys. The one-room schoolhouse elicited visions of Laura Ingalls and Little House on the Prairie, attracting many first-year teachers from the mainland, the closest point to the island nearly twenty miles away. But there was little encouragement for children to go much beyond what was offered here. Ledge Island was a fishing island – every man either had his own boat and traps or was a sternman. Even the postman and the honorary mayor (at eighty-two, the oldest resident of the fifty who called the island home year-round) went lobstering on a regular basis. It was understood that the boys were just biding their time until they would become full-time lobstermen.

This was just the way things were. Which is why it had been a surprise to see Jared head to the mainland and Andrews Academy///, a private school in SOMEWHERE. It was his mother’s wish. And, with Jared’s father gone when he was six and his younger brother not yet one, there had been no counter-argument to be made.

Which did not mean that Jared gave up lobstering. Like most boys from Ledge Island, and the clusters of islands along Maine’s coast, he was a natural, which is to say that it was something he became familiar with at a young age. His father taught Jared about trapping lobsters before the boy even began school. And when Harold Ames left, others on the island took the place of teacher. They took young Jared, and his brother Eric, out on their boats most weekends and many afternoons. It was exciting, and every chance growing up Jared was hauling traps.

A month into his junior year at Andrews Academy///, Jared’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. She hadn’t been well for a while, though she’d hidden it well. But when she collapsed in the post office one afternoon, Susan Richmond (for she’d taken back her maiden name when Jared’s father left) had relented and flown to Fairhaven, the one island large enough and close enough to the mainland to have its own hospital. The doctor didn’t take long to view the x-rays before proclaiming that Susan only had a month to live.

Stephen King and Greg Rucka have both said that the first draft of any story - for them - is all about getting the ideas on the page. The first draft is the quick burn. And I've taken this to heart.

When writing that initial draft, I speed through as fast as I can, my fingers trying to keep up with the ideas and dialogue in my brain. If I can't find a word or come up with a name for a place or a person, I just fill it in with the closest thing I can come to. These I denote either with a few slashes (///) after the word, or by substituting the word with a simple descriptive placeholder in all caps. These are the places where the minutiae of the piece faltered, and I just needed to keep going or lose the ideas coming to me. You can see examples of this bolded in the above selection.

But these are just the parts I know I need to fix when coming back to revise. There's so much more that has to change when I'm editing subsequent drafts. I need to make sure I'm using the same tense throughout (something I never fully understood until I began writing seriously a few years back). I have to watch for continuity errors and internal consistency. I need to make sure the words flow and that I'm not repeating the same words over and over in a small space. And I need to make sure it's "good."


Below is the second (or third, if you like) draft of the previous section, by way of example.

The call of the sea was urgent in his ears.

As long as he could remember, Jared had known/// that uneven sway beneath his feet, the rolling passage of the lobster boat over the Atlantic.

Like most seaman, Jared Ames was a dreamer, but all his dreams did not reside on the water. He wanted something more and realized/// leaving the island for high school was necessary///. And so, when he graduated eighth grade, Jared set off for the mainland, to board with relatives he’d met once when he was seven. It was an occasion of note, something that rarely happened on the “Ledge”.

The one-room schoolhouse in the middle of the island elicited visions of Laura Ingalls and Little House on the Prairie, attracting a procession of first-year teachers from the mainland///. But despite the teachers’ best efforts, there was little encouragement for children to go much beyond what was offered in this tiny village twenty miles off the Maine coast. Ledge Island was a fishing island – every man either owned a boat or worked on one. Even the postman and the honorary mayor (at eighty-two, the oldest of the fifty year-round residents) went lobstering on a regular basis. There was a tacit understanding that the boys were just biding their time until they would become full-time lobstermen.

This was just the way things were. Which is why it had been a surprise for everyone to watch Jared head to the mainland and Andrews Academy///, a private school in SOMEWHERE. It was his mother’s wish, and with his father gone since Jared was six and his younger brother not yet one, there had been no counter-argument to be made.

