Ah, an update. A day late, at that. I had a very good reason, mostly to do with potential employment, but that’s for Tumblr.

This post is about going on a quasi-hiatus.

When I set out on this blog, I had no clear idea where I was going with it. It was going to be a personal thing, just like a LiveJournal account, only more public. Still, didn’t know exactly what to do with it, how it could help (or hamper) me, blah blah. I tried doing a photoblog; lasted a week. Tried posting things I found obnoxious or weird; lasted a month, if I remember correctly. It wasn’t until I started to get serious about my writing and reading up on self-marketing–pretty vital if you want to build an audience and attract potential agents and editors–that I got an inkling about my blog’s potential.

I still didn’t quite know what I wanted the blog to do, though. What could I talk about? Did it have to be all about my projects? That might get boring after a while. Maybe I could write about the publishing industry… if I felt like doing all that research on a regular basis. (I don’t have my finger on the pulse of the industry, although I am aware of its alleged death throes and the rise of indie publishing.) In the end, the blog would be just about my opinions on publishing, books, and the like. But it wasn’t enough.

Everything I’d read said that you have to find a niche, you have to update at least once a week, and you have to provide engaging content. Otherwise, you can’t effectively market yourself and get yourself known. As a person of too many interests and ambitions, I have a hard enough time narrowing down my objectives. The fact that I finished two drafts of a sci-fi novel and have had a webcomic running for nearly six months says a lot about my attent–hey, Out At Home updated!

I got updating once a week down, pretty much. As for engaging content and a niche… Well, I got to thinking about it, and I realized that I’ve written a handful of posts I can say I’m truly proud of. Everything else is fluff. It’s led me to wonder if I should bother keeping a weekly blog.

Most of my concentration these days is focused on This Is Johnny, which I’m trying to draw three months ahead of schedule, and a novel. I’m also anticipating steady employment in the future, and that definitely will impact any creative output, hence my feverish drawing and plotting. (Exactly when or if I’ll be employed, I can’t tell you. Academic/government employers like to take their time when it comes to filling out paperwork, it seems. I could very well have won the position but not know anything concrete until a few weeks or months from now.)

I can think of topics to blog about. I just don’t think I can do it on a regular basis. (Honestly, weekly columnists’s habits baffle me. How do they do it consistently?) I’d thought about my niche being “exploring the publishing industry and storytelling in all its various forms while working on my own stories.” That’s doable, but really. How do I prevent my blog from becoming a self-masturbatory journal like all the others out there? How do I stay in my niche without getting bored of it? How can I come up with fresh, mostly unbiased content that doesn’t revolve around my projects or myself?

It’s going to take some careful thought, which I’d rather do while the blog rests quietly.

I’m not giving up this blog. I just won’t be updating it regularly as I’ve had in the past. I’d rather devote my energy to actually doing the projects that are “live” now, and post a single thoughtful and engaging entry for my blog, say, once a month than rush a 500-word entry every week.

So what’s going to happen? I’ll keep the blog up, of course. When I can come up with some worthwhile material for it–be it an essay on publishing trends, personal musings on writing/creating/software, or “portfolio bites” from projects, or even a stupid Disney Afternoon comic recap–I’ll post it here. In the meantime, I’m tweeting practically every day. I’m trying to get into the habit of posting on Tumblr on a regular basis without having to vomit a load of stupid fluff just to get a thousand followers. My new Flickr account will be seeing new pieces as I get around to them. Facebook is confined to friends and family, so don’t expect to see much of that account.

So I’m still around. Just not blogging as usual. With that said, I’ll catch you guys later.

Late last month, she turned for the worst. All the chemo in the world couldn’t save her. She threw up whatever she ate, refused to eat even though she looked longingly at the pieces of cheese my mother-in-law held out for her, and couldn’t go to the bathroom properly. She lied on the couch, head hanging off the cushion. Her breathing was becoming labored.

