Monday, January 14, 2013
Cloakings!
So I've decided to post something new for the first time in a long while. I'm on quite the writing kick, and I'm hoping that 2013 will be my year despite how the end of 2012 worked out. In case you were wondering, it wasn't too pleasant for yours truly. More on that later, though! In the meantime, check it out. I've been working with this swell artist named DC Stuelpner on a pretty swell project called The Cloak. He did a mock-up of the title credits recently, and I feel like sharing it for the heck of it. So look at it, ye mortals, and weep!
Monday, April 23, 2012
The (not so) amazing origin of Megastar -- Part 1
So today I thought I'd toss out a post talking about how Megastar came to be. I've already talked about the overall, sweeping concept that enables me to write stories about Megastar, but the character itself has a long and vibrant history, and I thought it'd be fun to share it with you.
Megastar was created nearly twenty years ago when I was about 12 or 13. I was a voracious comic book reader back then (and now), and I fueled my habit however I could. I scrounged for pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters to spend at the local 7/11 (they had comics available in convenience stores back then, don'tcha know?) or at the bookstore (yep... had 'em there too) in the mall. I borrowed from or exchanged with friends and classmates as often as I could, and when the money ran out and the bartering system failed me, well... I created my own. The first comic I ever created was called "The Shuriken".
Check out that incredible cover! Notice the attention to detail, the incredible background effects such as clouds and a random rocketship. Marvel at the color-coordinated "soldiers of death"! One of them has a hat! Yeah, that's right... I drew this. There's no shame in my game.
Anyway, the Shuriken was a hero like, uh... pretty much any other hero, just not as well-drawn. He got his powers in an accident (fell into a nuclear reactor during a field trip), he had a gimmick (tossing throwing stars... or shuriken if you prefer), and he created his method of getting around (boot jets!). Don't ask me how a high school kid created a pair of boot jets. I was twelve.
His powers consisted of enhanced strength, agility, blah blah blah, and he could infuse inanimate objects with energy. For the look, I tried to give him one of those eye-pieces that Cyclops of the X-Men wears, and my reasoning was that I'd never seen that look combined with a mask before. The logo on his chest was the same as the shurikens he tossed around. I drew the cover above, and a full first issue of The Shuriken before I discovered...
Shuriken! For those not in the know, Shuriken (and later another series titled The Blade of Shuriken) was a pretty great comic created by Reggie Byers back in the '80s. Reggie also drew shurikens a lot better than I ever could, as if you couldn't tell. Of course, that's what I know about the series now. Back then I think I was on a family trip in Atlantic City at the time, and found it in some obscure book store on the boardwalk... and I was crushed! My brilliant character was ruined! There was no way I could keep going with a character that had the same name as a character that was already established! I could get sued! Again... I was twelve.
So what happened? How did I recover from a state of utter despair and devastation to eventually transform The Shuriken into Megastar? Find out in the next (not so) exciting episode of "The (not so) amazing origin of Megastar!"
Megastar was created nearly twenty years ago when I was about 12 or 13. I was a voracious comic book reader back then (and now), and I fueled my habit however I could. I scrounged for pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters to spend at the local 7/11 (they had comics available in convenience stores back then, don'tcha know?) or at the bookstore (yep... had 'em there too) in the mall. I borrowed from or exchanged with friends and classmates as often as I could, and when the money ran out and the bartering system failed me, well... I created my own. The first comic I ever created was called "The Shuriken".
Check out that incredible cover! Notice the attention to detail, the incredible background effects such as clouds and a random rocketship. Marvel at the color-coordinated "soldiers of death"! One of them has a hat! Yeah, that's right... I drew this. There's no shame in my game.
Anyway, the Shuriken was a hero like, uh... pretty much any other hero, just not as well-drawn. He got his powers in an accident (fell into a nuclear reactor during a field trip), he had a gimmick (tossing throwing stars... or shuriken if you prefer), and he created his method of getting around (boot jets!). Don't ask me how a high school kid created a pair of boot jets. I was twelve.
His powers consisted of enhanced strength, agility, blah blah blah, and he could infuse inanimate objects with energy. For the look, I tried to give him one of those eye-pieces that Cyclops of the X-Men wears, and my reasoning was that I'd never seen that look combined with a mask before. The logo on his chest was the same as the shurikens he tossed around. I drew the cover above, and a full first issue of The Shuriken before I discovered...
Shuriken! For those not in the know, Shuriken (and later another series titled The Blade of Shuriken) was a pretty great comic created by Reggie Byers back in the '80s. Reggie also drew shurikens a lot better than I ever could, as if you couldn't tell. Of course, that's what I know about the series now. Back then I think I was on a family trip in Atlantic City at the time, and found it in some obscure book store on the boardwalk... and I was crushed! My brilliant character was ruined! There was no way I could keep going with a character that had the same name as a character that was already established! I could get sued! Again... I was twelve.
So what happened? How did I recover from a state of utter despair and devastation to eventually transform The Shuriken into Megastar? Find out in the next (not so) exciting episode of "The (not so) amazing origin of Megastar!"
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Dark Horse Presents -- Once Upon a Time Machine
I pitched two stories to the DWPFF project. The first was based on "The Ugly Duckling", but as fate would have it another excellent writer named Magnus Aspli had already pitched an idea featuring that particular fairy tale that was accepted that very day. The next idea spawned partially from Chris Stevens, the man that had rejected the first idea. He had some fables and fairy tales that were close to his own heart that had been neglected throughout the pitch process, and he asked if I'd be willing to try and pitch an idea incorporating one of those. I agreed, and was thrilled to see that Rudyard Kipling's "The Jungle Books" was on the list. As soon as I saw that, I knew the story I wanted to tell. One of my favorite fables of all time was "Rikki Tikki Tavi", the story of a young, half-drowned mongoose adopted by a family that had recently moved to India. The house the family lived in contained a garden where two large cobras made their home. The cobras, not appreciating the intrusion into their habitat, decide to kill the family, and it is up to the inexperienced mongoose to save the day.
To make a long story short, I pitched my idea, it was accepted, and I wrote a script encompassing what I felt were the very best traits of the story I had enjoyed so much as a child. The script was then brought to life by an incredible artist named Ricardo Jurado Farrula, and then colored by an equally brilliant artist named Tim Durning. And now, along with dozens of other stories based on some of the most wonderful fairy tales imaginable by an amazing array of talented creators, my story is set to be included in the anthology previously, lovingly known as DWPFF that has been rechristened "Once Upon a Time Machine", published by Dark Horse Comics.
This is basically a dream come true for me, and I'm more honored than words can convey to be included in such an innovative project beside so many wonderful, diverse creators that put my humble efforts to shame. For instance, the art that began this post was done by one of the best comic creators around, Farel Dalrymple, a man that is no stranger to Dark Horse. Below is a page from my own story, brought to life by the two talented artists I mentioned above. The collection is set to be released at some point in December of this year, and I hope to be able to share a lot more of it as the release date draws near.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Megastar: TAS -- The Cover!
One of the coolest factors involved in my latest Megastar story is that I was asked by the editor of Digital Webbing Presents to get a cover image done depicting Megastar for the comic the character's set to appear in. So since the story involves Megastar getting trapped in a cartoon based on his exploits, I wanted to have a cover commissioned that personified that type of story. As soon as I was asked, an image came to mind of an old Superboy comic from the '90s. For those of you that aren't aware, this is the same Superboy that currently runs around dressed in a t-shirt and jeans in the comics and in the animated series, "Young Justice". However, before that iconic (and arguably boring) look, he dressed very much like your typical '90s character.
In other words... Awesome!
Spandex with varied colors, shades, a leather jacket, buckled straps in random places, and a spit-curl fade. It just doesn't get better than that, ladies and gents. Anyway, the Superboy of the '90s, aka The Metropolis Kid, was one of my favorites during that period of my comic-reading life, and I had just about every issue of Superboy during that initial run written by Karl Kesel with incredible artwork by Tom Grummett. Grummett, in particular, was one of my favorite artists around that time, along with Mark Bagley (among numerous others), and was one of the biggest reasons I became such a fan of the book. His covers always caught my eye in the local comic shop, and as I said above, one in particular was emblazoned in my mind's eye the second I was asked to produce a cover for the Megastar story. Here it is below:
Now, there's not too much going on here compared to your typical, attention-grabbing comic, but the Grummett art is so pretty that I don't really care. The cover immediately grabbed my attention as a kid because, A) I was a tremendous fan of the Superboy comic when this came out, and B) I was also a huge fan of Batman: The Animated Series. It's been one of my favorites for quite some time, and as a result I wanted, nay... demanded(!), that the cover I had commissioned for the Megastar story pay homage to this one. Now, the artists for the Megastar story, Jake Bilbao and Dario Carrasco, would have been fine choices for the cover, but I've recently been working with another artist named D.C. Stuelpner on a top secret project, and his art has been so incredible on it, that I thought I'd ask him to try his hand on the cover for Megastar. He agreed, and I was able to wrangle Paul Little, a colorist that has done work for a variety of books for Image Comics, to finish things up. They did everything I asked and more. The cover is bustling with activity, it's funny, and it looks absolutely fantastic. I can't wait to see it emblazoned with the DWP logo, and... well, enough out of me. Just scroll down and feast your eyes...
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Megastar, the star of the show!
Well, I figure this blog has laid stagnant long enough. So instead of letting it continue to do so, I thought I'd post some stuff over the next few months related to my next to-be-published comic story. I've managed to wrangle a spot in a future issue of Digital Webbing Presents, a pretty high-profile digital anthology that is available through Comixology. The story features my character, Megastar, with pencil art by Jake Bilbao and Dario Carrasco, inks by Mark Stegbauer and colors by Juan Caque.
"Did I hear you right?" I'm sure you're saying, "Two artists?" Yes indeed, my good blog-reader, there are two artists... and for very good reason. You see, in this particular story Megastar is finagled by his huckster of a brother, Sammy into watching the pilot episode of an animated series Sammy has produced which features Megastar as the main character, as shown above with art by Jake Bilbao.
Through the machinations of the villainous SFX, a former special effects guru who is now an eeeevil wizard, Megastar is transported into the cartoon and forced to see it through to conclusion in order to escape... if he can!
The story is humorous and loaded with enjoyable action sequences. Megastar is a character I've gotten a bit of mileage out of, especially now that I've figured out what I want to do with him. Megastar was initially brought to life by the thought, "What if a famous movie star woke up one day with superpowers?" But now I've expanded that idea in the same way that Dwayne McDuffie created the Milestone Universe, through a "big bang" event that showcased superheroes and villains in a more urban, under-served economically and politically environment. I wanted to showcase what would happen if that type of chain reaction occurred in a completely opposite place, the privileged and comfortable setting of Hollywood. Megastar has begun to evolve into my own humorous commentary on the fame-obsessed mentality people seem to have these days.
My version of Hollywood is called Crescent City, where actors, musicians, agents, producers, directors and all the other professionals that make our entertainment possible dwell. The "big bang" granted a number of them strange and wonderful powers, and the joy of the concept is figuring out what these various professionals might do when these powers emerge.
Megastar is Michael Whitman, the most famous celebrity in the world, and he uses his powers to protect the citizens of Crescent City from any threat to their safety. But he's also happy to use his powers to increase his chance to bolster his career through film roles, commercials, endorsements or anything else that might increase his fame and fortune. He's shallow, self-important, and a bit of an ass, but the people of Crescent City eat it up. He's a flawed hero for a flawed populace that values celebrity over accomplishment--sizzle over steak.
SFX (and a number of the other villains) is similar, in that once he created movie magic through hard work and innovation, but once he realized he could do actual magic, he took the easy way with no thought to whether it could be harmful or not. Eventually people got hurt, his career was ruined when Megastar exposed him, and now his only thought is revenge.
It's a fun world, and I'm full to the brim with ideas for characters and scenarios that just might see the light of day at some point down the road. So hop into this vehicle I call a blog and enjoy the ride, because there's a lot more to come.
"Did I hear you right?" I'm sure you're saying, "Two artists?" Yes indeed, my good blog-reader, there are two artists... and for very good reason. You see, in this particular story Megastar is finagled by his huckster of a brother, Sammy into watching the pilot episode of an animated series Sammy has produced which features Megastar as the main character, as shown above with art by Jake Bilbao.
The story is humorous and loaded with enjoyable action sequences. Megastar is a character I've gotten a bit of mileage out of, especially now that I've figured out what I want to do with him. Megastar was initially brought to life by the thought, "What if a famous movie star woke up one day with superpowers?" But now I've expanded that idea in the same way that Dwayne McDuffie created the Milestone Universe, through a "big bang" event that showcased superheroes and villains in a more urban, under-served economically and politically environment. I wanted to showcase what would happen if that type of chain reaction occurred in a completely opposite place, the privileged and comfortable setting of Hollywood. Megastar has begun to evolve into my own humorous commentary on the fame-obsessed mentality people seem to have these days.
My version of Hollywood is called Crescent City, where actors, musicians, agents, producers, directors and all the other professionals that make our entertainment possible dwell. The "big bang" granted a number of them strange and wonderful powers, and the joy of the concept is figuring out what these various professionals might do when these powers emerge.
Megastar is Michael Whitman, the most famous celebrity in the world, and he uses his powers to protect the citizens of Crescent City from any threat to their safety. But he's also happy to use his powers to increase his chance to bolster his career through film roles, commercials, endorsements or anything else that might increase his fame and fortune. He's shallow, self-important, and a bit of an ass, but the people of Crescent City eat it up. He's a flawed hero for a flawed populace that values celebrity over accomplishment--sizzle over steak.