This didn’t mean Jared gave up lobstering. Like most boys from Ledge Island – and the clusters of islands along Maine’s coast – he was a natural, which is to say it was something Jared became familiar with at a young age. His father introduced Jared to lobstering before the boy was four. And when Harold Ames left, others on the island took the place of teacher. Most weekends Jared, along with his brother Eric, could be seen racing across the Atlantic in one boat or another.

A month into his junior year at Andrews Academy/// Jared’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. She hadn’t been well for a while, though she’d been able to hide it. But when she collapsed in the post office one afternoon, Susan Richmond (for she’d taken back her maiden name when Jared’s father left) relented/// and was flown to Fairhaven, the one island large enough to have its own hospital. The doctor didn’t take long to view the x-rays before proclaiming that Susan only had a month to live.

It still has some unfinished bits and markers where I need to go back and really think about the phrasing or about a name or maybe do a bit of research, but it's starting to gel now. The next pass I do should include minor changes and amendments unlike this first overhaul. But, we'll see.

Which means, my later drafts often read very differently than the early ones. I've had my wife read a first draft, tell me that large sections DID NOT WORK, and then have her appreciate the new dialogue of a later draft. As Greg Rucka said, the writing isn't the first draft, the writing is the revising and polishing and working at making a story something to which others can relate. It's hard work, but it's one of the most fun things I get to do during my day. That's why I schedule, in my head, the late evenings for writing. And why I stay up past my bedtime to do it.

chris

Elephant Words week #7

More flash fiction inspired by the images at Elephant Words. The site is still going strong, nearly three years after Nick Papaconstantinou created it. If you like interesting writing but don't have much time, you should definitely head on over there and check it out. It's fun.

Sand In My Toes

By Chris Beckett

I remember the day you left. I was so angry. Mom tried to talk to me, but I wouldn’t have any of that. Like any kid, I preferred to be miserable alone, but needed to make enough of a scene so that everybody knew I was unhappy – the center of attention without acknowledging it. Of course, Dad just sat in front of the television watching the game, which was typical. I’m not sure how I could have expected anything more from him?

It was hard; I was only seven. How was I supposed to understand? For so long, I resented you for abandoning me like that. I’m sorry.

I come out here whenever I’m home now. Running my fingers across the smooth stones, I stretch back through scattered memories, searching for one I recognize, for a stone we might have skipped across the river that used to run through here.

The state dammed it up quite a few years back, sent all the water toward the farms on the other side of the next town. Maybe you heard. But I don’t know.

Not a day goes by I don’t think of you, wonder what you’re doing, imagine what we could be doing together if you were still around. It’s foolish, I know, but it’s what I do. I can dream, can’t I?

On some level, I think I’ve finally come to terms with the whole thing. I needed years of therapy, which I only agreed to once my first marriage went to hell. But that’s another story, and one I’m not ready to discuss.

Shit, what a life.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t comprehend the realities in my head. You were the older brother. You were the one that could swim. I wasn’t strong enough, and I even had trouble with a life jacket, always felt like I was sinking despite its buoyancy. But none of that mattered. In my heart, I couldn’t reconcile the fact that I hadn’t saved you.

To be honest, when you first started flailing I thought you were pulling my leg, trying to scare me. That wouldn’t have been beyond you. I sat there in the sand watching you splash around, expecting you to stop suddenly and swim back over to shore. But when the splashing stopped, I couldn’t see you. I had no idea what to do, I swear. I wanted to rush in and save you, wanted to swim out to where the water rippled softly, but I was scared. I couldn’t move.

So I sat there, pulling my knees up to my chest, worrying my toes into the sand. (I still have trouble with grit between my toes.)

There are some mornings I wake up, and for a moment I forget and call out your name. It’s a reflex, probably just a specter of my dreams, but for that split second my heart skips and I wonder what we might do today.

But then I remember and pull myself back under the covers.

Elephant Words week #6

Another look back at some of the flash fiction I created for the forums on the Elephant Words site. Based on the image below, this is a piece I have plans on expanding later this year in order to send out and see if I can find a publisher for it. There's far more involved than the snapshot seen her.