As I tweeted a few days ago, I wasn’t looking forward to this Sunday. That’s because a few days prior, my in-laws had made the brave decision to have Jody put to sleep on this day. I couldn’t begin to imagine planning such a thing, but then, in the two cases when it happened in my own family, they were quick decisions. There was no planning or second guessing. No chances to wonder if maybe there was another way.

I remember struggling with my own decision to have my beloved cat, Pepper, put to sleep a few years ago. Renal failure stole her health. The strict diet she was on gave us two extra years together. Two painful, anxiety-ridden years. There were days when I wondered if I’d come home from school to find her gone on her blue chair. But as long as she could still move, as long as she could hop into my lap while I worked on my computer, I was happy to have her. The day I made that awful but freeing decision came the day she meowed pitifully at me after I’d come home. Holding her in my lap on the car ride to the vet’s, I knew it was the last ride we’d have together. It was the hardest decision of my life, but to let her go on just so I could have her a bit longer would be selfish.

I told her I loved her countless times as she went limp in my arms.

I had her for nearly eighteen years. Jody’s family had her for twelve.

This Sunday, we all gathered in the family room. My mother-in-law sat on the couch, holding Jody. My father-in-law held her paw. My husband and I held each other as we stood off the side. Seconds after the injection, the light went out in those eyes. “Go to heaven, sweetie,” the vet said softly.

I can’t call myself religious, but it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard a vet say.

So while Jody wasn’t my dog, I was very fond of her. I loved the way she bark-greeted us when we walked past the couch. I loved walking up to the door and seeing her little face in the lower section of the side window. Logically, I’ve prepared myself for this. I continued my projects as usual, spending as much time with her as possible (when I felt like it didn’t cut into my in-laws’ time with her). But now it’s a different matter. I barely got 300 words written in my project, and it took me longer than the usual 2-4 hours to finish a whole TIJ comic.

It just hasn’t been a good day for working is what I’m saying. I just started writing this post the moment I logged in to the site. I’m not going to bother editing it much. The habit-drugged brain is begging for work, but the heart really isn’t into it right now. (And if you think that’s no excuse, I’m going to ask you to kindly go to hell, because you have no place on this blog or in my life.)

Next week won’t see much of an update, either, but it will have do more with the blog itself than any family tragedies (here’s hoping). TIJ will update as usual.

It was also a Jurassic Parkier time.

We’d never seen anything like it before. It was a novel adaptation, which was forgivable; screenwriters still had imaginations back in those days and didn’t rely heavily on “prefab” crap like novels and comic books. There was spine-cracking action! Blood-spinning horror! Eyeball-widening terror! Jeff-Goldblumming hardcore flirting! And the most realistic dinosaurs ever! (We assumed, anyway.) All this and more! After opening night, comedy writers all over the world were trying to find way to forever cement JP as a pop culture icon by poking fun at the mega blockbuster hit. Everyone gave it go, from Saturday Night Live to Mad. Even Disney Adventures jumped in on it, and they gave us this “Dino-Mite Comic” in its January 1994 ish.

An island in the shape of the infamous skull and crossbones! Nothing can go wrong here!

Bahahahaha! “Hamhead”. If you’ve read the novels, you know that Novel Hammond and Movie Hammond were two drastically different men. Movie Hammond was the eccentric, business-savvy grandfatherly type who got carried away with his vision. Novel Hammond could be a hardass–no, that’s not entirely accurate. He was a hardass. A ruthless, bitchy hardass who deserved to get his wrinkled old ass eaten by compies. Compies! Hamhead here is like a dumb, oblivious version of Movie Hammond, and I love him.

Dr. Rant and Dr. Prattler dig dinosaurs, get it? Yuk yuk. And I’m glad I’m not the only one who found Ian Malcom’s confusing as all fuck. I was 11 or 12, after all. But he could have just said, “You’ve got dinosaurs. Some of them meat-eaters. Do you not see the danger in this? Shit’s totally gonna go down, man” and we’d all have perfectly understood.

