Category: writing

still crashing out

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I know this is because I’ve got myself under a ton of pressure to finish this book before Christmas.

Literally. I’ve set the date as December 23rd.

Finished by that date, so I can sit back with a cigar and a whiskey and fucking kick some goddamned ass.

Then to lighten things up for a bit with some poetry, more short stories and comics, maybe a hip little ditty or three.

Then, maybe, by the time March rolls around, I’ll be ready for canon project #3.

And maybe I’ll head back to historical.

Paranormal.

Lovecraft country, baby. I am the man of a thousand ideas; and a thousand more I will never have time to complete.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1483 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 16-19
Music: White Blood Cells, The White Stripes

well how about that

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I’m still writing about feces and doormats.

Steinbeck wrote about the Great Depression. Fitzgerald about the vapidity of the rich.

Shakespeare wrote of love and loss and tragedy, of empire and family.

And I’m writing about feces on a doormat.

Perhaps I’m not really cut out for this whole literary genius thing. I’m the Meatballs of the Great Canadian Novel. This generation’s A Clockwork Orange is actually a rendition of Porky’s, by way of American Pie.

Porky’s did bring us Kim Cattrall, however, and that’s a fucking gift.

Screw Sarah Jessica Parker. I never liked her anyway.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2321 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay (and now I'm crying, damn it)
Comics: Fables 1-4 (finally, something good)
Music: Which Side Are You On?, Anti-Flag (something we all need to decide)

icons i won’t be

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I used to want to be William Gibson or George Orwell or J.R.R. Tolkien. Even in my modern days, I idolize Doris Lessing, Andrzej Sapkowski and Thomas Wolfe.

I doubt any of them ever had to write a scene where a fat boor took a messy dump on someone’s front stoop.

Perhaps I should set my sights lower.

Like, MAD magazine or National Lampoon lower.

I’d love to be e.e. cummings or Gord Downie. I’d love to write with the sensitivity of Alan Moore or the abstraction of Kelly Sue Deconnick. Kafka, Chekhov, Palahniuk.

And I’m writing about a fat guy’s feces.

Maybe someday, I could reach even Second City.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1488 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Youngblood v7 #1 (oh dear god, another reboot, with a storytelling style that's no better than it was in the first Youngblood miniseries.  Give up, man.  This shit ain't working.)
Music: Where You Been, Dinosaur Jr.

it’s nice to be reminded

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Of just how bad you are at art.

How on another plane artists like Gord Downie, Lou Reed, Patti Smith and Leonard Cohen are.

How other people understand that.

How you’re a fucking peon and a boor, a shitpile no-talent with no future and no gravitas.

But hey, I wrote a book about the monster under the bed, and a guy getting humped by a dog, so there’s that.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 687 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Bloodstrike v2 2, Youngblood v6 1-3
Music: When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?, Billie Eilish (this is a great album, don't care what you say)

nailed it, bro

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I think I’m doing a good job of editing. Previous edits kind of suck, but my new notes are hitting the right notes, there’s less tangents and things are speeding off to the side or getting half-assed, with this better plan in place.

Hopefully, that means I can still hit my target of Christmas. I’ll guarantee there’s at least one to two more drafts in it, but they should be mostly minor tweaks, technically, picky shit about punctuation and grammar, and not the kind of hours long rewrites (and holy shit, what a plot hole moments) that some of these other drafts have required.

Pray for me.

I might actually do this.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1649 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay (starting to feel like the never ending book)
Comics: Bloodstrike 31-33, Youngblood v5 75
Music: When The Pawn Hits The Conflicts He Thinks Like A King..., Fiona Apple (all time favourite female artist? Very well could be, though I'm also big on Bjork, PJ Harvey, L7 and Veruca Salt)

youngblood

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I mean, Jesus Christ, Rob. Reboot after retool after dramatic change, like you’re trying to stuff the entirety of fifty to seventy years of X-Men/Avengers tales into a 22 page comic. You can’t go three fucking issues without rebooting the fucking team. Your most interesting characters were killed off, or disappeared, or rendered useless. There are so many goddamn loose threads and things and people that show up like we’re supposed to know them and then just vanish.

Add to that the fact that nearly every character you created is a straight rip-off of a Marvel or DC character and well, fuck, man. No wonder people deride your work. MacFarlane and Jim Lee did better art; everyone does better writing. It’s pretty clear that your ego got in the way of your progression; sometimes, success too early kills the instinct for growth.

Evolution is better than talent; a work ethic and a willingness to adapt will always beat natural skill.