SOME OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

by Chris Beckett

Henry led the young girl through the field, the tall blades of grass tiny whispers on their arms as they moved away from the Pontiac parked on the soft shoulder. This was Henry’s favorite place in the world. Any new friends, particularly ones as pretty as Serena, were always introduced to this field. It lay down a long dirt road ten miles out of the city. Henry liked it for its solitude; there would be no reason to expect they would be interrupted.

Serena was a typical girl. Living in one of the piss-ant towns surrounding Brooks Harbor, she came to town for some excitement. And excitement was always on the menu for a seventeen-year-old who looked twenty-five and showed enough skin. She’d already been to three bars when Henry spotted her in Geaghan’s Pub. After fifteen minutes of conversation and two free drinks, he’d easily sheared the girl away from her friends as the two of them made their way outside to his Grand Am. She didn’t hesitate when he opened the door for her, and her hands roamed her body as they drove through the quiet streets.

Walking behind, Henry enjoyed the way her skirt rode up her thighs, the tight fabric molding softly to her round cheeks. The white t-shirt too was far too small, pressing snugly on her pert breasts. They were tiny, round and firm, braless nipples standing at attention, ripe fruits waiting to be plucked.

Henry could feel an aching in his groin as he licked his lips. Anticipation made his heart race, the blood pounding in his temples making his mind rush as the pressure built up. He could feel a prickling sensation at his fingertips as his arms began to twitch. Legs wanting to give way, he stopped and reached out for Serena’s arm.

“Right here. Let’s do it right here.”

She turned, her eyes glazed with alcohol, smiling lasciviously as she ran a moist tongue over bright red lips.

“How do you want me?”

A glint sparkled in her left eye as clouds pulled back from the moon above, and then just as quickly a new formation swept across the celestial spotlight. Henry welcomed the warm blanket of night that covered them, preferring the darkness for such things.

“On your back,” he said with a slight rasp. Her smile widened as she pulled off the white t-shirt, throwing it behind her where it landed on a bent sapling. Shucking off her sandals, Serena slid the skirt over her hips, letting it drop to the ground, revealing her lithe body for Henry to soak in.

Henry cupped his groin vigorously, unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside but left his shorts on. Serena lay down on the damp ground, her arms reaching out to invite him to her. Serena’s eyes fluttered as he lay on top of her, grinding his crotch against hers. He let his arms roam over her body, pinching her nipples before sliding his fingers over her soft shoulders, moving to the base of her neck.

Henry kissed her lightly on the lips as Serena softly breathed his name into the night breeze. She ran her long nails down his back and humped up against him.

“Please,” she whispered as she looked into his eyes, boring deeply into his soul. He smiled and shook his head, causing her to pout ridiculously. Pressing his crotch more strongly against Serena, Henry ran his fingers along the hollow below her chin. Serena’s head lolled back as a gasp escaped her, and Henry slowly wrapped his hands about her delicate neck.

Serena didn’t notice at first, all her attention was focused on the frenzied spasms clutching her middle. But soon ecstasy turned to anxiety and then to stark fear as she realized it was getting harder to breathe. Eyes wide with panic, Serena looked up into Henry’s and saw only black. His face betrayed no emotion as hands clenched more strongly. She tried to call out, to protest, but could no longer find the air necessary to do so. Kicking wildly, she tried to buck him off, but his weight was more than double her own and he only grunted dismissively at her futile attempts. She didn’t want to die, wondered if anyone would find her, would catch him, and worried about her mother discovering she’d gone bar-hopping in that mini skirt she detested.

•••

Afterward, Henry stood up. He retrieved his shirt from where it had dropped into the grass and buttoned it up meticulously. He considered returning Serena’s shirt, but thought it looked nice fluttering in the night air, the moon’s faint rays illuminating it like some ghost.

Running his fingers through his hair, Henry tucked his shirt into his waistband and walked back to the car, serenity returning to his features, the pressure relieved until next time.

In Search Of... pt. XII

Jamal pushed the door open. He raised one arm to shield his eyes. Unlike the others, Karen appreciated natural light and kept her mismatched curtains tied back. The rest of the old church resided in shadow – windows covered against the light and against discovery (there was little law in this part of the city, but it didn’t pay to be careless).

Jamal’s eyes adjusted as he stepped in. “You decent?”