SFX (and a number of the other villains) is similar, in that once he created movie magic through hard work and innovation, but once he realized he could do actual magic, he took the easy way with no thought to whether it could be harmful or not. Eventually people got hurt, his career was ruined when Megastar exposed him, and now his only thought is revenge.
It's a fun world, and I'm full to the brim with ideas for characters and scenarios that just might see the light of day at some point down the road. So hop into this vehicle I call a blog and enjoy the ride, because there's a lot more to come.
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Story Munkeys!
So I've joined this online studio of sorts called The Story Munkeys. It's basically a place where like-minded creative types such as myself can share the work that they're doing. It consists of writers, artists, colorists and everything in-between. We post up our work, pimp what we're doing and things of that nature. It's a barrel of laughs, and it's been particularly helpful to me as a source of inspiration to both share and continue developing my work. At any rate, I post so infrequently on this blog that it's possible nobody is reading this right now. But if you're out there, and you're so inclined, please drop by and let us know what you think of what we're doing.
Also, before I forget... there WILL be more content on this blog soon. I plan to, at the very least, mirror the posts I make on The Story Munkeys over here at Exlactus! as well. So, y'know... look forward to that!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I got a black magic woman...
And here she is! That's some trick. Another preliminary character design for "The Last Griffin" by artist extraordinaire Pablo Peppino! This little lady looks pretty harmless, but she's hiding quite the secret behind those dreamy eyes of hers.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Hark! Who goes there?
Relax, sirrah. It's just the first character design done by the inimitable Pablo Peppino for my latest project, "The Last Griffin". Pretty excited about this one, and Pablo is knocking the designs out of the park. More to come...
Friday, May 27, 2011
EXLACTUS!!!
I can't believe I never mentioned this! I've talked about William Blankenship on this blog before. He's a talented, sometimes twisted (but loveable!), artist I've had the pleasure of working with on a story featuring the Warmageddon character Mik'l. He also has his own website, Bohemian Zen, where he blogs about whatever strikes his fancy and posts up amazing quantities of art, along with some great webcomics. Some time ago I asked him to do a commission of Marvel Comics' heroic Black Knight and he produced the stunning piece of artwork you're seeing below.
After he knocked that one out of the park, I contacted him again regarding something that had been giving me a lot of trouble. A title image for my blog--Exlactus! As you can see by lifting your eyes ever so slightly and looking, Mr. Blankenship did an incredible job with it. And to be perfectly honest, he went far beyond what I'd originally asked for. All I'd figured on was a "Galactus-type" character sitting at a desk typing on a laptop, perhaps with a small planet sitting on the desk with a bite taken out of it like an apple. Bill took those thoughts and ran a cross country marathon with them. The background is stunning, the idea of sitting on the Earth is inspired, and the idea to plug the laptop into the sun is sheer brilliance. He even had the common courtesy to keep my idea of the small planet as snack. He also created the logo, and coined the phrase "Devourer of Words". It was all him, and I'll probably never be able to thank him properly for all of it. I feel like a true heel for waiting this long to say it publicly, but...
Thank you, Bill.
After he knocked that one out of the park, I contacted him again regarding something that had been giving me a lot of trouble. A title image for my blog--Exlactus! As you can see by lifting your eyes ever so slightly and looking, Mr. Blankenship did an incredible job with it. And to be perfectly honest, he went far beyond what I'd originally asked for. All I'd figured on was a "Galactus-type" character sitting at a desk typing on a laptop, perhaps with a small planet sitting on the desk with a bite taken out of it like an apple. Bill took those thoughts and ran a cross country marathon with them. The background is stunning, the idea of sitting on the Earth is inspired, and the idea to plug the laptop into the sun is sheer brilliance. He even had the common courtesy to keep my idea of the small planet as snack. He also created the logo, and coined the phrase "Devourer of Words". It was all him, and I'll probably never be able to thank him properly for all of it. I feel like a true heel for waiting this long to say it publicly, but...
Thank you, Bill.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Blargh
Uh, yep. So it's been quite some time since I've posted anything at all on this thing. It's not that I haven't been doing things, it's just that I've been too lazy to say anything about the things I've been doing. Got that? Okay, let us proceed.
My birthday just passed on Thursday. I am now 32. I fully expected to be a successful comics-type creator by this time, or maybe just a successful writer, or something in the general vicinity of writerly professional. But yeah, that hasn't happened. It could be because I use made up words like "writerly", but who really knows? I'm not saying this as a lead-in to giving up, mind you. There will be no quitting! Unless you count all the times I've quit posting on blogs like this one. Because I do that a lot. So if you count that, then yes, I'm a quitter. But still!
Where was I going with that? I don't really know. Basically, I'm still working on stuff. I'm doing some short scripts for a gentleman named J'amal Walton featuring a barbarian elf named Mik'l over at Warmageddon. The stories are based loosely upon the famed Labours of Hercules. I just spelled labors with a u because it seems more "Old English" to me, by the way. What do you think? Yay or nay? See... I did it again. With the yaying and the naying. Anyway, I've finished scripting the first two stories featuring Mik'l and I'm fairly proud of them. The first is a bit of a debut for the character and doesn't really have anything to do with labors of any kind. It just showcases Mik'l and gives you an idea of the kind of guy he is and the trouble he'll be getting into. The second story is loosely based on the labor of the Nemean Lion. Mik'l clashes with a beast and walks away from the story with an article of clothing. It's good times. The debut story is finished completely with art by the remarkable William Blankenship and is available for consumption on the Warmageddon website I linked up above. Bill is a cool guy, even if his logo looks a lot like the one CBS uses. Check his stuff out and pay him to make the arts for you. The second Mik'l story has to debut at some point, so keep your eyes peeled for that. I'm working on scripting the third one and hope to have that done in the not-so-distant future.
I'm tired of writing about what I'm doing for now, so I'm signing off. I'll write more soon though, so if you're interested in that sort of thing you'll be happy to know more of it's a'comin'.
My birthday just passed on Thursday. I am now 32. I fully expected to be a successful comics-type creator by this time, or maybe just a successful writer, or something in the general vicinity of writerly professional. But yeah, that hasn't happened. It could be because I use made up words like "writerly", but who really knows? I'm not saying this as a lead-in to giving up, mind you. There will be no quitting! Unless you count all the times I've quit posting on blogs like this one. Because I do that a lot. So if you count that, then yes, I'm a quitter. But still!
Where was I going with that? I don't really know. Basically, I'm still working on stuff. I'm doing some short scripts for a gentleman named J'amal Walton featuring a barbarian elf named Mik'l over at Warmageddon. The stories are based loosely upon the famed Labours of Hercules. I just spelled labors with a u because it seems more "Old English" to me, by the way. What do you think? Yay or nay? See... I did it again. With the yaying and the naying. Anyway, I've finished scripting the first two stories featuring Mik'l and I'm fairly proud of them. The first is a bit of a debut for the character and doesn't really have anything to do with labors of any kind. It just showcases Mik'l and gives you an idea of the kind of guy he is and the trouble he'll be getting into. The second story is loosely based on the labor of the Nemean Lion. Mik'l clashes with a beast and walks away from the story with an article of clothing. It's good times. The debut story is finished completely with art by the remarkable William Blankenship and is available for consumption on the Warmageddon website I linked up above. Bill is a cool guy, even if his logo looks a lot like the one CBS uses. Check his stuff out and pay him to make the arts for you. The second Mik'l story has to debut at some point, so keep your eyes peeled for that. I'm working on scripting the third one and hope to have that done in the not-so-distant future.
I'm tired of writing about what I'm doing for now, so I'm signing off. I'll write more soon though, so if you're interested in that sort of thing you'll be happy to know more of it's a'comin'.
Friday, April 9, 2010
ONE WORD - WEEK 12 - BUNNY
I'm still a week behind. This was the word for last week, and this week I got an entirely different word that will most likely be written next week. I've decided that until I can completely catch up by writing two of these scripts in one week I'll just keep saving the new words I get every Monday for the following week. I will catch up eventually... this, I vow!
The word for this (last) week is bunny, obviously. I figure it was because of the Easter holiday, but I really didn't want to write a story about the Easter bunny. The only other kind of bunny I could think of off the top of my head resided at the Playboy mansion, so I decided looking up bunny on the 'net would probably be a good idea. It immediately redirected me to the word rabbit, and I found a bunch of information about rabbits, including a number of mythological fables. One story, in particular, really interested me, and this is my attempt to convert the story into a comic script with my own embellishments stirred into the pot.
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. A father and son are lying on their backs in a grassy field at night. The son is resting his hands behind his head in a position of extreme relaxation as he looks up into the moonlit sky. The father’s hands are folded together and resting on his midsection as he also watches the sky.
SON:
The moon is really big tonight.
FATHER:
Yes, it is. Can you see the rabbit?
Panel 2. The son is sitting up now, surveying the landscape for any sign of the rabbit his father mentioned. His father has propped himself up on one arm and is laughing softly at the reaction of his son.
SON:
What? Where?
FATHER:
No. Not on the ground. On the moon.
Panel 3. The moon is very large in the sky, and is positioned so that the image of the jade rabbit is visible. The father is pointing up in the direction of the moon, and the son is looking up at the moon in response.
FATHER:
Can you see the rabbit there? It’s carved into the face of the moon.
Panel 4. The son is still looking up at the moon, and now his moonlit face is reacting excitedly to the fact that he can see the rabbit his father has pointed out. The father is pleased at the reaction the new discovery has prompted.
SON:
I do see it! How did that happen?
FATHER:
Go ahead and settle back down, and I’ll tell you the story.
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. A monkey, an otter, a jackal and a rabbit are gathered together in an open area of a forest. Trees from the forest surround them on all sides, but there is enough space in the open area to provide them with ample room to congregate.
FATHER (CAP):
Long, long ago a monkey, an otter, a jackal and a rabbit met in the forest that was their home.
Panel 2. The jackal is sitting on its haunches, and its mouth is wide open with its tongue lolling out. Drool is dripping from the jaws of the jackal, and the rabbit is looking up at the jackal nervously.
FATHER (CAP):
Though they were not normally friend to one another, they decided that they would set aside their differences and be charitable to the next person they found to celebrate the Buddhist Sabbath.
Panel 3. A gaunt, old man pushes his way through the trees and underbrush into the open area where the animals are gathered. He is frighteningly thin and dirty, and is wearing little more than rags. There are copious amounts of minor scratches on his bare arms, legs, hands and feet. His hair is unkempt and he sports a tangled beard.
FATHER (CAP):
Upon making their decision, an old man entered the wooded glade and approached the four animals.
Panel 4. The old man is curled up into the fetal position, shuddering
FATHER (CAP):
The starving man begged the animals for any food they could spare, and the monkey, otter, jackal and rabbit set off to gather what they could.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. The monkey is in a tree, looking at a variety of fruit hanging from the branches, and biting into another juicy piece of fruit that it is holding in its hands.
FATHER (CAP):
The monkey took to the trees, and found a bountiful assortment of fresh fruit hanging amongst their perches. It was more fruit than the monkey had ever seen at one time.
Panel 2. The monkey has dropped to the ground, and is examining the misshapen fruit that has fallen from the fruit tree.
FATHER (CAP):
But although there was more than enough to share, the monkey ignored the lush fruit hanging in the trees and dropped to the ground.
Panel 3. The monkey has picked up a couple pieces of rotting fruit from the ground and is holding them in its hands. It is looking down at the fruit, with the remnants of the juicy, fresh piece of fruit still clinging to the fur around its mouth.
FATHER (CAP):
At the base of the tree the monkey found numerous pieces of rotting fruit. Knowing the beggar would never know the difference, he quickly gathered it in his arms and began to make his way back.
Panel 4. The otter is trotting along the bank of a flowing river.
FATHER (CAP):
The otter had also gone to a place he deemed comfortable. His home was the river, and he knew with hard work and determination that he could catch a beautiful fish to present to the old man.
Panel 5. The otter has lifted its head and is smelling the air as he continues to trot along the bank of the river.
FATHER (CAP):
But as the otter approached the river, his keen nose detected the scent of fish in the air. He began to follow it to the source.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. The otter has come across a number of dead fish lying on the bank of the river. He has his nose down close to the dead fish and is examining them.
FATHER (CAP):
There the otter found dead fish that had washed up onto the river bank days before.
Panel 2. In the foreground, a strong, healthy fish is leaping from the river with rivulets of water trailing after it. The otter watches the fish from his place on the river bank in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
Although he knew a freshly caught fish would be better, the otter believed the effort involved would be too steep a price to pay for something as small as a beggar’s gratitude.
Panel 3. The otter is holding one of the dead fish in its mouth and has turned and is trotting away from the surging river.
FATHER (CAP):
He decided to bring one of the dead fish back to the starving man instead.
Panel 4. The jackal is on a well worn foot path in the forest that leads out from the dense forest into a field. An antelope is grazing not far from the jackal in the field, and the jackal is watching the antelope with hungry eyes and its tongue lolling again. The antelope is turned in the opposite direction, and has its head lowered for grazing, so it does not see the jackal.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal was facing his own dilemma. He had come across an antelope grazing alone.
Panel 5. The antelope is lazily grazing in the field in the foreground. The jackal continues to watch in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal knew that if he gave chase he would eventually run the antelope down. But to work so hard for a meal only to give it away seemed a fool’s errand to the jackal.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. The jackal is looking down as a lizard emerges from the thick confines of the forest and onto the foot path.
