Tuesday, May 27, 2008
So full on nostalgia aside, or at least partly, I find myself wanting to write a new story. I've been nursing a mad-on for some of the shit team books trade paperbacks I've perused at the bookstore. The only ones worth their salt is Volume 1 of the Ultimates and JSA. Goyer and Johns bring me joy with their runs on the Justice Society. Its why I harbor a bicurious longing for Power Girl, its not the breasts is the brain matched with brawn.
So down this line of thinking, and full access to the Artifice Comic's universe I've been "jonesing" to write a team book. While, as I've already lambasted dearest Jacob about the post-modern/grim and gritty/mystic punk-silver age homage that is Artifice I'd like to write some non-fucked up characters. So I proposed a series idea that'd begin at the very end of my tenure writing Talisman and Ars Magna. (Yes, I want the series to end properly not drag it on. I'm only human.)
Right now its only purely a concept but I plan on taking a handful of characters and. instead of carving a niche out for them ala AM/SW, plopping them right in the middle of a Post-Pacific City world. As a nod to the Ultimates and JSA its a team consisting of my takes and amalgamations on various archetypes. There will be a: Doc Savage/Captain America, Mr Fantastic/Flash, Dr Fate/Power Girl, and a type of Steampunk-Optimus Prime.
Yes this idea is another spawning from the whole Talisman mythos but its more of a classic take on heroes. Sure they'll have problems and issues but like Captain America displaced, as the team will be coming from a Pre-WW2 period. They won't be familiar with computers, nazis, civil rights, but they will have an unspoiled mindset of right and wrong.
It probably won't see the light of day until winter but I'm psyched for it, kind of a goal to help me realize nothing is over yet for me with Artifice. I like it here.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sheila had heard her mother’s over-dramatic screams in the past. Spoilt, shrill, nigh-inhuman screeches that were normally directed at the various passengers of Celia Torrance’s carousel of romance. Dirtbag boyfriends or fuck buddies who, more often than not, would either embarrass her publicly or invariably be caught stealing from the Torrance household in some manner.
Paul being the latest and longest lasting rider was neither a deadbeat or social oaf thus Sheila could assume one of two things:
1. Her mother’s legs have been spreading while Paul is gone at work
2. Celia was about to die.
Sheila assuming the latter, but almost hoping for the former, buried her face into her pillow and ventured back into sleep.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
One, by Tom Russell, reviewed the preview thinking it was the entire story for some reason. He picked it apart piece by piece too. Of course I graciously thanked him for even reviewing what he did and pointed out the story was much longer.
Another review, this time by Saxon Brenton, summarized the story, plugged artifice, and then went on to contemplate getting me into some kind of contest or awards thing. I'm not entirely sure if that should count as a review.
Now, as I'm more a nocturnal creature of habit, I'm off to find solace in a slice of pizza and a diet pepsi and lament the fact I forgot my headphones and being unable to dream little dreams.
Monday, May 5, 2008
In what is commonly referred to as the ‘Enigma Vestibule‘ by the Apothecary Company, a massive room filled with dark-haired adolescents toil over vats filled with various solutions and meticulously sculpt and shape various material on spartan work benches. Others stand, stone still as they grind gritty materials with a porcelain crucible in one hand and make minute movements with their silver pistils with the other.
Every so often a quiet sob would cause the entire room of young women to lament and wail the names of their beloved friends and partners. Their very tears mixing into the liquids and powders of their trade. A klaxon sounded after one such fit, and with such a quickness most of them dove to the cold floor, save for two.
Both sported an eye patch, covering opposite deformities, one missing the left and the other missing the right ocular orb. Their eye patches nothing more than a small swatch of leather with a matching black thong to hold it to their skull. In rushed a handful of armored dragoons. Each helmeted minion carrying not rifles as their infantry counterparts sport but rather a single long slip of parchment bearing a striking sigil with a brief script scrawled beneath it in curiously, scarlet ink.
Each of their green eyes watched as the soldiers formed a semi-circle before them.
“8695554 and 287421 cease all unsanctioned activity at once,” the middle dragoon commanded, the parchment held stiffly between the fingers of her gloved hand.
The girls grinned dual empty smiles, devoid of teeth.
The unit stepped back in unison, holding true to their semi-circular formation, although one at the far end gagged at the sight.
“I warn you once more 869554 and 287421,” the officer’s voice squeaked out the designations with a once lost girlish tone.
The two bowed deeply and a quiet pop echoed in the silence.
“Ghastly,” said the dragoon that gagged.
The girls snapped up to attention and removed their eye patches to bare their eyeless sockets defiantly at their oppressors.
A dragoon shuddered, briefly, “I’m gonna hurl, 771284.”
the two eyeballs rolled about on the floor, weaving their way to within inches of the feet of the dragoon officer. The outer surface seemed to harden, and then crack, little green licks of flame poking out of the growing openings in the once eye-like casing.
“YOU - WERE- WARNED!”
Thursday, May 1, 2008
As much as I enjoy being hen-pecked by a practiced editor, seeing my unedited work and wondering why a writer like Jacob could find any measure of pleasure from reading this dreck is beyond me. Must be the lack of fluoride in UK drinking water.
I've gotten into the habit of "torrenting" and am catching up on Tengo Tenge, Spaced, and Day of the Dead. An anime series about street toughs and buxom samurai, a britcom featuring the minds and bodies of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, and a remake of a passable Romero sequel. I greatly dislike Television unless its encapsulated in DVD form or easily digestible simple mkv files.