“Door wouldn’t be unbarred unless I was,” said Karen. Opposite Jamal, Karen leaned down, peering into the cracked piece of glass she used for a mirror.

“Big date?” Jamal leaned against the wall, crossed his arms.

“Didn’t know it mattered.” Karen didn’t turn as she spoke.

Jamal grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Just worried. Don’t need you gettin’ pinched. Then we’d all be in trouble.”

“So nice to know you care.” Karen stood up, adjusted her bra.

“You going out with him again?”

Karen turned to look at Jamal. “He has a name,” she said.

Jamal shrugged his shoulders again, looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes,” she said. “David and I are going out. I figured it might be better than sitting around waiting for people to wake up here.”

Jamal opened his mouth, but said nothing.

He walked out of the room, mumbling to himself.

“What?” Karen called after him, but Jamal didn’t answer.

•••

“So. What are you looking for out of this?” Keenan was still enjoying the façade of David Janson as he and Karen ate their meal. He had brought Karen to the basement apartment of a Mexican couple. They had turned their place into a cramped, but pleasant, “restaurante” – only three tables with soft music and candlelight. It was the nicest place Karen had been in more years than she could remember. The ambience and food made her forget her situation.

But Keenan’s inquiry brought Karen back. She looked up at him, joy slipping from her face as she spoke. “I’ve got questions. About my family. I think my brother is the only one that can help me find the answers. And I think he might be with our mother. If I could find him, I could find her. Which won’t be easy, because she didn’t want to be found. Otherwise, my father would have brought her back home years ago. That’s if she isn’t dead.”

“Well,” said Keenan. “That was more candid than you’ve been with me up to this point. But I wasn’t talking about that.”

“What else is there?” said Karen.

“That’s pretty insulting,” said Keenan. He took a sip of his wine, stared at Karen over the lip of the glass.

“Excuse me,” said Karen. “I need to use the ladies’ room.” She stood up and walked through the room and out the door to the narrow entranceway beyond. Keenan leaned forward in his chair, peered out the window to see if she was leaving. He counted to thirty, saw no shadow receding from the front door, returned to his meal.

A minute later, Karen returned and sat back down. “So,” she said. “What were you talking about?”

“What?” Keenan pulled a broad smile across his face.

“What were you getting at when you asked me what I was looking for?”

“If you don’t know, then it’s not worth having this conversation,” said Keenan.

Karen sat back in her chair, took a long look at her dinner partner. “Are you asking about us?”

“Like I said, it’s not worth discussing. I probably just read things wrong.” He refused to raise his eyes from his plate.

“David,” said Karen. “I didn’t think this was anything other than business.”

Keenan held his smile, looked into Karen’s eyes. “I thought we’d moved past business a long time ago.”

•••

Karen stepped out of the makeshift bathroom on the second floor of the church. She was toweling off her hair, thinking about the rest of her evening with David (Keenan), and didn’t notice Jamal sitting in the hall until her foot ran into his boot.

Karen stepped over Jamal. “Why aren’t you down with everyone else?” she said.

“Wasn’t feelin’ it tonight,” said Jamal.

“Funny,” said Karen.

She closed the door to her room.

Jamal stretched one leg out and nudged the door open a crack. A sliver of light slipped into the black hallway. “You have a good time?” he said.

“Yes. Really good,” said Karen.

“Glad to hear it.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“What are you talking about?” The sound of his voice startled him, the darkness increasing the volume. He sat back up. “Why are you such a bitch sometime?”

“I guess it comes natural.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. All passive-aggressive an’ shit. You don’t need to be that way,” said Jamal.

“Well, how should I act?”

There was silence for a moment, and Karen wondered if she might have pushed Jamal away.

Then the door slid in another inch. Jamal peered through the crack. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” said Karen.

Jamal’s head slid through the door first, then the rest of him followed with a bit of effort.

“You could have opened the door a little more,” said Karen.

Jamal shrugged his shoulders.

“So. Why were you sitting out there?”

“I was waitin’ for you,” said Jamal.

Karen’s lips quivered, the hint of a smile formed. Then she dropped her robe.