FATHER (CAP):
At that very moment, a lizard sluggishly crept forth from the dense undergrowth of the forest into the path of the jackal.
Panel 2. The jackal has snatched the lizard up, and the lizard is hanging limply from its jaws.
FATHER (CAP):
Without hesitation the jackal snapped the lizard up in its jaws, celebrating his good fortune with a yelp.
Panel 3. The jackal is trotting away from the field with its ears up and its tail happily in the air. The antelope is bounding away in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal turned tail to bring its prize back to the beggar, satisfied it would be enough.
Panel 4. It is night now, and the old man has built a fire. All four animals approach the fire cautiously. The rabbit is the only animal that does not have something in its mouth or paws.
FATHER (CAP):
As the sun left the sky, each of the four animals returned to the spot where they had left the beggar to present their charitable gifts.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. The animals have gathered near the fire, and their offerings are sitting in front of them. The rabbit has nothing sitting in front of him. The beggar is looking at the offerings carefully.
FATHER (CAP):
Three of the animals presented their offerings to the old man, but the rabbit had nothing to show for his journey into the forest.
Panel 2. The other animals are looking at the rabbit with mirth and malevolence as the rabbit bows its head before the old man. The old man is looking at the rabbit pleasantly, with no anger or disappointment evident on his face.
FATHER (CAP):
The other animals mocked the rabbit for his lack of virtue, but the rabbit ignored them and humbly apologized to the beggar. He had not the skill of the monkey, the otter or the jackal. All he would have been able to gather was grass from the ground.
Panel 3. The rabbit leaps into the fire. The old man and the other animals are reacting with surprise.
FATHER (CAP):
So with no physical gift to present, the rabbit made the most charitable offering of all.
Panel 4. The old man is gesturing dramatically and light exudes from his body as he transforms into the Buddhist god Sakra.
FATHER (CAP):
As the rabbit burned upon the fire the beggar had built, the other animals watched in wonder as the old man began to change.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. Sakra is towering over the blazing fire and the three animals cowering near it.
FATHER (CAP):
Standing before them now was Sakra, the ruler of Heaven.
Panel 2. Sakra is gesturing with a sweeping motion of his arm. The fire is gone, and the unharmed rabbit is all that remains. Smoke is billowing from the back of the rabbit and drifting up and away into the moonlit sky.
FATHER (CAP):
Sakra extinguished the flames and restored the rabbit back to life.
Panel 3. The smoke in the sky has formed the shape of a rabbit and is framed by the full moon. Sakra is gesturing at the smoke as light exudes from his hands. This same type of light outlines the “smoke rabbit” as the image is seared into the face of the moon.
FATHER (CAP):
The smoke from the fire rose into the sky in the shape of a rabbit, and as a reward for the virtue of the rabbit, Sakra traced its form into the face of the moon.
Panel 4. Sakra has gathered the rabbit into his arms and is holding it protectively as he glowers down at the other three animals. They are humbly bowing their heads in shame.
FATHER (CAP):
Though the rabbit did not have the skills of the other animals, he had proven that the rewards of virtue were not defined by what one was able to do, but what one was willing to do.
Panel 5. The moon, with the shape of the rabbit cut into it.
FATHER (CAP):
The evidence would be plain for all to see forevermore.
The word for this (last) week is bunny, obviously. I figure it was because of the Easter holiday, but I really didn't want to write a story about the Easter bunny. The only other kind of bunny I could think of off the top of my head resided at the Playboy mansion, so I decided looking up bunny on the 'net would probably be a good idea. It immediately redirected me to the word rabbit, and I found a bunch of information about rabbits, including a number of mythological fables. One story, in particular, really interested me, and this is my attempt to convert the story into a comic script with my own embellishments stirred into the pot.
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. A father and son are lying on their backs in a grassy field at night. The son is resting his hands behind his head in a position of extreme relaxation as he looks up into the moonlit sky. The father’s hands are folded together and resting on his midsection as he also watches the sky.
SON:
The moon is really big tonight.
FATHER:
Yes, it is. Can you see the rabbit?
Panel 2. The son is sitting up now, surveying the landscape for any sign of the rabbit his father mentioned. His father has propped himself up on one arm and is laughing softly at the reaction of his son.
SON:
What? Where?
FATHER:
No. Not on the ground. On the moon.
Panel 3. The moon is very large in the sky, and is positioned so that the image of the jade rabbit is visible. The father is pointing up in the direction of the moon, and the son is looking up at the moon in response.
FATHER:
Can you see the rabbit there? It’s carved into the face of the moon.
Panel 4. The son is still looking up at the moon, and now his moonlit face is reacting excitedly to the fact that he can see the rabbit his father has pointed out. The father is pleased at the reaction the new discovery has prompted.
SON:
I do see it! How did that happen?
FATHER:
Go ahead and settle back down, and I’ll tell you the story.
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. A monkey, an otter, a jackal and a rabbit are gathered together in an open area of a forest. Trees from the forest surround them on all sides, but there is enough space in the open area to provide them with ample room to congregate.
FATHER (CAP):
Long, long ago a monkey, an otter, a jackal and a rabbit met in the forest that was their home.
Panel 2. The jackal is sitting on its haunches, and its mouth is wide open with its tongue lolling out. Drool is dripping from the jaws of the jackal, and the rabbit is looking up at the jackal nervously.
FATHER (CAP):
Though they were not normally friend to one another, they decided that they would set aside their differences and be charitable to the next person they found to celebrate the Buddhist Sabbath.
Panel 3. A gaunt, old man pushes his way through the trees and underbrush into the open area where the animals are gathered. He is frighteningly thin and dirty, and is wearing little more than rags. There are copious amounts of minor scratches on his bare arms, legs, hands and feet. His hair is unkempt and he sports a tangled beard.
FATHER (CAP):
Upon making their decision, an old man entered the wooded glade and approached the four animals.
Panel 4. The old man is curled up into the fetal position, shuddering
FATHER (CAP):
The starving man begged the animals for any food they could spare, and the monkey, otter, jackal and rabbit set off to gather what they could.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. The monkey is in a tree, looking at a variety of fruit hanging from the branches, and biting into another juicy piece of fruit that it is holding in its hands.
FATHER (CAP):
The monkey took to the trees, and found a bountiful assortment of fresh fruit hanging amongst their perches. It was more fruit than the monkey had ever seen at one time.
Panel 2. The monkey has dropped to the ground, and is examining the misshapen fruit that has fallen from the fruit tree.
FATHER (CAP):
But although there was more than enough to share, the monkey ignored the lush fruit hanging in the trees and dropped to the ground.
Panel 3. The monkey has picked up a couple pieces of rotting fruit from the ground and is holding them in its hands. It is looking down at the fruit, with the remnants of the juicy, fresh piece of fruit still clinging to the fur around its mouth.
FATHER (CAP):
At the base of the tree the monkey found numerous pieces of rotting fruit. Knowing the beggar would never know the difference, he quickly gathered it in his arms and began to make his way back.
Panel 4. The otter is trotting along the bank of a flowing river.
FATHER (CAP):
The otter had also gone to a place he deemed comfortable. His home was the river, and he knew with hard work and determination that he could catch a beautiful fish to present to the old man.
Panel 5. The otter has lifted its head and is smelling the air as he continues to trot along the bank of the river.
FATHER (CAP):
But as the otter approached the river, his keen nose detected the scent of fish in the air. He began to follow it to the source.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. The otter has come across a number of dead fish lying on the bank of the river. He has his nose down close to the dead fish and is examining them.
FATHER (CAP):
There the otter found dead fish that had washed up onto the river bank days before.
Panel 2. In the foreground, a strong, healthy fish is leaping from the river with rivulets of water trailing after it. The otter watches the fish from his place on the river bank in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
Although he knew a freshly caught fish would be better, the otter believed the effort involved would be too steep a price to pay for something as small as a beggar’s gratitude.
Panel 3. The otter is holding one of the dead fish in its mouth and has turned and is trotting away from the surging river.
FATHER (CAP):
He decided to bring one of the dead fish back to the starving man instead.
Panel 4. The jackal is on a well worn foot path in the forest that leads out from the dense forest into a field. An antelope is grazing not far from the jackal in the field, and the jackal is watching the antelope with hungry eyes and its tongue lolling again. The antelope is turned in the opposite direction, and has its head lowered for grazing, so it does not see the jackal.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal was facing his own dilemma. He had come across an antelope grazing alone.
Panel 5. The antelope is lazily grazing in the field in the foreground. The jackal continues to watch in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal knew that if he gave chase he would eventually run the antelope down. But to work so hard for a meal only to give it away seemed a fool’s errand to the jackal.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. The jackal is looking down as a lizard emerges from the thick confines of the forest and onto the foot path.
FATHER (CAP):
At that very moment, a lizard sluggishly crept forth from the dense undergrowth of the forest into the path of the jackal.
Panel 2. The jackal has snatched the lizard up, and the lizard is hanging limply from its jaws.
FATHER (CAP):
Without hesitation the jackal snapped the lizard up in its jaws, celebrating his good fortune with a yelp.
Panel 3. The jackal is trotting away from the field with its ears up and its tail happily in the air. The antelope is bounding away in the background.
FATHER (CAP):
The jackal turned tail to bring its prize back to the beggar, satisfied it would be enough.
Panel 4. It is night now, and the old man has built a fire. All four animals approach the fire cautiously. The rabbit is the only animal that does not have something in its mouth or paws.
FATHER (CAP):
As the sun left the sky, each of the four animals returned to the spot where they had left the beggar to present their charitable gifts.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. The animals have gathered near the fire, and their offerings are sitting in front of them. The rabbit has nothing sitting in front of him. The beggar is looking at the offerings carefully.
FATHER (CAP):
Three of the animals presented their offerings to the old man, but the rabbit had nothing to show for his journey into the forest.
Panel 2. The other animals are looking at the rabbit with mirth and malevolence as the rabbit bows its head before the old man. The old man is looking at the rabbit pleasantly, with no anger or disappointment evident on his face.
FATHER (CAP):
The other animals mocked the rabbit for his lack of virtue, but the rabbit ignored them and humbly apologized to the beggar. He had not the skill of the monkey, the otter or the jackal. All he would have been able to gather was grass from the ground.
Panel 3. The rabbit leaps into the fire. The old man and the other animals are reacting with surprise.
FATHER (CAP):
So with no physical gift to present, the rabbit made the most charitable offering of all.
Panel 4. The old man is gesturing dramatically and light exudes from his body as he transforms into the Buddhist god Sakra.
FATHER (CAP):
As the rabbit burned upon the fire the beggar had built, the other animals watched in wonder as the old man began to change.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. Sakra is towering over the blazing fire and the three animals cowering near it.
FATHER (CAP):
Standing before them now was Sakra, the ruler of Heaven.
Panel 2. Sakra is gesturing with a sweeping motion of his arm. The fire is gone, and the unharmed rabbit is all that remains. Smoke is billowing from the back of the rabbit and drifting up and away into the moonlit sky.
FATHER (CAP):
Sakra extinguished the flames and restored the rabbit back to life.
Panel 3. The smoke in the sky has formed the shape of a rabbit and is framed by the full moon. Sakra is gesturing at the smoke as light exudes from his hands. This same type of light outlines the “smoke rabbit” as the image is seared into the face of the moon.
FATHER (CAP):
The smoke from the fire rose into the sky in the shape of a rabbit, and as a reward for the virtue of the rabbit, Sakra traced its form into the face of the moon.
Panel 4. Sakra has gathered the rabbit into his arms and is holding it protectively as he glowers down at the other three animals. They are humbly bowing their heads in shame.
FATHER (CAP):
Though the rabbit did not have the skills of the other animals, he had proven that the rewards of virtue were not defined by what one was able to do, but what one was willing to do.
Panel 5. The moon, with the shape of the rabbit cut into it.
FATHER (CAP):
The evidence would be plain for all to see forevermore.
Friday, April 2, 2010
ONE WORD - WEEK 11 - SWELL
Yeah... I know. This one is weird. Blatch!
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. Establishing shot of a crummy apartment complex. The building is very plain and square. The lawn is dilapidated, the sidewalk has cracks in it, and maybe there’s a dog peeing on a bush or something. It’s a pretty skuzzy place to live.
Panel 2. We’re looking at a right foot sitting on a pillow with a badly bruised and swollen ankle.
TONY (O/P):
Aw, man. That does not look good.
Panel 3. Sammy is sitting in a plush chair in the living room of the small apartment he shares with Tony. He is wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The front door of the apartment should be visible, because it’ll matter later in the script. Sammy’s right ankle is elevated on a pillow that is sitting on a stool in front of him. Tony is standing nearby, looking at Sammy’s swollen ankle with disturbed fascination.
SAMMY:
Tell me something I don’t know.
TONY:
Seriously, dude. You should go see a doctor.
Panel 4. Sammy is waving off Tony’s suggestion. Tony is looking at Sammy with an inquisitive expression.
SAMMY:
What’s the point? All he’ll say is I need to rice it.
TONY:
Rice it?
Panel 5. Sammy is holding up four fingers and counting them off.
SAMMY:
Yeah, you know… rest, ice, compression, elevation. Rice.
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. Tony is gesturing in the direction of Sammy’s swollen ankle. Tony is shrugging nonchalantly from his seated position.
TONY:
Okay--I’m not seeing any ice. And that’s what you do for a twisted ankle. But what if it’s broken?
SAMMY:
Ice is for pussies. Besides, it’s not broken.
Panel 2. Tony is looking at Sammy with an incredulous expression. Sammy is leaning forward in his chair, trying to explain the situation to Tony as if he were a child.
