Month: November 2024

snow market

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Technically, it’s the Dresden Night Market, but whatever. It snow all day yesterday and is slated to all day today and tomorrow and the next and the next, etc., etc., etc., until climate change murders us all.

Assuming our new fascist overlords don’t get there first. My hope is that Trump’s ego pisses off the rich and they start using their influence to fuck him over.

But for now, it’s winter markets and praying the world doesn’t collapse before I get a chance to finish all that I desire to do.

It’s just too goddamn bad I decided to leave the starting line after most people have already run the race.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1559 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara
Comics: The Boys: Highland Laddie 4-6, The Boys 48
Music: Night Time, Killing Joke

according to my calculations

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The Mungk should be finished in ten to fourteen days.

Then, onto the scarier phase – trying to fucking sell it.

Writing it is the easy part, compared to all the gladhanding and sending and trying to build audiences and dealing with the constant rejection.

And it’s a lot of rejection.

I think maybe sometimes that the whole universe has looked at me with the most cursory glance and said, nah. Not interested.

Dismissed out of hand by god.

The question is do we disappear, or do we get pissed and say, oh yeah? Look at me now, while smashing everything around them.

How you like me now?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1173 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara
Comics: The Boys 47, The Boys: Highland Laddie 1-3
Music: Night Music, Tones On Tail

ultimate draft

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This is it.

The separation of M.T. Williams and his first grand creation (though not his first creation).

We are on the last draft prior to manuscript.

A dozen misfires and then the final blow.

Kind of exciting, if not also terrifying.

Funny how those two always seem to be in cahoots. Everything exciting should scare the shit out of you, right?

Right?

Hello?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2040 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Good Sex, Jessica Graham (not been helpful for focus, but hell on the libido)
Comics: The Boys 43-46
Music: Night Crawlers, White Zombie

kill yr drlings

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And so, the new prologue and epilogue goes.

Fuck ’em.

They’d make a cool short story in an expanded edition later on (as would the history/future of everyone else involved), but fuck it.

It ain’t relevant to the story of a little boy and the monster that loves him.

Well, love is a strong word.

More like takes malicious pleasure in turning him into another wasted shell of a human being, staggering through life like some kind of George Romero creation, pieces falling off, guts long ago fallen out, dead-eyed stare focused on nothing, save mere sustenance.

But that’s a preview, and we only do previews for good boys and girls, and expansion for the truly sexy beasts.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 355 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Good Sex, Jessica Graham
Comics: The Boys 39-42
Music: Nico, Blind Melon (talk about sexy)

drawing with crayons

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That’s what I feel like. I’m thinking about chapter identifiers, and I thought it would be cool to have a cartoonish (but disturbed/disturbing) little sketch to delineate each chapter/scene.

(I’m working on a vibe; I like the whole thing to be an event/theme.)

Of course, there’s an art to making art that looks like a child did it (but somehow still cool – sorry kids, you’re not hanging in the Guggenheim anytime soon).

And I feel like I’m drawing with crayons.

Which is sort of the point.

We all start with colours all outside the lines, and somehow, they teach us to stay carefully between them.

Of course, the best of us figure how to say fuck lines altogether.

The question to consider is: am I one of those, or just another hack?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 316 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Good Sex, Jessica Graham
Comics: The Boys 35-38
Music: Nice Guys Finish Last, Green Day

a slim chance of hope

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Every day, I tell myself the same thing:

This, too, is the way. This, too, shall pass.

It’s a mantra that keeps me from screaming, or worse.

It’s ringing a little hollow these days. Perhaps it’s just another to avoid taking action on the things that haunt me.

Perhaps.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2287 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Uncertainty: Turning Fear And Doubt Into Fuel For Brilliance, Jonathan Fields
Comics: The Boys 31-34
Music: Nice, Rollins Band (I saw this listed as their worst album, and all I could think was, "if this is their worst, how fucking bad is everyone else?"  Rollins is the shit.)

getting there

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I think The Mungk might actually be done soon. By my estimate, mid-December at the latest. And then it’ll be on to the next thing, the next year’s projects. More and more, all the time.

I do not make things easy on myself, even if I never follow through with selling them (notwithstanding the fact that three of the four pieces I wrote this year before The Mungk have been published, in a non-paying manner).

The comic is the only one that hasn’t, and it was originally an idea for a friend, who is a very good artist, but spends too much time online and is kind of a right wing nut now, which is disappointing. I wrote it exactly for his style; a calling card for both of us that will likely never happen. Maybe Jerry Gaylord or Jonboy Meyers would like to do it as a favour.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, exciting times.

I might have to draw, ink, letter and publish the damn thing myself.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2255 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Uncertainty: Turning Fear And Doubt Into Fuel For Brilliance, Jonathan Fields
Comics: The Boys: Herogasm 3-6
Music: Next Year, Foo Fighters

ticklish throat

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Luckily, it’s not from a cold or COVID or strep or whatever.

It’s from fucking potato chips.

I know better than to eat those things, because no matter how delicious, their deep fried goodness makes the bile in my throat as I sleep, causing me to rush to the washroom, down half a dozen or more Gaviscon and a couple of gallons of water, none of which staves off the dry tickle that will now relentlessly haunt me for the rest of the night.

So, here I am, again, sleep-deprived, coughing, wondering why the world won’t let me sleep.

Oh, right, potato chips.

Yeah.

I did this one to myself.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2432 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Uncertainty: Turning Fear And Doubt Into Fuel For Brilliance, Jonathan Fields
Comics: The Boys 29-30, The Boys: Herogasm 1-2
Music: The Next Day, David Bowie

birthdates

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My niece turns seventeen today, which is insane to me, but that’s time, I guess. Time is weird.

The bond she’s formed with my wife pleases me to no end. You’d swear they were actual daughter and mother, except there’s no fighting, only a intense shared love of crafts, esthetics, music, etc.

She and I bond over music as well, but she’s more of a Swiftie/Rodrigo/Roan girl and if you’ve paid attention to my musical choices, I am… not.

(That said, I actually don’t mind many of the new female pop stars; there’s way more depth there than there used to be, and they’re leaps and bounds ahead of their male compatriots. That said, I’m more impressed with T-Swift as a machine of longevity and Beatle-like clout, and I’m not really into Chappell Roan’s Amanda-Palmer-In-Pop-Star-Drag thing. If I want Amanda Palmer, I’ll listen to Amanda Palmer. Plus, that country song? I realize she’s the hot thing right now, so the critics all fellated the shit out of the song, but I strongly suspect that once they realize no one’s into it, they’ll crucify the poor girl for such a clearly misguided misstep that destroyed any authenticity she had in her brand.)

Anyway, happy birthday, kid. We love you.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1535 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Words For Pictures, Brian Michael Bendis
Comics: The Boys 25-28
Music: New York State Of Mind, Beastie Boys

shocker

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Karma actually came back on someone.

Turns out, when you keep going over people’s heads and make spurious claims about how busy you are when you have to work alone, despite the fact that no one else is even remotely busy at that time of day and you’re known to be way too goddamned slow at everything because you’re too busy going over people’s heads to bitch instead of just doing your fucking job, which screws over everyone’s schedules as the upper management plays stupid games and takes you at face value, it doesn’t actually protect you from getting cut when they realize that they don’t actually need that many people.

I’m surprised. Between this and the easy sink fix, the universe rarely works this way.

At least, not for me. The universe may be just; humanity certainly is not.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 734 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Words For Pictures, Brian Michael Bendis
Comics: The Boys 21-24
Music: New York Dolls, New York Dolls (FUCKING NEW YORK DOLLS)