•••

“I wasn’t expecting that,” said Jamal. He was snuggled up close to Karen’s back, his arms around her, their fingers laced as he breathed in her perfume.

“I know,” said Karen.

“I didn’t know you were pregnant,” said Jamal.

Karen didn’t say anything.

Jamal shifted his weight. “I’m sor–”

Karen didn’t let him finish his thought. “Just hold me,” she said and pulled him closer.

“Just hold me.”

Guesting on CGS

So,

I had the good fortune to be a guest on the latest Comic Geek Speak PREVIEWS episode where the guys go through Previews to see what looks interesting to order for comics being published in the coming months (2, if they're on time). It was a lot of fun and they were gracious enough to let me talk about Warrior27, which is still available for order at Discount Comic Book Service this month. I rambled on for about 8 minutes, am not really sure if I got the concept of the book across, but am thankful for the opportunity. The episode can be found in the link below

Previews @ CGS

And you should check out some other of their recent episodes, including a fantastic interview/discussion with artist/writer Jeff Lemire. Author of Essex County, The Nobody, and Sweet Tooth, he will be writing the upcoming Superboy comic for DC and he is an incredibly funny guy. Definitely worth listening to.

chris

Warrior27 available at Discount Comic Book Service

This month at DCBS, Warrior27 is offered for purchase through the site’s First Light program. Issue 2 is available at a 40% discount ($3.00) while Issue 3 and the comic pamphlet from issue 4’s multimedia extravaganza are both available for 35% off ($3.25 and $1.95, respectively).

With the purchase of each issue, we are also offering a free chapbook or mini-comic previously only available at conventions. Issue 2 will include a chapbook with “Life is Funny” (a comic story published as part of Ape Entertainment’s online UFO anthology) and “A Stone Wall Between Us” a short prose story published by Dark Recesses Press. Issue 3 comes with the mini-comic, “Suggested Retail,” from Dan and artist Travis Dandro, which folds out to become a game board (play money and game pieces included). And Issue 4 comes with the short prose story, “Fractured,” which examines a man’s descent into despair and his attempt at final redemption.

For preview images check out our comicspace galleries or go to www.warrior27.thecomicseries.com.

You can check out the books on DCBS’s site here and thanks.

chris

Jeff Smith's Bone pt.4

Even as he was approaching the end of this fantasy epic, with characters we had come to know dying as a result of the evil of the Lord of the Locusts and the distrust and betrayal from some of those in power within the city of Atheia, Smith would still inject some humor into the narratives in order to keep that balance and not allow things to become too heavy. A couple of my favorite examples from later in the story are:





Smith also knows when to allow the images to convey the story rather than overwrite things (as was seen with the scene from issue #16 when Thorn, Gran’ma, and Fone Bone were fleeing the rat creatures in the night). The final confrontation with Mim and the dragons was incredibly powerful, and carried out with no dialogue or captions whatever.



Smith’s artistic ability really conveyed the majesty and the gravity of the situation incredibly well, and made for a fitting climax to a wonderful story.

Some final thoughts:
When Thorn was moving through the Ghost Circles, particularly that final time, it reminded me very much of Aragorn’s trek through the “Paths of the Dead” from Tolkien’s Return of the King.
It had been so long since I first read BONE that I’d forgotten a lot. Many of those who died, I did not recall. The Crown of Horns was as much a surprise on this reading as the first. And, though I ultimately knew good would win out, I did not remember how it all went, and I found it even more satisfying this time than how I remember it feeling the first time I read BONE. Smith, in creating a personal story like this, imbued his story with a tension that wouldn’t be available in a mainstream book. You don’t know who will die because anyone could die at any time. It adds a level of enjoyment that I often (note, I did not say always) find missing in the mainstream.
I loved how Smiley was trying to convince Fone Bone to come with him and Phoney when they leave at the end, and the use of the “TM” symbol after all the delicacies he uses to entice his cousin.
And when I got to that last page, it was sad to think it was over.

Go, find this book, read it, and enjoy.