TONY:
How could you possibly know that?
SAMMY:
Because I’ve twisted my ankle dozens of times, dude. I was playing basketball, I came down on another guy’s foot and I twisted it. It’ll be fine in a couple of days. It barely even hurts.
Panel 3. Tony has turned and is jingling a set of keys as he walks toward the front door of the apartment. Sammy is licking his chops as he watches Tony walk away.
TONY:
If you say so. I’m about to go and get some food. You want something?
SAMMY:
Yeah, bring me back some of those microwavable burritos.
Panel 4. Tony is holding the front door open now, and is looking back at Sammy with a slightly disgusted expression. Sammy is being defensive about his precious microwavable burritos.
TONY:
Dude, gross.
SAMMY:
They’re good!
TONY:
Whatever you say, man.
Panel 5. Sammy is now yelling at the closed front door with his hands cupped next to his cheeks.
SAMMY:
And some salsa!
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Tony is holding numerous paper bags stuffed to the brim with groceries as he stands outside of the front door of the apartment he shares with Sammy. He’s yelling at the closed door.
CAPTION:
Some time later.
TONY:
Dude, you think you can get the door? My hands are full!
Panel 2. We’re looking at the closed door of the apartment from inside the apartment.
TONY (FROM DOOR):
Dude!
Panel 3. The door has swung open, and Tony is looking down as he fights to get his keys out of the lock. The bags of groceries are sitting on the ground directly behind him, and something that was near the top of one of the bags has fallen out onto the ground.
TONY:
Thanks a lot, man. Now I’ve got to bend down and pick all the bags back up. Not cool. Not cool at--
Panel 4. Tony is looking into the apartment in the direction of Sammy. We cannot see Sammy. We can only see Tony. Tony is dismayed by whatever it is he sees, and he’s yelling.
TONY:
Aaaaahhhhhh!
Panel 5. Close in on Sammy’s face. He was sleeping, so he’s being startled out of his slumber.
SAMMY:
Huh? Whazzit? Whas goan on?
Panel 6. Tony is standing in the doorway, pointing in the direction of Sammy with a horrified expression on his face. His mouth is twisted into a sneer of disgust.
TONY:
Dude, you… I don’t--what the hell happened to you?
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. We see Sammy for the first time. The right side of his body, save for his face, is swollen as badly as his ankle was previously. It is stretching his clothing and his skin to the limit. The right side of Sammy’s body looks a lot like a water balloon. Sammy is looking down at himself with revulsion.
SAMMY:
Aw, what the crap!?
Panel 2. Tony has stooped down a bit to get a better look at Sammy, almost as if he’s examining him. Sammy is flailing his arms demonstratively in an effort to get Tony to snap out of it.
TONY:
It’s like your whole body is swelling up like a balloon or something. You think I should call 911?
SAMMY:
What? Yes!
Panel 3. Tony is fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his pants while he talks to Sammy. Sammy is holding his normal left hand over his massively swelled right arm and looking at it with fascination.
TONY:
You don’t have to be mean about it. Does it--I don’t know… hurt?
SAMMY:
No, actually. It just feels kinda weird. Like one half of my body is trapped in a water balloon or something.
Panel 4. Tony has gotten his cell phone out and is dialing. Sammy has made a fist with his left hand and has his index finger extended. He is hovering the digit over his massively swollen right arm.
TONY:
That is so freaking weird.
SAMMY:
I know. I wonder if--
TONY:
I don’t think that’s such a good idea.
Panel 5. Sammy’s index finger is prodding his massively swollen right arm. It is sinking inward as his finger pushes downward.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Tony has the phone held to his ear. He is wincing at the sound of Sammy popping himself.
SFX:
POP!
Panel 2. Tony still has the phone held to his ear, but now he’s being struck by a massive amount of gore that is flying as a result of Sammy popping himself.
SFX:
BLATCH!
Panel 3. Tony still has the phone held to his ear. Gore is covering the front of his body and is dripping and pouring from him. Tony is in shock.
OPERATOR (FROM PHONE):
911. What’s your emergency?
Panel 4. Tony still has the phone held to his ear. The gore is still dripping from his body. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs into the phone.
TONY:
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. Establishing shot of a crummy apartment complex. The building is very plain and square. The lawn is dilapidated, the sidewalk has cracks in it, and maybe there’s a dog peeing on a bush or something. It’s a pretty skuzzy place to live.
Panel 2. We’re looking at a right foot sitting on a pillow with a badly bruised and swollen ankle.
TONY (O/P):
Aw, man. That does not look good.
Panel 3. Sammy is sitting in a plush chair in the living room of the small apartment he shares with Tony. He is wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The front door of the apartment should be visible, because it’ll matter later in the script. Sammy’s right ankle is elevated on a pillow that is sitting on a stool in front of him. Tony is standing nearby, looking at Sammy’s swollen ankle with disturbed fascination.
SAMMY:
Tell me something I don’t know.
TONY:
Seriously, dude. You should go see a doctor.
Panel 4. Sammy is waving off Tony’s suggestion. Tony is looking at Sammy with an inquisitive expression.
SAMMY:
What’s the point? All he’ll say is I need to rice it.
TONY:
Rice it?
Panel 5. Sammy is holding up four fingers and counting them off.
SAMMY:
Yeah, you know… rest, ice, compression, elevation. Rice.
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. Tony is gesturing in the direction of Sammy’s swollen ankle. Tony is shrugging nonchalantly from his seated position.
TONY:
Okay--I’m not seeing any ice. And that’s what you do for a twisted ankle. But what if it’s broken?
SAMMY:
Ice is for pussies. Besides, it’s not broken.
Panel 2. Tony is looking at Sammy with an incredulous expression. Sammy is leaning forward in his chair, trying to explain the situation to Tony as if he were a child.
TONY:
How could you possibly know that?
SAMMY:
Because I’ve twisted my ankle dozens of times, dude. I was playing basketball, I came down on another guy’s foot and I twisted it. It’ll be fine in a couple of days. It barely even hurts.
Panel 3. Tony has turned and is jingling a set of keys as he walks toward the front door of the apartment. Sammy is licking his chops as he watches Tony walk away.
TONY:
If you say so. I’m about to go and get some food. You want something?
SAMMY:
Yeah, bring me back some of those microwavable burritos.
Panel 4. Tony is holding the front door open now, and is looking back at Sammy with a slightly disgusted expression. Sammy is being defensive about his precious microwavable burritos.
TONY:
Dude, gross.
SAMMY:
They’re good!
TONY:
Whatever you say, man.
Panel 5. Sammy is now yelling at the closed front door with his hands cupped next to his cheeks.
SAMMY:
And some salsa!
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Tony is holding numerous paper bags stuffed to the brim with groceries as he stands outside of the front door of the apartment he shares with Sammy. He’s yelling at the closed door.
CAPTION:
Some time later.
TONY:
Dude, you think you can get the door? My hands are full!
Panel 2. We’re looking at the closed door of the apartment from inside the apartment.
TONY (FROM DOOR):
Dude!
Panel 3. The door has swung open, and Tony is looking down as he fights to get his keys out of the lock. The bags of groceries are sitting on the ground directly behind him, and something that was near the top of one of the bags has fallen out onto the ground.
TONY:
Thanks a lot, man. Now I’ve got to bend down and pick all the bags back up. Not cool. Not cool at--
Panel 4. Tony is looking into the apartment in the direction of Sammy. We cannot see Sammy. We can only see Tony. Tony is dismayed by whatever it is he sees, and he’s yelling.
TONY:
Aaaaahhhhhh!
Panel 5. Close in on Sammy’s face. He was sleeping, so he’s being startled out of his slumber.
SAMMY:
Huh? Whazzit? Whas goan on?
Panel 6. Tony is standing in the doorway, pointing in the direction of Sammy with a horrified expression on his face. His mouth is twisted into a sneer of disgust.
TONY:
Dude, you… I don’t--what the hell happened to you?
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. We see Sammy for the first time. The right side of his body, save for his face, is swollen as badly as his ankle was previously. It is stretching his clothing and his skin to the limit. The right side of Sammy’s body looks a lot like a water balloon. Sammy is looking down at himself with revulsion.
SAMMY:
Aw, what the crap!?
Panel 2. Tony has stooped down a bit to get a better look at Sammy, almost as if he’s examining him. Sammy is flailing his arms demonstratively in an effort to get Tony to snap out of it.
TONY:
It’s like your whole body is swelling up like a balloon or something. You think I should call 911?
SAMMY:
What? Yes!
Panel 3. Tony is fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his pants while he talks to Sammy. Sammy is holding his normal left hand over his massively swelled right arm and looking at it with fascination.
TONY:
You don’t have to be mean about it. Does it--I don’t know… hurt?
SAMMY:
No, actually. It just feels kinda weird. Like one half of my body is trapped in a water balloon or something.
Panel 4. Tony has gotten his cell phone out and is dialing. Sammy has made a fist with his left hand and has his index finger extended. He is hovering the digit over his massively swollen right arm.
TONY:
That is so freaking weird.
SAMMY:
I know. I wonder if--
TONY:
I don’t think that’s such a good idea.
Panel 5. Sammy’s index finger is prodding his massively swollen right arm. It is sinking inward as his finger pushes downward.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Tony has the phone held to his ear. He is wincing at the sound of Sammy popping himself.
SFX:
POP!
Panel 2. Tony still has the phone held to his ear, but now he’s being struck by a massive amount of gore that is flying as a result of Sammy popping himself.
SFX:
BLATCH!
Panel 3. Tony still has the phone held to his ear. Gore is covering the front of his body and is dripping and pouring from him. Tony is in shock.
OPERATOR (FROM PHONE):
911. What’s your emergency?
Panel 4. Tony still has the phone held to his ear. The gore is still dripping from his body. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs into the phone.
TONY:
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The DWPFF Journey - Part 8
ITEM - The one word script I missed out on posting on Friday of last week will be posted at some point this week, along with a new one for THIS Friday. Also, I suck... that is all.
*
Ok, so the last time we talked about the "Digital Webbing Presents - Future Fairy Tales" project, 'lo those many moons ago, I talked about how Chris Stevens - editorial genius that he is - told me that the script I'd written hadn't stuck to the source material of the original "Rikki Tikki Tavi" story as much as he'd like. The story was good, but it wasn't really a story that Rudyard Kipling could be proud of. Not that I'm saying Rudyard Kipling would be proud of any story I wrote... he's not my daddy or anything, but you know what I mean.
Chris' words were like a revelation. He told me what he told me on November 23rd, and by November 26th I'd re-written the entire script. My fingers literally flew over the keyboard as I crafted a brand new story. I sent it in, and I eagerly awaited a response from Chris. Chris got back to me the very same day, and this is what he had to say:
this is a winner, mike.
nice job.
Okay, so I know what you're thinking. The last time Chris sent me a short and sweet response I freaked out a little bit. Back then, I had this feeling in the back of my head that was telling me that Chris wasn't all that pleased with the story. So what was different this time? Well, for starters, I was pleased with the story this time. When the first script was sent in and Chris came back to me with a succinct reply, I thought it meant he didn't like the script. But what I've realized now is that Chris will almost always come back with a matter-of-fact response. I was just using his brief reply as an excuse to scrap the script I'd sent in because I didn't really like it anyway. I knew I could do better, and I wanted to do better. Chris gave me the guidance, and I felt like I'd finally written a script that was not only good, but was a proper homage to one of my favorite childhood stories.
Now all that was left was to tweak the dialogue and panel descriptions here and there, as I'd written the script in a bit of a rush, and wait for Chris to find the perfect artist to bring the story to life. One of my favorite aspects of the DWPFF project is that writers and artists in the Digital Webbing community that might never have spoken or interacted with one another in their lives are now collaborating and forming friendships because of it. Chris started a brilliant thread on the Digital Webbing forums called the dwpff: work journal (which is now over 30 pages long) where he could post updates to the project as it continued to develop. It started on November 11th with Chris posting artwork and following not too much later with a preliminary list of creators and stories that would be included in the book. The reason it was a preliminary list is that it originally consisted of 33 stories. As of this post, the number of stories has grown to 41 (as far as I'm aware, that is) and the list of contributors providing stories, pin-ups, editorial help, etc. has grown exponentially. It truly is a project that people want to be involved with. My name was on the original list posted on November 14th. It was placed in-between the title of my story and two other words. Those words were "need artist". On November 26th of the year 2009 Chris had my completed script. On February 9th of the following year the first page of my Rikki Tikki Tavi story was posted up in the work journal thread on Digital Webbing by the artist we eventually decided to go with. Why in the world did it take so long? We'll talk about that part of the journey next time.
*
Ok, so the last time we talked about the "Digital Webbing Presents - Future Fairy Tales" project, 'lo those many moons ago, I talked about how Chris Stevens - editorial genius that he is - told me that the script I'd written hadn't stuck to the source material of the original "Rikki Tikki Tavi" story as much as he'd like. The story was good, but it wasn't really a story that Rudyard Kipling could be proud of. Not that I'm saying Rudyard Kipling would be proud of any story I wrote... he's not my daddy or anything, but you know what I mean.
Chris' words were like a revelation. He told me what he told me on November 23rd, and by November 26th I'd re-written the entire script. My fingers literally flew over the keyboard as I crafted a brand new story. I sent it in, and I eagerly awaited a response from Chris. Chris got back to me the very same day, and this is what he had to say:
this is a winner, mike.
nice job.