I like how Don Generic is clutching his briefcase like it’s a security blanket. And I dig the Drastic Park logo. Chawmp!

Hold up. Vallie Prattler? How hard was it to come up with a parodic name for Ellie? Smellie? (Draw stink lines.) Bellie? (Could have made her a big eater.) Uhh… Shellie? Okay, so maybe our name isn’t so easily converted to funny. Good. That’ll make my enemies work harder.

“Airbrushed, lifelike color”? Sure, back then, but not in this day of idealistic magazine covers.

“Oh, it’s a dream come true!!” exclaims the lawyer as he runs up to the table with childlike glee. Just then, an infant dinosaur shreds the juicy arm to shreds, its maw frothing with blood and spit. Through the horror of seeing his own body mutilated, all the lawyer can say is a loud and decisive, “OUCH!”

I want to turn Hamhead’s face in the last panel into forum icon. Or a meme. THIS IS MY OBLIVIOUS FACE.

Man, dinosaurs hate lawyers. Look at that dark, seething passion as they cover him like a writhing, snarling blanket of toothy death. “Oooooka! Oooooka!” they cry savagely, feasting on the still-warm flesh that promises life.

What, too dark?

Look out! The merchandise has gained sentience and mobility! Only money can sate its vicious hunger!

The only way Dim’s line could be funnier is if that mug split his forehead into a bloody gash. No, I take that back. It’d be hilarious!

I see Dr. Grant’s crippling dislike for children has survived this parody. By the why, who really liked the kids? I identified more with Grant and Sattler than those little buggers (in fact, I chose my nickname in honor of the kickass female paleontologist). Come to think of it, you didn’t see a lot of kids begging their parents to buy them Lex and Tim figures.

An Ahnold parody. All we need is a Fresh Prince knockoff, some garish street clothes, and some Beavis and Buttheadesque “Fire, fire!”, and we’ve got 90s culture in a nutshell. Gotta love how the flame torches are turned on when the “Last Action Figure” drops in. Think I’ll give that a try if I ever get over my will to live and decide to give jumping out of a plane a chance. I’ll have my tandem instructor time how long it takes the parachute to crumble into ashes.

But I’m curious: how would any Ahnold incarnation know the word “sauroid”?

So, in conclusion, not so drastic, but still kind of funny. A parody with comedy but no horror, unfortunately. The kind of mostly non-violent, ridiculous parody a kid could enjoy, and it captures the whole merch tie-in craze in four neat pages. We need more mini stories like these.

Hope you enjoyed this shorty. Until next time, hasta la vista, bubbies!

It’s been ages since I’ve done one of these, hasn’t it? After writing mostly about my stories and other uninteresting crap, I thought it was time I reviewed another book–or at least project my obviously biased opinions about a book. Best way to help the Internet live up to its full potential, right?

I read the original Mortal Instruments trilogy and came away from it with mixed feelings. I read the first book in the prequel trilogy, Infernal Devices, and thought Cassandra Clare had improved as a writer. There were fewer descriptions of doom, overwrought similes, and strangle-worthy characters. I even liked the heroine and thought she had a kickass ability. Magnus Bane–who, let’s be honest, is one of the better, more rounded characters in the franchise–even made an appearance. But this review/op ed isn’t about ID.

It’s about the future clusterfuck that’s going to be this new trilogy, starting with City of Fallen Angels. Folks, I read one review that said this is Cassandra Clare’s Breaking Dawn. I’d thought nothing would be worse than BD.

Okay, I’m being harsh. And maybe, as a writer with aspirations of publication, I shouldn’t be playing critic. I shouldn’t be snarky. But I don’t like brainlessly praising writers, either. There’s also a First Amendment that’s backing me up, so if Clare’s fans (or Clare herself) don’t like my piece, well, they’re responsible for their own feelings, aren’t they? (And, yes, I’m expecting many people to hate my own stories. That’s what you get when you put your work out there, folks.)