-chris

Jeff Smith's Bone pt.3

Smith sucks readers in with the cute Bone creatures and the comic aspect of the tale early, and then slowly turns the narrative toward the more epic and fantastical tale he is telling. This is not a simple funny anthropomorphic tale, but a traditional fantasy with hidden royalty and swords and evil spirits. And somehow, Smith manages to keep a good balance between the heavy, darker aspects of his story and the comic moments. He never forgets to temper the darker sections of the narrative with some levity. And, in the same way Smith utilized the comic page to relate his comic timing, he also understands how to use it to create tension and dread in his audience. A prime example from issue #16 comes when Thorn, Gran’ma, and Fone Bone are skulking through the rainy forest in the dead of night trying to evade the rat creatures:


































This is a brilliant use of the comic page to convey the emotion he wants readers to feel.

Smith can do creepy too:
































Smith also takes everything about the comic page into account when crafting his stories. Like Dave Sim, who may be the master of this, Smith utilizes his lettering to convey emotions in pages like this one:

Jeff Smith's Bone pt.2

I was also impressed, on this re-reading, how much of the broader story was laid out so early in the series.

On page 9 of issue #1 readers get their first glimpse at the Dragon.


The signature phrase, “Stupid, Stupid Rat Creatures!” shows up in issue #2.


- Issue #3 introduces the map that becomes important later.
- In issue #4 we first see the Hooded One.
- And issue #6 offers the first mention of the 50ft. balloon of Phoney, which is only a throwaway line meant to elicit smiles in this context, but becomes so much more when readers reach the final act of the story.

All of these important points are laid out in the very first trade collection. Like any worthwhile storyteller, Smith sets everything up well in advance for a great payoff later.

Something else I noticed (after my wife pointed it out) was how Smith drew Thorn and Gran’ma Ben with a definite, though subtle, family resemblance. It’s little details such as this, that many people might not notice, that add so much to this book.





Look at those chins.

Jeff Smith's Bone pt.1

Another "Book of the Month Club" @ CGS that I gave some serious thought was the examination/discussion of Jeff Smith's Bone (the episode's here). It's a great, epic story that has humor, pathos, drama, and tragedy all mixed together with Smith's beautifully emotive and meticulous artwork. Brilliant book. If you haven't read it yet, you should definitely do yourself a favor - get it and read it.

I discovered BONE with issue #10. Before then, I hadn’t seen a copy of an issue on the shelf, or not noticed it. But I’d heard good things about it, and the clincher was that the first letter in the letters’ page was from George Perez. My favorite artist. No way could I put that issue back. I also picked up the first trade that day, and from there I was hooked.

One of the best things about Jeff Smith’s BONE is the comedy, which is all about timing. And Smith’s timing is impeccable, something made more challenging by the medium he’s chosen to tell his stories, comics. Not only does Smith need to conceive funny scenarios, but he needs to writer and draw it in a way that leads his audience to read it in a way that achieves the comic effect. Some of my favorite examples:

- In this first issue, everyone has been telling Fone Bone that he needs to think about getting out of the valley before the first snow comes. Once that hits, he'll be stuck. It's mentioned a few times, keeping it fresh in readers' minds. Fone Bone really doesn't think much of it, until the final page.


Then there's this page where Fone Bone calls out the Dragon:


And Fone Bone trying to show off for Thorn by telling her he should be the one to chop the wood:

More later.
- chris

Kraven's Last Hunt

The main comic podcast I listen to - CGS (Comic Geek Speak) - does a monthly Book of the Month Club. They rotate through Marvel, DC, Geek's Choice, independent, manga, and others. The book is offered at a larger discount usually at In Stock Trades. And then they record an episode discussing the book.

The latest one was on Kraven's Last Hunt, the Spider-Man story from J.M. DeMatteis, Mike Zeck, and Bob McLeod and can be downloaded here. It's a great Spider-Man story and a favorite from childhood. Below is my contribution to the forum thread for this BOMC discussion. If you haven't tried out Kraven's Last Hunt yet, I hope this spurs you to find it and read it. If you have, I hope it adds a little bit to your enjoyment of it.

-chris

I can remember buying these issues right off the stand. I was heavy into Spider-Man at the time, and I can’t remember if I’d seen any house ads (were there house ads for this?), but the thought of a storyline carrying through the three different titles combined with Mike Zeck’s artwork made this a no-brainer. And the story . . . I was blown away. It was so different: Spidey’s defeated and buried, then he’s not even in the book for the second and third chapters, and the ultimate fate of Kraven – totally unexpected.