Okay, so I know what you're thinking. The last time Chris sent me a short and sweet response I freaked out a little bit. Back then, I had this feeling in the back of my head that was telling me that Chris wasn't all that pleased with the story. So what was different this time? Well, for starters, I was pleased with the story this time. When the first script was sent in and Chris came back to me with a succinct reply, I thought it meant he didn't like the script. But what I've realized now is that Chris will almost always come back with a matter-of-fact response. I was just using his brief reply as an excuse to scrap the script I'd sent in because I didn't really like it anyway. I knew I could do better, and I wanted to do better. Chris gave me the guidance, and I felt like I'd finally written a script that was not only good, but was a proper homage to one of my favorite childhood stories.
Now all that was left was to tweak the dialogue and panel descriptions here and there, as I'd written the script in a bit of a rush, and wait for Chris to find the perfect artist to bring the story to life. One of my favorite aspects of the DWPFF project is that writers and artists in the Digital Webbing community that might never have spoken or interacted with one another in their lives are now collaborating and forming friendships because of it. Chris started a brilliant thread on the Digital Webbing forums called the dwpff: work journal (which is now over 30 pages long) where he could post updates to the project as it continued to develop. It started on November 11th with Chris posting artwork and following not too much later with a preliminary list of creators and stories that would be included in the book. The reason it was a preliminary list is that it originally consisted of 33 stories. As of this post, the number of stories has grown to 41 (as far as I'm aware, that is) and the list of contributors providing stories, pin-ups, editorial help, etc. has grown exponentially. It truly is a project that people want to be involved with. My name was on the original list posted on November 14th. It was placed in-between the title of my story and two other words. Those words were "need artist". On November 26th of the year 2009 Chris had my completed script. On February 9th of the following year the first page of my Rikki Tikki Tavi story was posted up in the work journal thread on Digital Webbing by the artist we eventually decided to go with. Why in the world did it take so long? We'll talk about that part of the journey next time.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Hold onto your butts...
So this thing hasn't been updated in a while save for the one word scripts. I feel bad about that, but my day job has been truly frightening lately, and I'm really buckling down with my writing outside of the blog as well, so most of my spare time is being spent on that. I'm trying to finish a full-length script for an artist I'm working with on an awesome concept so that hopefully we can get it to the point where it's ready to submit to publishers in the not-so-distant future. I want to have the script finished by Friday. That's my goal. I've laid out the entire thing, and I've written a good chunk of it, including the ending sequence, which I'm really pleased with.
I'm also working on a Zuda concept with an artist named Fernando Sosa. Fernando is a good guy, and he actually came to me with a concept after another Zuda idea we were working on fell through. I'm pretty excited about this one too, and I'm hoping to have the 8-page (screen) pitch script done by this weekend. Once I actually have the pitch script done and in Fernando's hands I'll divulge a little more information about the concept and how it came about.
And finally, I'm still trying to figure out the best way to convert the Zuda concept I mentioned (the one that fell through) into a prose novel. Work on that is going at a much slower pace, but because I have a really good idea of where the story is going I still feel encouraged about its prospects.
My one word script will be posted on Friday, as usual. That means I need to finish three scripts this week... joy! I'd like to try and get to another DWPFF entry as well, but I just haven't had the time lately. I do have a lot more to say about the DWPFF project because there have been, and continue to be, a lot of twists and turns with it. I'll try extra hard to get to it next week at the latest. So that's it out of me, for now. Until the next time...
I'm also working on a Zuda concept with an artist named Fernando Sosa. Fernando is a good guy, and he actually came to me with a concept after another Zuda idea we were working on fell through. I'm pretty excited about this one too, and I'm hoping to have the 8-page (screen) pitch script done by this weekend. Once I actually have the pitch script done and in Fernando's hands I'll divulge a little more information about the concept and how it came about.
And finally, I'm still trying to figure out the best way to convert the Zuda concept I mentioned (the one that fell through) into a prose novel. Work on that is going at a much slower pace, but because I have a really good idea of where the story is going I still feel encouraged about its prospects.
My one word script will be posted on Friday, as usual. That means I need to finish three scripts this week... joy! I'd like to try and get to another DWPFF entry as well, but I just haven't had the time lately. I do have a lot more to say about the DWPFF project because there have been, and continue to be, a lot of twists and turns with it. I'll try extra hard to get to it next week at the latest. So that's it out of me, for now. Until the next time...
Friday, March 19, 2010
ONE WORD - WEEK 10 - ROOT
Yeah, I know... this is going up late. I also haven't posted anything to this blog all week. The day job has been quite the thorn in my side lately, and it's been difficult to find time to write anything at all. But I vowed to myself that I'd finish at least one of these one word scripts a week, and now that I'm nearly a fifth of the way there I don't want to lose my momentum. The word for this week was root. There were a lot of things I could have written about, but this story just crept into my brain and I decided to run with it. I'm not really sure how well I pulled this off. The use of pictures in the panels might backfire from an artistic standpoint (frames within a frame, if you will), but I kind of like the story, and I like the fact that I was able to incorporate a couple of splash pages as well.
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. A man named Boyd is sitting at a desk in a room in his home. The room has been converted into a personal office. Boyd has pulled the chair he is sitting in very close to the desk, and is hunched and slouching in it, so all we can see of him is from the middle of his chest upwards. He’s looking down at a picture he is holding in one of his hands. In his other hand is a bottle of whiskey. There is a glass of it that has spilled onto the desk. Behind Boyd, on the wall, is a shelf or case displaying a number of framed pictures. There are also plaques and framed documents (newspaper articles, certificates, etc.) hung up on the wall.
CAPTION:
It’s who I am. I can’t change it.
Panel 2. We’re looking at one of the framed pictures on the shelf. It is a picture of Boyd as a young boy, around 13 or so. He is with his father in the picture. His father is dressed in the uniform of an officer of the law--a sheriff. The father is massive in comparison to Boyd, and has a bit of a gut. He’s wearing large mirrored glasses and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
CAPTION:
My daddy was a lawman—one of the best this county ever had.
Panel 3. Another framed picture on the shelf. Boyd is an infant in this picture, and is being held by his father. His father is younger and thinner in the picture, dressed in a police uniform and excited to start his career in law enforcement. He’s shaking hands with an older man, Boyd’s grandfather, dressed in the same sheriff uniform that the father was wearing in Panel 2. Boyd’s grandfather appears very worn down physically, although there’s pride in his eyes at his son’s accomplishment.
CAPTION:
His daddy was a lawman before him. It’s been that way for generations. Never had much of a choice. I had to do the same.
Panel 4. Boyd is eyeing the bottle of whiskey he’s holding in his hands. The glass of whiskey that spilled is near.
CAPTION:
Had to be a drinker too.
Panel 5. Boyd takes a deep slug of whiskey straight from the bottle.
CAPTION:
The drinkin’ I’m good at. The law…
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. We’re looking at one of the framed newspaper articles hanging on the wall. The headline reads “Culver trumps Boyd” with a picture of a slick, clean-cut man with a 100-watt smile beaming out at us.
CAPTION:
Not so much.
Panel 2. Another newspaper article. This time the headline reads “Deputy Boyd in traffic accident” with a picture of a police cruiser wrapped around a telephone pole, and Boyd sitting on the curb nearby with his head in his hands.
CAPTION:
Never really took the time to put two and two together. Those things don’t mix.
Panel 3. A final newspaper article. This one is much smaller, it is dwarfed by the frame, and the headline reads “Deputy Fired”. There is no picture.
CAPTION:
So when I lost my position as deputy sheriff I wasn’t ready to blame myself. I decided to blame her instead.
Panel 4. We finally see the picture that Boyd is holding in his hand. It is a picture of his wife, a beautiful woman named Sally. She is smiling openly at the camera, pleased and comfortable with having her picture taken.
CAPTION:
Sally.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Another framed picture on the shelf. In this one, Boyd and Sally are high school kids dressed in clothing for their senior Prom. Boyd is wearing a tuxedo that doesn’t fit him very well with a frilly shirt and a large bowtie, and he’s somewhat angular and gangly in it. Sally is wearing a dress that fits her much better, and she’s a vision.
CAPTION:
Prettiest thing I ever saw. Fell in love with her and it stuck. She was my high school sweetheart and I married her first chance I got--just like my daddy did with momma, and his daddy before that.
Panel 2. We’re looking at another framed picture on the shelf. In this one Boyd and his pregnant wife Sally are looking at cribs in a store. They’re holding hands and very much in love. Sally has a slightly swollen belly.
CAPTION:
I loved her unconditionally. She could do no wrong in my eyes.
Panel 3. Boyd is taking another bitter slug of whiskey.
CAPTION:
I didn’t even blame her after the first miscarriage. Not even when we found out she’d never be able to bear children. Never give me my own son.
Panel 4. Another framed picture on the shelf. This is a picture of Boyd and Sally sitting together in a posed “Sears-style” shot. They’re not smiling very convincingly, don’t seem happy at all, and each of them is looking not at the camera, but at some distant point off in space.
CAPTION:
I guess that’s where it started to fall apart.
Panel 5. Another framed picture on the shelf. Boyd is a teenaged boy in this picture, and he’s with his father. There is a police cruiser in the photo, and its hood is open. Boyd and his father are both hunched over the open hood of the cruiser, examining the inner workings of the engine.
CAPTION:
You see, I had no legacy. No wisdom to impart to my son like my daddy had to me, and his daddy had to him.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1.
CAPTION:
And that was a hard thing to live with. My daddy always told me that the strength of a family wasn’t in what you did, but what you left behind after you were gone. The stronger the roots, the stronger the family tree.
Panel 2. Another picture. Boyd is a young boy wearing a cowboy costume. He has a toy holster, six-shooter and a red cowboy hat with white stitching.
CAPTION:
I wanted my son to be a lawman like his daddy and his grandpa and his great grandpa before that.
Panel 3. Boyd is holding the whiskey bottle out in front of him, looking at it as his eyes drift off into memory.
CAPTION:
I wanted him to carry that tradition and pass it on to his own son someday. But that was never going to happen, because I’d never have a son to call my own.
Panel 4. Boyd is holding the whiskey bottle in the exact same way in this panel, only he’s somewhat younger now and less morose. He’s wearing his deputy uniform, but the shirt is partially tucked out and the uniform itself is wrinkled. The emotion he has now is one of fury. He’s looking past the bottle at Sally, and yelling angrily at the top of his lungs. Sally is yelling back at Boyd.
CAPTION:
So I fell into the bottle, and I could never quite bring myself to climb out again.
Panel 5. Sally is pulling at Boyd’s arm, trying to get the bottle away from him.
CAPTION:
Sally tried to help, god bless her.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Boyd is striking Sally.
CAPTION:
But I didn’t want her help.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. Boyd is crouched down next to Sally. Sally is on the ground, huddled up in a near fetal position, cradling her face. Boyd is trying to soothe her with his words, and he seems very distressed by what he’s done.
CAPTION:
I regretted it the first time, and told her it’d never happen again--and she forgave me like any good woman would.
Panel 2. Boyd is gripping Sally by the shoulders, and he’s yelling vehemently into her face. Sally is very frightened by Boyd. This is taking place days or weeks after the first incident of abuse, so they should be dressed differently, but Sally still has remnants of bruising from Boyd’s first attack.
CAPTION:
But we were fooling ourselves.
Panel 3. Boyd is in the bathroom of his house, hunched over the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. Vomit is clinging to his lips and bits of it are running down his chin. His eyes are bloodshot and bleary. His shirt is stained with vomit in a ring starting at his collar.
CAPTION:
It went on like that. For longer than I care to remember. And I came to loathe what I’d become. I wasn’t like my daddy, or his daddy before him. I was something else. Something I could barely stand to look at.
Panel 4. We’re seeing Boyd back at his desk again. He is pouring the bottle of whiskey out on his desk.
CAPTION:
I have plenty of regrets. Sally never deserved what I did to her, and maybe if I could have controlled my drinking I might have made a fine lawman sometime down the line.
Panel 5. The bottle of whiskey shatters on the hardwood floor of the office.
CAPTION:
But the biggest regret I have.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. Boyd has finally leaned back in his chair. He is gutshot, and blood is seeping from the wound in his stomach. His shoulders are slumped, and his hands have dropped to his sides. The broken glass of the bottle is underneath one of his hands. We see that the blood has flowed down onto the floor and leaked out from underneath the desk. It has made a tree shape on the hardwood floor as it spreads out away from him.
CAPTION:
Is that I allowed my roots to wither and die.
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. A man named Boyd is sitting at a desk in a room in his home. The room has been converted into a personal office. Boyd has pulled the chair he is sitting in very close to the desk, and is hunched and slouching in it, so all we can see of him is from the middle of his chest upwards. He’s looking down at a picture he is holding in one of his hands. In his other hand is a bottle of whiskey. There is a glass of it that has spilled onto the desk. Behind Boyd, on the wall, is a shelf or case displaying a number of framed pictures. There are also plaques and framed documents (newspaper articles, certificates, etc.) hung up on the wall.
CAPTION:
It’s who I am. I can’t change it.
Panel 2. We’re looking at one of the framed pictures on the shelf. It is a picture of Boyd as a young boy, around 13 or so. He is with his father in the picture. His father is dressed in the uniform of an officer of the law--a sheriff. The father is massive in comparison to Boyd, and has a bit of a gut. He’s wearing large mirrored glasses and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
CAPTION:
My daddy was a lawman—one of the best this county ever had.