I mean, I don’t know Rob. He might be a perfectly nice guy, but goddamn. This universe is a mess, and Brigade and Bloodstrike aren’t any better.

Consistency. Uniquity. Time to learn who people are – these are the ties that bind, the things that draw us to characters, not cheap knockoffs, splashy art and disjointed storytelling that reads like me trying to write my first novel, discarding and changing, abandoning, getting sick of an idea that’s not working and starting over with the same idea, with a twist, but instead of letting it evolve into something consistent for the world to see when it’s ready, you just do it all over and over again. No wonder people can’t seem to stick, and so many of these series or story arcs get rebooted after one to two issues.

You need to go back to basics, ditch the knockoffs and focus on the things that actually worked (which wasn’t much). Of course, yet another reboot is an interest killer, so maybe not. Maybe just put this fucker to bed, and admit, after thirty-plus years?

This shit ain’t gonna work out.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1413 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Youngblood v4 8-9, Brigade v4 1, Bloodstrike 26
Music: When I Come Around, Green Day

the things that come up

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You know, it’s really tough to write a scene-ending line about the possibility of a prostate massage.

Technically, an objection to it, a total horrifying of the moral senses.

(Except, you know, get your prostate checked. That shit’s important, fellas, both in a medical sense, and a what’s good for the goose sense.)

Polyps is no joke, kids.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1483 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde (prostates, you say?)
Comics: Brigade v3 1, Youngblood Bloodsport 1, Youngblood Genesis 1-2
Music: Whatever Happened To P.J. Soles?, Local H (quite possible the most underrated one hit wonder ever)

a particularly difficult scene

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I don’t like guns. They’re everywhere in movies, television and books, but they have never been a part of my life.

I’ve never fired one. Never even held one.

I haven’t been around one when it went off.

So, it’s hard for me to write about what the effects of such a thing are, how one reacts and all that, when one actually does. Unfortunately, it’s a crucial addition to this book. A late addition, but to really capture the zeitgeist of what it means to be a MAGA archetype, well, you need guns.

Second Amendment bollocks, really.

How fucking dumb are you people? You know if you get rid of the guns, then no one can get shot, right?

Of course, unless you’re an asshole who wants to shoot somebody, which I believe you all are, whether you admit it outwardly or not.

Fuckin’ stupid, man.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2713 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain
Comics: Spider-Man/Badrock 2, Chapel v3 1, Judgment Day: Alpha 1, Judgment Day: Omega 1
Music: What Else Could You Want?, Bullet Treatment (well, if that don't beat all)

big changes, slipped hood

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At least, that’s what this scene is screaming at me.

Why is everyone so calm, including the protagonist?

There are bad things happening, terrifying, awful, annoying, dangerous things.

You have my permission to freak out.

I am.

(Also, yay to Democrat gains in the elections; now, we pray there are enough of us to overcome the rigging, or that he doesn’t suspend elections altogether.)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1340 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain (it's me!)
Comics: Shattered Image 3-4, Youngblood v2 14, Spider-Man/Badrock 1
Music: Western Stars, Bruce Springsteen

sunday, sunday

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Bah bah, bah, bahbahbah bah.

Also, I’m a little hungover. Going to a movie premiere, then rushing to a bar to catch the last two-thirds of the World Series, only to have it go extra innings, and be stressful to the point of multiple Guinnesses (Guinnessi?), well, that’s too late a night for me.

The movie was better than expected; a local production filmed two blocks from us at an abandoned prison from the old days (built by William Lyon Mackenzie King). We walked past the filming every day, saw the crew and the actors and actresses hanging out, scared the shit out of my wife given that she’s got a monster phobia of jails (and snakes and heights).

My cousin’s daughter worked as a PA on set too, so more ties yet. We had to go.

It was cool to see the various things we’d glimpsed translated onto the screen – the weird partial fence they put up for an outside shot, the girl leaving the jail by a side door after “killing” the Jason-like monster, Jeffrey. The old Bronco and convertible they came and left in (which had a fake severed head on the hood).

Fun times, unique kills, but maybe dragged out a little too long. A touch more editing time might help it get that really tight feeling.

Kill, or be killed – the rule of editing.

Only what’s necessary; and no more. Something I’ve been working on for months.

(It’s called Fresh Meat, if you’re interested, coming to a film festival near you, maybe?)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 826 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain
Comics: Bloodpool Special 1, Team Youngblood 21, Chapel v2 7, Youngblood v2 7
Music: We're Outta Here, The Ramones