These issues had a special place in my collection for a long time, but I don’t know what happened to them. Lost in a purge or a move somewhere along the line, I guess. But last year I went to Amazon and found a used copy of the original hardcover for a good price, and when I re-read it, I was pleased to find that it stood up incredibly well. And now, reading it for BOMC, I’ve found even more in it that I missed during that initial re-read.

First, there’s the story from DeMatteis. This is such an emotional tale. The internal monologues of the characters work well in this respect, showcasing the feelings they normally keep bottled up, subjects not typically discussed or utilized in superhero comics – fear from our hero, the implication of depression or other mental illness on the part of Kraven and its manifestation in his feelings of despair and resignation. These are far more realized characterizations than one sees in most books from the “Big Two.”

The manner in which Kraven breaks down Spider-Man, “killing” him in the minds of the public by becoming a more vicious form of Spider-Man is intriguing and worse than if he’d actually killed him (which we all know isn’t happening). Kraven has ruined the good name of Spider-Man while believing that, by enacting these harsher punishments and defeating Vermin (a villain Spidey needed assistance to defeat), he has surpassed what this hero is in every way. It’s an interestingly warped view of the situation that is fitting. Every villain believes himself or herself to be the hero of their own story. Kraven sees a corrupted civilization and believes it needs a sterner, more brutal defender of the masses.

On the surface, this is a well-crafted adventure story, but DeMatteis adds thematic layers that elevate this story to a new level. His exploration of duality within this narrative is rather overt, though it didn’t resonate too strongly with me the first time I re-read it earlier this year. It’s a natural progression from these characters, particularly the then-new reality for Peter Parker of being a married man, and does not supersede the main spine of the story.

It makes sense that a tale dealing with heroes and their secret identities should delve into this, exploring who is the true man and who the mask. We get a Peter Parker who is afraid – afraid while in his Spider-Man costume. How does he deal with this? (Has it been dealt with much in any other Spidey comics?) He goes off the handle, reacts in ways that are uncharacteristic for Spider-Man but all too human, allowing the readers to relate to him better.

It makes Spider-Man a more interesting character, and the fact that his fear is emanating from the fact that he now has a chance at a “normal life” with his new wife gives Peter far more to lose at this point. The stakes have been raised, and we see a Peter Parker questioning why he does what he does. It feels as if he could give up the suit if pushed far enough.

And in Kraven, we have a man of honor questioning his place in this new, corrupt world. He wishes to leave this life with honor restored, and in order to do this he must defeat the Spider that has plagued him for years (is this the genesis of the Spider totem?). It’s obvious he is feeling beaten down by this world, but we can also infer that there may be something amiss with his psychological makeup from Kraven’s continuing mantra that they called his mother “insane.” Could he have inherited this malady? The final resolution of this story, for Kraven anyway, suggests that maybe there was some truth to this diagnosis. If he wished to leave this world with honor intact, would he necessarily take his own life? I’d be interested in that debate.

It’s also worth noting that the year this was originally published, DeMatteis was working his comedic magic on the revamped Justice League series.

And finally, the art. This is, in my opinion, Mike Zeck’s best artwork of his career. The way he differentiates between Kraven and Peter when they are in the costume is perfect. Just by body language and the slight differentiation in body type, we can easily tell who is who. It’s a testament to his craft that he’s able to do this.


And he also adds to the emotional resonance of the story with his facility of body language.


Zeck – no doubt in conjunction with DeMatteis – also utilize the splash page to great effect. Excellent storytelling.


There’s not much more to say regarding the art, other than the black and white costume never looked better than during these six issues, and with much of the tale taking place at night or in the sewers, Zeck took advantage of the use of negative space offered with a b/w costume.


A couple of other notes: I appreciate the fact that this ran through the regular books and wasn’t an “event” not unlike Daredevil: Born Again. I also appreciate, though I am not up to date on any recent Spidey history, that Kraven’s death seems to have had meaning.

Great story, great art.