Panel 3. Another framed picture on the shelf. Boyd is an infant in this picture, and is being held by his father. His father is younger and thinner in the picture, dressed in a police uniform and excited to start his career in law enforcement. He’s shaking hands with an older man, Boyd’s grandfather, dressed in the same sheriff uniform that the father was wearing in Panel 2. Boyd’s grandfather appears very worn down physically, although there’s pride in his eyes at his son’s accomplishment.
CAPTION:
His daddy was a lawman before him. It’s been that way for generations. Never had much of a choice. I had to do the same.
Panel 4. Boyd is eyeing the bottle of whiskey he’s holding in his hands. The glass of whiskey that spilled is near.
CAPTION:
Had to be a drinker too.
Panel 5. Boyd takes a deep slug of whiskey straight from the bottle.
CAPTION:
The drinkin’ I’m good at. The law…
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. We’re looking at one of the framed newspaper articles hanging on the wall. The headline reads “Culver trumps Boyd” with a picture of a slick, clean-cut man with a 100-watt smile beaming out at us.
CAPTION:
Not so much.
Panel 2. Another newspaper article. This time the headline reads “Deputy Boyd in traffic accident” with a picture of a police cruiser wrapped around a telephone pole, and Boyd sitting on the curb nearby with his head in his hands.
CAPTION:
Never really took the time to put two and two together. Those things don’t mix.
Panel 3. A final newspaper article. This one is much smaller, it is dwarfed by the frame, and the headline reads “Deputy Fired”. There is no picture.
CAPTION:
So when I lost my position as deputy sheriff I wasn’t ready to blame myself. I decided to blame her instead.
Panel 4. We finally see the picture that Boyd is holding in his hand. It is a picture of his wife, a beautiful woman named Sally. She is smiling openly at the camera, pleased and comfortable with having her picture taken.
CAPTION:
Sally.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Another framed picture on the shelf. In this one, Boyd and Sally are high school kids dressed in clothing for their senior Prom. Boyd is wearing a tuxedo that doesn’t fit him very well with a frilly shirt and a large bowtie, and he’s somewhat angular and gangly in it. Sally is wearing a dress that fits her much better, and she’s a vision.
CAPTION:
Prettiest thing I ever saw. Fell in love with her and it stuck. She was my high school sweetheart and I married her first chance I got--just like my daddy did with momma, and his daddy before that.
Panel 2. We’re looking at another framed picture on the shelf. In this one Boyd and his pregnant wife Sally are looking at cribs in a store. They’re holding hands and very much in love. Sally has a slightly swollen belly.
CAPTION:
I loved her unconditionally. She could do no wrong in my eyes.
Panel 3. Boyd is taking another bitter slug of whiskey.
CAPTION:
I didn’t even blame her after the first miscarriage. Not even when we found out she’d never be able to bear children. Never give me my own son.
Panel 4. Another framed picture on the shelf. This is a picture of Boyd and Sally sitting together in a posed “Sears-style” shot. They’re not smiling very convincingly, don’t seem happy at all, and each of them is looking not at the camera, but at some distant point off in space.
CAPTION:
I guess that’s where it started to fall apart.
Panel 5. Another framed picture on the shelf. Boyd is a teenaged boy in this picture, and he’s with his father. There is a police cruiser in the photo, and its hood is open. Boyd and his father are both hunched over the open hood of the cruiser, examining the inner workings of the engine.
CAPTION:
You see, I had no legacy. No wisdom to impart to my son like my daddy had to me, and his daddy had to him.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1.
CAPTION:
And that was a hard thing to live with. My daddy always told me that the strength of a family wasn’t in what you did, but what you left behind after you were gone. The stronger the roots, the stronger the family tree.
Panel 2. Another picture. Boyd is a young boy wearing a cowboy costume. He has a toy holster, six-shooter and a red cowboy hat with white stitching.
CAPTION:
I wanted my son to be a lawman like his daddy and his grandpa and his great grandpa before that.
Panel 3. Boyd is holding the whiskey bottle out in front of him, looking at it as his eyes drift off into memory.
CAPTION:
I wanted him to carry that tradition and pass it on to his own son someday. But that was never going to happen, because I’d never have a son to call my own.
Panel 4. Boyd is holding the whiskey bottle in the exact same way in this panel, only he’s somewhat younger now and less morose. He’s wearing his deputy uniform, but the shirt is partially tucked out and the uniform itself is wrinkled. The emotion he has now is one of fury. He’s looking past the bottle at Sally, and yelling angrily at the top of his lungs. Sally is yelling back at Boyd.
CAPTION:
So I fell into the bottle, and I could never quite bring myself to climb out again.
Panel 5. Sally is pulling at Boyd’s arm, trying to get the bottle away from him.
CAPTION:
Sally tried to help, god bless her.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Boyd is striking Sally.
CAPTION:
But I didn’t want her help.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. Boyd is crouched down next to Sally. Sally is on the ground, huddled up in a near fetal position, cradling her face. Boyd is trying to soothe her with his words, and he seems very distressed by what he’s done.
CAPTION:
I regretted it the first time, and told her it’d never happen again--and she forgave me like any good woman would.
Panel 2. Boyd is gripping Sally by the shoulders, and he’s yelling vehemently into her face. Sally is very frightened by Boyd. This is taking place days or weeks after the first incident of abuse, so they should be dressed differently, but Sally still has remnants of bruising from Boyd’s first attack.
CAPTION:
But we were fooling ourselves.
Panel 3. Boyd is in the bathroom of his house, hunched over the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. Vomit is clinging to his lips and bits of it are running down his chin. His eyes are bloodshot and bleary. His shirt is stained with vomit in a ring starting at his collar.
CAPTION:
It went on like that. For longer than I care to remember. And I came to loathe what I’d become. I wasn’t like my daddy, or his daddy before him. I was something else. Something I could barely stand to look at.
Panel 4. We’re seeing Boyd back at his desk again. He is pouring the bottle of whiskey out on his desk.
CAPTION:
I have plenty of regrets. Sally never deserved what I did to her, and maybe if I could have controlled my drinking I might have made a fine lawman sometime down the line.
Panel 5. The bottle of whiskey shatters on the hardwood floor of the office.
CAPTION:
But the biggest regret I have.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. Boyd has finally leaned back in his chair. He is gutshot, and blood is seeping from the wound in his stomach. His shoulders are slumped, and his hands have dropped to his sides. The broken glass of the bottle is underneath one of his hands. We see that the blood has flowed down onto the floor and leaked out from underneath the desk. It has made a tree shape on the hardwood floor as it spreads out away from him.
CAPTION:
Is that I allowed my roots to wither and die.
Friday, March 12, 2010
ONE WORD - WEEK 9 - HEX HEROES
So the word for my ninth installment of the one word project (where I take a word from oneword.com on Monday and write a short script based on that word to submit to the masses on Friday) was British. I had no clue what to write about, and I was too busy this week to research the British Isles and come up with something extraordinarily clever as a play on the word. So instead I decided I'd write a story about the Hex Heroes that Jamie Roberts (he's from England!) has been creating recently. For those not in the know, Jamie has been working up headshots for various characters and asking people on Digital Webbing and over at DeviantArt to name them. Once he had enough name suggestions he set up a voting process over on his DeviantArt page that I believe is still ongoing. I didn't necessarily use the names that are garnering the most votes at present, and instead used the names I liked the best. This is just a silly script that took me less than a few hours to write. But it was fun.
If you want to see the characters check out the Hex Heroes thread at Digital Webbing
And if you want to vote for the names you like best visit Jamie Roberts' DeviantArt account
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. We’re inside a bank, and one of its walls is being smashed in from the outside by Wrecking Ball. His head is crashing through the wall, and he’s snarling menacingly as he bursts through.
WRECKING BALL:
YARGH!
Panel 2. Wrecking Ball, Optic, Recluse, Magenta and the Bubblegum Shark are all standing in the open area Wrecking Ball created by smashing the bank wall. Wrecking Ball’s head is detached from his body, and there is a sturdy chain leading from his head to his closed fist. The patrons of the bank are looking at the five villains with distressed and fearful expressions.
OPTIC:
We’re here to make a withdrawal!
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. Cueball, a super speedster, is racing down the street towards the bank at a ridiculously fast pace. He’s speaking into a miniature wrist communicator.
CUEBALL:
This is Cueball reporting. There’s trouble down here at the Hex National Bank! I’m moving to intercept, but you guys better get here fast!
Panel 2. Blind Patriot and Ashtray are standing around the water cooler in their superhero headquarters. Blind Patriot is smoking his trademark cigarette. They’re both trying to decipher the garbled message coming through their wrist communicators.
SFX (wrist communicators):
This is… WOOOOOOOOSH!
BLIND PATRIOT:
You catch any of that?
ASHTRAY:
Nope. You were saying?
Panel 3. Blind Patriot and Ashtray continue to talk while Blind Patriot flicks the ash from his cigarette onto Ashtray. Ashtray is extremely annoyed by this.
BLIND PATRIOT:
Right, yeah--so what I was saying is that this country, the good ol’ US of A, is the greatest country around. And if you don’t like it, you should just leave, because we don’t want your kind mucking up the red, white and blue for the rest of us, ya dig?
ASHTRAY:
Uh huh. So basically what you always say. And hey, I really wish you wouldn’t flick your ash on me.
BLIND PATRIOT:
You’re the Ashtray--our superhero butler. What else am I gonna do with it?
Panel 4. Tuning Fork approaches the other two heroes and is talking in their direction animatedly. Blind Patriot is cocking a thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction.
TUNING FORK:
Team! I just received a communiqué from Cueball! There’s trouble down at the Hex National Bank! Where’s Tenta-Cool and Bucky Spitcurl?
BLIND PATRIOT:
They’re in a backroom somewhere playing hide the tentacle, I imagine. Was that what that radio signal was? How’d you manage to figure it out?
Panel 5. Tunning Fork is gesturing to the tuning fork attached to his head. Ashtray is walking away from the water cooler dispiritedly, and Blind Patriot is calling after him.
TUNING FORK:
My tuning fork makes deciphering any auditory signals a snap. But there’s no time to talk about that now. Ashtray! Get back there and find our missing members. We’ve got to get to the bank!
BLIND PATRIOT:
And keep a sharp eye so you don’t slip in the slime.
ASHTRAY:
Ugh. Yeah, thanks.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Cueball is dashing through the bank at top speed, colliding with the villains within like a human pinball. The villains are sturdy enough that Cueball’s actions are little more than an annoyance. Magenta has raised a shield of magenta-colored solid light around herself, and the others are too powerful for Cueball to do any significant damage to.
MAGENTA:
This is getting quite tiresome.
Panel 2. Optic watches Cueball as he dashes from villain to villain, colliding into them.
OPTIC:
Yes, it appears Cueball’s sleek exterior is resistant to both Recluse’s webbing and Bubblegum Shark’s, er… gummy frame. Luckily I have a solution of my own.
Panel 3. Optic is tracking Cueball using his technologically-advanced eyes, almost like the heads-up display of a fighter jet.
Panel 4. Optic takes out Cueball with a blast of red energy from his eyes.
SFX:
PEEYOW!
Panel 5. Wrecking Ball is looking up and speaking to Optic from his position on the floor. His body is wringing the chain in his hands in frustration. Optic is looking down at the unconscious Cueball.
WRECKING BALL:
Let me smash this yahoo, boss! He’s been a pain in my backside ever since we were kids.
OPTIC:
No, Wrecking Ball. Though I’d enjoy disposing of your brother as much as you would, we may need him once the rest of his team arrives.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. The heroes show up in the area where the bank wall once stood. Bucky Spitcurl and Tenta-Cool are now gathered with Tuning Fork, Ashtray and Blind Patriot. Bucky Spitcurl is standing in-between Blind Patriot and Tenta-Cool.
TUNING FORK:
You won’t have the chance, Optic!
Panel 2. Blind Patriot is talking to Bucky Spitcurl and gesturing with the cigarette in his hands at her head. She’s scowling at him in response.
BLIND PATRIOT:
You got a little slime behind your ear, doll. Want me to get it?
BUCKY SPITCURL:
You couldn’t see it even if it really was there, so shut it.
Panel 3. Tuning Fork is pointing forward in an inspiring pose as the heroes spring into action around him. Tenta-Cool is reaching forward towards Bubblegum Shark with the tentacles lining his head. Bucky Spitcurl and Blind Patriot dash for Recluse. Ashtray makes a beeline for Magenta.
TUNING FORK:
Take them down, team!
Panel 4. Blind Patriot has flicked the smoldering cigarette he was holding into one of the eyes of Recluse. Recluse fires webbing from his mouth blindly at Bucky Spitcurl, who is dodging the spray of webbing easily.
RECLUSE:
Blast you, Blind Patriot! That was a cheap shot!
BLIND PATRIOT:
Don’t know what you’re complaining about, Recluse. You’ve got seven other eyes to look out of, don’t you?
Panel 5. Bucky Spitcurl is punching Recluse’s lights out as Blind Patriot watches something off-panel. Blind Patriot has a disgusted look on his face.
BUCKY SPITCURL:
And they’ll all be seeing stars!
SFX (from off-panel):
SQUELCH!
BLIND PATRIOT:
Aw, now that just sounds wrong.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark are stuck together in a slimy, gummy mess. Tenta-Cool is trying to pull his tentacles free of Bubblegum Shark, but the gum covering Bubblegum Shark’s hide is making it impossible to do, and they’ve pulled and yanked one another into very awkward positions.
SFX:
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
TENTA-COOL:
Uh--a little help, guys?
Panel 2. All the rest of the heroes and villains that remain standing are watching with disgusted fascination as Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark continue to sloppily flail around with one another. Tuning Fork and Optic are in the midst of a death-grip, but even their fighting has come to an abrupt halt.
SFX:
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
Panel 3. Tuning Fork has taken his hands off of Optic and is throwing them up in the air in exasperation.
TUNING FORK:
Okay, that’s it! I can’t stand it any longer! I propose a truce until we can get those two un-stuck. It’s seriously grossing me out!
OPTIC:
Agreed. I just… I don’t have the words for how foul that looks.
Panel 4. Ashtray is pointing in the direction of Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark as they continue to struggle. Magenta is nodding her head in agreement at him.
ASHTRAY:
All I know is I’m not cleaning up after this mess.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. The two teams are standing in front of the damaged bank, facing one another. Bubblegum Shark and Tenta-Cool are both extremely embarrassed by the situation. Tenta-Cool has strips of bubblegum still stuck to various portions of his body, and Bubblegum Shark is missing hunks of gum from his frame. Recluse has a bandage over one of his eyes, and is being supported by Magenta and Wrecking Ball. Cueball is being tended to by Bucky Spitcurl as Ashtray and Blind Patriot look on. Optic and Tuning Fork are standing near one another. All of them have bits of slime or bubblegum on them in various places.
CAPTION:
Three hours later.
Panel 2. Optic and Tuning Fork are having an awkward conversation. Tuning Fork has some gum strung between the rods of the tuning fork on his head.
TUNING FORK:
So, uh… yeah. I really don’t think this needs to go any farther today. You guys gave the money back, so I think we’re good.
OPTIC:
Yes, well… we won’t be thanking you or anything. We could still beat you if we wanted to, but I just really don’t ever want to think about this day ever again.
Panel 3. Tuning Fork and Optic are moving away from each other now, only half-heartedly looking back and gesturing.
TUNING FORK:
You, uh---you got a little gum on your hands there.
OPTIC:
There’s a little bit of it sticking to your tuning fork, actually. I didn’t want to say anything.
Panel 4. The heroes are walking away from the scene of the battle. Tenta-Cool is walking with the team, but most of the heroes are keeping their distance from him. Bucky Spitcurl is nearest to Tenta-Cool, but even she is a little hesitant to get near him now. Blind Patriot is sparking up another cigarette.
BLIND PATRIOT:
This was the worst super-battle ever.
If you want to see the characters check out the Hex Heroes thread at Digital Webbing
And if you want to vote for the names you like best visit Jamie Roberts' DeviantArt account
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. We’re inside a bank, and one of its walls is being smashed in from the outside by Wrecking Ball. His head is crashing through the wall, and he’s snarling menacingly as he bursts through.
WRECKING BALL:
YARGH!
Panel 2. Wrecking Ball, Optic, Recluse, Magenta and the Bubblegum Shark are all standing in the open area Wrecking Ball created by smashing the bank wall. Wrecking Ball’s head is detached from his body, and there is a sturdy chain leading from his head to his closed fist. The patrons of the bank are looking at the five villains with distressed and fearful expressions.
OPTIC:
We’re here to make a withdrawal!
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. Cueball, a super speedster, is racing down the street towards the bank at a ridiculously fast pace. He’s speaking into a miniature wrist communicator.
CUEBALL:
This is Cueball reporting. There’s trouble down here at the Hex National Bank! I’m moving to intercept, but you guys better get here fast!
Panel 2. Blind Patriot and Ashtray are standing around the water cooler in their superhero headquarters. Blind Patriot is smoking his trademark cigarette. They’re both trying to decipher the garbled message coming through their wrist communicators.
SFX (wrist communicators):
This is… WOOOOOOOOSH!
BLIND PATRIOT:
You catch any of that?
ASHTRAY:
Nope. You were saying?
Panel 3. Blind Patriot and Ashtray continue to talk while Blind Patriot flicks the ash from his cigarette onto Ashtray. Ashtray is extremely annoyed by this.
BLIND PATRIOT:
Right, yeah--so what I was saying is that this country, the good ol’ US of A, is the greatest country around. And if you don’t like it, you should just leave, because we don’t want your kind mucking up the red, white and blue for the rest of us, ya dig?
ASHTRAY:
Uh huh. So basically what you always say. And hey, I really wish you wouldn’t flick your ash on me.
BLIND PATRIOT:
You’re the Ashtray--our superhero butler. What else am I gonna do with it?
Panel 4. Tuning Fork approaches the other two heroes and is talking in their direction animatedly. Blind Patriot is cocking a thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction.
TUNING FORK:
Team! I just received a communiqué from Cueball! There’s trouble down at the Hex National Bank! Where’s Tenta-Cool and Bucky Spitcurl?
BLIND PATRIOT:
They’re in a backroom somewhere playing hide the tentacle, I imagine. Was that what that radio signal was? How’d you manage to figure it out?
Panel 5. Tunning Fork is gesturing to the tuning fork attached to his head. Ashtray is walking away from the water cooler dispiritedly, and Blind Patriot is calling after him.
TUNING FORK:
My tuning fork makes deciphering any auditory signals a snap. But there’s no time to talk about that now. Ashtray! Get back there and find our missing members. We’ve got to get to the bank!
BLIND PATRIOT:
And keep a sharp eye so you don’t slip in the slime.
ASHTRAY:
Ugh. Yeah, thanks.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Cueball is dashing through the bank at top speed, colliding with the villains within like a human pinball. The villains are sturdy enough that Cueball’s actions are little more than an annoyance. Magenta has raised a shield of magenta-colored solid light around herself, and the others are too powerful for Cueball to do any significant damage to.
MAGENTA:
This is getting quite tiresome.
Panel 2. Optic watches Cueball as he dashes from villain to villain, colliding into them.
OPTIC:
Yes, it appears Cueball’s sleek exterior is resistant to both Recluse’s webbing and Bubblegum Shark’s, er… gummy frame. Luckily I have a solution of my own.
Panel 3. Optic is tracking Cueball using his technologically-advanced eyes, almost like the heads-up display of a fighter jet.
Panel 4. Optic takes out Cueball with a blast of red energy from his eyes.
SFX:
PEEYOW!
Panel 5. Wrecking Ball is looking up and speaking to Optic from his position on the floor. His body is wringing the chain in his hands in frustration. Optic is looking down at the unconscious Cueball.
WRECKING BALL:
Let me smash this yahoo, boss! He’s been a pain in my backside ever since we were kids.
OPTIC:
No, Wrecking Ball. Though I’d enjoy disposing of your brother as much as you would, we may need him once the rest of his team arrives.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. The heroes show up in the area where the bank wall once stood. Bucky Spitcurl and Tenta-Cool are now gathered with Tuning Fork, Ashtray and Blind Patriot. Bucky Spitcurl is standing in-between Blind Patriot and Tenta-Cool.
TUNING FORK:
You won’t have the chance, Optic!
Panel 2. Blind Patriot is talking to Bucky Spitcurl and gesturing with the cigarette in his hands at her head. She’s scowling at him in response.
BLIND PATRIOT:
You got a little slime behind your ear, doll. Want me to get it?
BUCKY SPITCURL:
You couldn’t see it even if it really was there, so shut it.
Panel 3. Tuning Fork is pointing forward in an inspiring pose as the heroes spring into action around him. Tenta-Cool is reaching forward towards Bubblegum Shark with the tentacles lining his head. Bucky Spitcurl and Blind Patriot dash for Recluse. Ashtray makes a beeline for Magenta.
TUNING FORK:
Take them down, team!
Panel 4. Blind Patriot has flicked the smoldering cigarette he was holding into one of the eyes of Recluse. Recluse fires webbing from his mouth blindly at Bucky Spitcurl, who is dodging the spray of webbing easily.
RECLUSE:
Blast you, Blind Patriot! That was a cheap shot!
BLIND PATRIOT:
Don’t know what you’re complaining about, Recluse. You’ve got seven other eyes to look out of, don’t you?
Panel 5. Bucky Spitcurl is punching Recluse’s lights out as Blind Patriot watches something off-panel. Blind Patriot has a disgusted look on his face.
BUCKY SPITCURL:
And they’ll all be seeing stars!
SFX (from off-panel):
SQUELCH!
BLIND PATRIOT:
Aw, now that just sounds wrong.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark are stuck together in a slimy, gummy mess. Tenta-Cool is trying to pull his tentacles free of Bubblegum Shark, but the gum covering Bubblegum Shark’s hide is making it impossible to do, and they’ve pulled and yanked one another into very awkward positions.
SFX:
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
TENTA-COOL:
Uh--a little help, guys?
Panel 2. All the rest of the heroes and villains that remain standing are watching with disgusted fascination as Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark continue to sloppily flail around with one another. Tuning Fork and Optic are in the midst of a death-grip, but even their fighting has come to an abrupt halt.
SFX:
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
Panel 3. Tuning Fork has taken his hands off of Optic and is throwing them up in the air in exasperation.
TUNING FORK:
Okay, that’s it! I can’t stand it any longer! I propose a truce until we can get those two un-stuck. It’s seriously grossing me out!
OPTIC:
Agreed. I just… I don’t have the words for how foul that looks.
Panel 4. Ashtray is pointing in the direction of Tenta-Cool and Bubblegum Shark as they continue to struggle. Magenta is nodding her head in agreement at him.
ASHTRAY:
All I know is I’m not cleaning up after this mess.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. The two teams are standing in front of the damaged bank, facing one another. Bubblegum Shark and Tenta-Cool are both extremely embarrassed by the situation. Tenta-Cool has strips of bubblegum still stuck to various portions of his body, and Bubblegum Shark is missing hunks of gum from his frame. Recluse has a bandage over one of his eyes, and is being supported by Magenta and Wrecking Ball. Cueball is being tended to by Bucky Spitcurl as Ashtray and Blind Patriot look on. Optic and Tuning Fork are standing near one another. All of them have bits of slime or bubblegum on them in various places.
CAPTION:
Three hours later.
Panel 2. Optic and Tuning Fork are having an awkward conversation. Tuning Fork has some gum strung between the rods of the tuning fork on his head.
TUNING FORK:
So, uh… yeah. I really don’t think this needs to go any farther today. You guys gave the money back, so I think we’re good.
OPTIC:
Yes, well… we won’t be thanking you or anything. We could still beat you if we wanted to, but I just really don’t ever want to think about this day ever again.
Panel 3. Tuning Fork and Optic are moving away from each other now, only half-heartedly looking back and gesturing.
TUNING FORK:
You, uh---you got a little gum on your hands there.
OPTIC:
There’s a little bit of it sticking to your tuning fork, actually. I didn’t want to say anything.
Panel 4. The heroes are walking away from the scene of the battle. Tenta-Cool is walking with the team, but most of the heroes are keeping their distance from him. Bucky Spitcurl is nearest to Tenta-Cool, but even she is a little hesitant to get near him now. Blind Patriot is sparking up another cigarette.
BLIND PATRIOT:
This was the worst super-battle ever.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Laggy! The Lagger!
The Lagmeister! Mr. Lagerson! Lagging when he should be writing!
Anybody remember that old SNL skit? Yeah, I don't blame you if you don't. It was pretty horrible. Anyway, this is my first post of the week because I've been completely ignoring my blog. I see her sitting in the corner, all alone, sipping a glass of punch. And she glances up at me on occassion, with longing in her eyes. She wants me to ask her to dance, but I turn my back. I'm all nerves. But that's not really right either. It's actually that I'm just lazy, so this morning I dropped a fist into my open palm and decreed that I would write a blog post. So that's just what I'm doing.
Now, I haven't written a "DWPFF Journey" entry in a while because last week was solely dedicated to the "How the West Was Weird" book release, but I am planning to post part 8 of my harrowing tale up on the blog tomorrow. I could be doing it today, but since I haven't written in the blog for a while I feel like I need a bit of a warm-up. Speaking of warm-ups, the word I got on Monday for my one word project this week is a horrible monstrosity. I have absolutely NO idea what to write about. None at all. I'm thinking of approaching it in the same way that I did the word for week one - BAMBOO - and just doing a search online. The second I come across something mildly interesting, I'll give it a go. The only problem with that is that I'm sure I'm going to come across a gaggle of interesting prospects because the word is so all-encompassing. But there's no point in avoiding the problem. Only way I'm going to manage it is by tackling it head-on. I'm just being a whiny little baby, really, mewling about my problems. It's a fun blog entry, yeah? Tomorrow will be better.
Anybody remember that old SNL skit? Yeah, I don't blame you if you don't. It was pretty horrible. Anyway, this is my first post of the week because I've been completely ignoring my blog. I see her sitting in the corner, all alone, sipping a glass of punch. And she glances up at me on occassion, with longing in her eyes. She wants me to ask her to dance, but I turn my back. I'm all nerves. But that's not really right either. It's actually that I'm just lazy, so this morning I dropped a fist into my open palm and decreed that I would write a blog post. So that's just what I'm doing.
Now, I haven't written a "DWPFF Journey" entry in a while because last week was solely dedicated to the "How the West Was Weird" book release, but I am planning to post part 8 of my harrowing tale up on the blog tomorrow. I could be doing it today, but since I haven't written in the blog for a while I feel like I need a bit of a warm-up. Speaking of warm-ups, the word I got on Monday for my one word project this week is a horrible monstrosity. I have absolutely NO idea what to write about. None at all. I'm thinking of approaching it in the same way that I did the word for week one - BAMBOO - and just doing a search online. The second I come across something mildly interesting, I'll give it a go. The only problem with that is that I'm sure I'm going to come across a gaggle of interesting prospects because the word is so all-encompassing. But there's no point in avoiding the problem. Only way I'm going to manage it is by tackling it head-on. I'm just being a whiny little baby, really, mewling about my problems. It's a fun blog entry, yeah? Tomorrow will be better.
Friday, March 5, 2010
ONE WORD - WEEK 8 - HTWWW
So this week I'm approaching my one word project a little differently. I did go to oneword.com this Monday, and I did get a word. But because I've been dedicating this entire week to the "How the West Was Weird" book recently released by Pulpwork Press, I decided to scrap my word for this week and write a script based on the image above instead. This was another of Jim Rugg's ideas for the cover of the book, and although it didn't make the final cut, the comic-style art is what gave me the idea to turn it into a one word installment. I'll be going back to the regular one word format beginning next week, but I think this is a nice way for me to contribute to "How the West Was Weird" beyond just talking up the stories the other writers came up with, and it might serve to help me finally close the chapter on my guilt for not having contributed a story of my own. That's the hope, anyway.PAGE ONE
Panel 1. We’re looking down at a barren stretch of desert. Far off in the distance, the peaks of mountains can be seen stretching towards the sky. The vegetation, if there is any at all, is sparse and withering. There is a faint set of footprints on the hardpacked ground, leading across the panel. On the far right of the panel, we can see the shadow of a man. The man is not visible in the panel, but his shadow is.
Panel 2. The man, a gunslinger, is trudging through the desert. Each step is agony. His angular features are haggard, victimized by the harsh rays of the sun. His clothes are sweat-stained and filthy. He’s dressed as a cowboy, with a wide-brimmed hat, duster, simple button-up shirt and tight-fitting, sturdy pants. A gun belt is strapped around his waist with a six-shooter in the lone holster.
Panel 3. Zoom in on the face of the gunslinger. His face is sunburned and his lips are cracked and faintly bleeding. His face is dotted with stubble from neglect of the razor. His squinted eyes are sunken in his face, as though retreating from the light of the sun.
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. The gunslinger is looking over to the left (right of the page) at something we can’t see.
SFX (O/P):
Rawk!
Panel 2. Vultures are sitting on a withered, dilapidated tree that’s holding on for dear life. The vultures are eyeing the gunslinger as he walks past them with carnivorous desire.
Panel 3. The gunslinger continues to trudge inexorably forward. The tree the vultures were perched on is behind him now, and the vultures are hopping off of the tree to give chase.
Panel 4. The gunslinger still walks through the desert, but now the vultures are walking behind him in an almost comical fashion. It almost seems like he’s leading them, but they’re only waiting for him to collapse from the heat so they can feed.
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. The gunslinger trudges onward, but he’s laboring even more now. His shoulders are drastically slumped, his chin heavily dropped against his chest. He’s a living zombie.
Panel 2. The gunslinger loses his footing and pitches forward, falling onto the dusty ground.
Panel 3. The vultures scramble forward, their necks and sharp beaks outstretched, their wings spread wide in excitement.
VULTURES:
Rawk!
Panel 4. The lead vulture has reached the gunslinger, and is tearing at the meaty calf of his leg with its sharp beak. The pant leg and flesh of the gunslinger is ripping away as the vulture claims its prize. The gunslinger is barking in pain.
Panel 5. The gunslinger has drawn his weapon, an 1875 Remington revolver, and is separating the head of the vulture from its neck. The other vultures are taking to the sky in panic as the gun roars.
SFX:
BOOM!
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. The gunslinger is walking again, in a mirror image of Page 2, Panel 4, and the vultures are still following his lead. But this time they’re keeping a cautious distance from him. There is a rag tied tightly around the leg injury of the gunslinger.
Panel 2. Zoom close in on the rag or handkerchief tied around the gunslinger’s leg wound. The rag is stained with blood, and more of it is seeping through the cloth.
Panel 3. The gunslinger has stopped in his tracks, a small plume of dust rising around his boots. He has noticed something that we cannot see.
Panel 4. We’re behind the gunslinger, looking around him at a spaceship settled in the midst of this barren landscape. It is as large as a small house, its cold metal reflecting the blazing sun. There is no sign of life from the spaceship, but its appearance is in stark contrast to its surroundings. The gunslinger is around fifty yards from the spaceship. Between the gunslinger and the spaceship the ground is littered with the bodies of other dead gunslingers. Most of them are little more than bits of rotting flesh on scattered bones framed by tattered clothing.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. The vultures take flight from behind the gunslinger, lumbering into the air, and he has turned to watch them depart.
Panel 2. The gunslinger has turned back to face the spaceship, and there is an alien standing between it and the gunslinger now. The skin of the alien is a deep green, its flesh mottled and coarse. Its limbs and digits are unnaturally long, and its face is more reptilian than human. It is dressed in a dark flight suit, and is looking at the gunslinger with emotionless, alien eyes. The alien has a gun belt strapped low on its thin waist just like the gunslinger, but the weapon in the holster has the flair and ridges and curves of an alien ray gun.
Panel 3. The alien is standing in a defensive posture. Its hand with the long fingers and sharp claws is hovering over the weapon in its holster, challenging the gunslinger.
Panel 4. The gunslinger and the alien face one another down over the distance between them. The duster of the gunslinger is tucked back behind his thin frame to provide easier access to his iron.
Panel 5. The gunslinger and the alien both draw their weapons and fire. The gunslinger’s iron spits a small plume of fire as a bullet roars from its barrel. The alien’s weapon sends a thin beam of energy slicing at and past the gunslinger. We are looking at the action from enough of a distance that we can’t tell who is being hit.
SFX:
BOOM!
SFX:
ZEEEEEE!
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. The gunslinger has been sliced by the energy beam the alien fired. The beam punched through his ribcage and cut upward, cleaving his flesh all the way through and cutting a path from his ribcage up and out of his left shoulder. The gunslinger is still holding his weapon, and he is still miraculously alive for the moment. His face registers shock, but little pain. He is in his death throes.
Panel 2. The gunslinger falls in a heap to the dusty ground. He is very much dead now.
Panel 3. The alien has crossed the distance and approaches the body of the gunslinger. The alien has holstered its weapon. There’s no need for it now.
Panel 4. The alien holds the wrist of the gunslinger in one hand as it pries the gunslinger’s gun from his lifeless death grip with the other.
Panel 5. The alien walks away from the body of the gunslinger with his gun in its hand. In the background, the vultures are landing to feed.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. The alien enters its ship, still holding the gunslinger’s gun in its hand. The ship is highly advanced with large viewscreens, a single misshapen chair, banks and panels of advanced circuitry and technology.
Panel 2. The alien approaches an ancient-looking display case that is as out of place in the advanced spaceship as the spaceship itself is in the barren wasteland outside. The display case is filled with western era guns of various kinds. Colt peacemakers, Schofield and Remington revolvers, various lever action rifles like the Yellowboy.
Panel 3. The alien reverently places the gun of the gunslinger into the case with all the others.
Panel 4. The alien has left the gun case in the background, and is operating one of the viewscreens by manipulating the advanced technology around it.
Panel 5. The alien watches the viewscreen as another gunslinger is shown trudging through the desert on the monitor.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
How The West Was Weird - Part 3
I fell a little bit behind in my reading, and I'm only able to review one of the last three stories today. I'll review the others tomorrow and add them to this post, and yes, I'll be posting my one word script as well. To make up for the lack of content today, I've decided I'd talk a little bit more about one of the other stories I tried to write for "How the West Was Weird". After I wimped out of writing my Daniel Boone in space story, Russ Anderson (editor extraordinaire) kept on me to try and write something for the book. And I did want to, people... I really did. So when Russ sent me the finished cover by Jim Rugg, I set out to try and write a story based on that. I figured it might be a little easier to put a story together with some visual stimulation behind it. But I was in a bad way with my writing last year, and although I was trying anything I could to get out the funk, nothing seemed to be working. But a couple of ideas did spark from the cover. The first was a story about a gunslinger being inexorably drawn through the desert to an alien presence. Once there, the gunslinger would be compelled to gun the alien down - if he could. The idea was that the alien was collecting the hardware of various gunslingers through the Wild West. Kind of like how the alien in "Predator" was always collecting the skulls and/or spines of his prey. Here's a few snippets of the eventually abandoned story...*
The sun was a bloated teardrop of fire in a cloudless sky. The wanderer had been wandering for days through a desolate wasteland that stretched before him with no end in sight. His boots scuffed the barren ground and wisps of dust rose in their wake.
The drumbeat in his head drove him onward.
A shadow slipped between the wanderer’s feet and slithered along the dusty ground. He lifted his head to track it, and the sun framed the savage outline of a vulture circling overhead. Pain sunk its teeth into the eyes of the wanderer as the sun blazed. He let his chin fall down to his chest.
*
The iron twirled with seamless precision and was replaced. The other approached the crumpled body of the wanderer and plucked it from the desolate landscape like a withering weed. The vultures crept near, but the other paid them no consideration. It stripped the wanderer, peeling each layer carefully away. The bones of the wanderer snapped as the other carelessly pried the cherished iron from his unresponsive fingers. When it was finished, the other allowed the wanderer to fall once more to the dusty bowl of earth. The vultures lifted their wings in open gratitude and rushed forward, curved beaks snapping greedily at the air. The other picked its way calmly back to its lair, carefully traversing the tangled remains of the wanderers that had come before. The sound of tearing flesh filled the silence.
The iron was placed reverently among the others, and the other quietly admired the craftsmanship of its newest addition. Long months had been spent on this planet, and the time for additional acquisitions was growing short. The other cast its mind outward across the desolate landscape, scrabbling like a starving vulture for scraps of flesh. The drumbeat began anew.
*
What's there isn't too bad, I don't think. Not great, but not terrible either. I just couldn't bring myself to finish it. What you read, if you did read it, was the first and last paragraphs of the story. There wasn't much else written. I knew how I wanted it to start, and I knew how I wanted it to end, and I had an idea of how it would go in-between. But after numerous false starts the story withered on the vine. I came up with another story based on the cover image, and got about 2,200 words into that one as well, but that's enough lamenting for this installment. There's stories that were finished for the book, after all, and they're begging to be reviewed!
The seventh story of "How the West Was Weird" is titled "You Need to Know What's Coming" by Ian Mileham. The title is apt, not only because of the content of the story, but also because I never saw this story coming. It absolutely blew me away. The story starts with a man meeting a woman named Ms. McCullough for the first time. He falls for her immediately, but her interest in him is of a more professional nature. She shows him a large, precious stone and asks him to escort her to the place she believes more of them might be located. The reason she believes this is because a man dying of snakebite and starvation gave her the stone just before he passed, hinting that more of them could be found in an old ghost town. Only three men in the town are aware of the location of the ghost town, and McCollough has decided her newfound guide is the most desperate of the bunch. The man reluctantly agrees to lead McCollough and the two men with her out to the ghost town. During the ride we're blessed with more information regarding McCollough, the men she rides with, and the narrator of the story, the guide, who describes the landscape, his riding companions and his own doubts and fears in vivid detail. The story is a clinic in both the use of metaphor to describe the setting and emotions that frame the tale, along with intelligent, well-placed dialogue that leads you to believe that each character is searching for more than what is eventually made apparent. Once the party reaches their destination, the motivations of the guide and Ms. McCollough are revealed in stark detail as they fight for their lives in the ghost town of Blood Rock. When the dust has settled, the story slows down only long enough to sweep you up again with a classic twist ending. I admit that I saw it coming, but my accurate prediction made it no less enjoyable.
And, as promised, reviews for the last two stories...
"Of All the Plagues a Lover Bears" by Derrick Ferguson is the eighth story in the book, and this is another case of the title catching my eye. I'm not sure if the title of the story is a quote from elsewhere or not, as I didn't have time to seek it out, but it is spoken by the main character, Sebastian Red, during a quiet moment in the story. One of the very few quiet moments in the story, as it turns out, because this yarn is nearly wall-to-wall action. Sebastian Red is a large, powerful man with an ancient, 7-shot pistol on one hip and a 5-foot sword on the other. He rides an immense horse named Ra, and throughout the course of the story Sebastian Red outwits demons, tramples, guns down and slices zombies to ribbons, and burns an entire town to the ground. And yet, the dizzying pace of the action is framed by a love story between a man and a woman that struggles to breach the differences between them. Everything about this story is to the point, from the action, to the dialogue and beyond. Not a word is wasted, and you're swept along at a torrid pace as a result.
The ninth and final story of the book is titled "Out South of Borachon Creek" by Bill Kte'pi. The story is about a man named Frank Train living in a backwater portion of New Mexico. And when I say the story is about a man named Frank Train, that's exactly what I mean. We delve into everything that makes Frank who he is over the course of the story. We're introduced to his family, his job and the place he lives and what he thinks about each. Frank is in the midst of a bit of a mid-life crisis, and struggles to make heads or tails of things as he goes about his daily business. The story takes place in modern times, but the setting and the ruminations Frank goes through regarding his past and his present give the story a nostalgic feel. Frank eventually comes to a crossroads, both literally and figuratively, and runs across a mysterious man dressed as a scarecrow. The scarecrow and Frank talk about what it means to sell your soul in such a wistful and casual manner, and Frank decides to sell his soul to the man dressed as a scarecrow before they part ways. Frank returns to his life with his regrets, guilt and responsibilities still firmly in place. Did Frank really sell his soul? We never know for sure, but although the story doesn't end with a riveting climax, the realism inherent in the character of Frank makes for a completely relatable tale. I'm not sure how western it was, put it was plenty weird... and plenty good.
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