I should probably go ahead and say that “clusterfuck” might be the wrong word to use regarding the book itself. It’s rather the fans’ reaction to this latest installment. If you’ve read any of the five- and four-star reviews for the original three books, you’ll find a lot of “OMG JACEXCLARY BEST COUPLE EVAR!!!!! TEAM JACE ALL THE WAY!!!!!!” shit. It’s the same wretched teenybopper mindset we saw with Twilight, where fans were more concerned with the romance (such as it was) than the plot, characterization, or action. (I like to think that some of today’s Twilight/MI fans are tomorrow’s romance-books-sold-at-the-grocery-checkout readers.)

Many of the one- and two-star reviews focused on Clare’s notoriety in the Harry Potter fandom and how she plagiarized her own Draco fanfic trilogy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Star Wars. I personally have no problem with a writer plagiarizing/reusing their old material (I’ve been doing it for years with abandoned projects) so long as they don’t overdo it, but I’ve only watched the first season of Buffy and couldn’t determine any derivatives from it. Other than the “I’m your father and he’s your brother” schtick, I couldn’t see anything borrowed from Star Wars.

Few people complained about the characters themselves, especially Jace. I know he’s the darling of the series and girls can’t get enough of him, but he (and the other Shadowhunters) pissed me off. Pissed me the hell off. For one, while they were bestowed with the duty to protect the world from demons, they didn’t appear to enjoy it. The fighting, blood-spilling, and access to sick weaponry, sure. But actually protecting people whose lives depended on them? No. They had nothing but contempt for Downworlders (vampires, werewolves, warlocks, faeiries) and blood-fizzing, teeth-gnashing hate-ons for humans, or Mundanes. “Mundies are stupid. Mundies think they can control magic. Goddamn, why do they even exist? We’re so fucking better than them. We’re descended from an angel, after all! Man, aren’t we just FUCKING AWESOME?” Just thinking about the way they treated Simon–they probably had more respect for their morning flushings–still makes me grind my teeth. These weren’t heroes; these were workers who were bitter about their job and the people they had to deal with. I should know. I worked in a bookstore for two years.

And we were supposed to cheer for them. Sadly, millions did, probably just because they were supposed to be darkly hilarious.

Which brings me to another spine-grating point: the sarcasm. All of the characters were guilty of attempting snark. While only a few could pull it off (Magnus and Simon come to mind), Jace was the worst offender. I didn’t find any of his comments or arrogance particularly endearing or funny. He came across as an angry teenager trying to act like a witty, world-weary twentysomething. (No, losing his biological family and being raised by the father of all bastards doesn’t give him an edge or an excuse. He’s still a damn kid trying to sound like an adult. Real teens would sulk and pull away from society; they’d be wary of forming close relationships, even with those who loved them. Anything smart they say is of the “watch your mouth before I slap it off” variety.)

But now we’re seeing all the elements challenged in CoFA.

Clary and Jace are having relationship problems, with the fans whining, “WHY CAN’T THEY JUST BE TOGETHER???” They’re avoiding each other; saying they’re not good for each other; moping, whining like their lives (or the continuation of the series) depends on it… just like real teenagers. Unfortunately, this is the main plot, even though the jacket flap claims that this is supposed to be Simon’s story. We do get to see a lot of him, but it’s not enough. The drama, the wangsty, wangsty drama, is the centerpiece. What’s the cause of it? A demon is mindraping Jace! Yes! Dark forces threatening to rip apart the happy teen couple! Guess young love doesn’t last forever, does it?

Best of all, my favorite villain returns. In the most ridiculous way imaginable, I admit. Yet I’m very much looking forward to how he ruins everything.

Aside from the obvious that annoyed me–and the needless POV jumping (seriously, why would Isabelle need even one paragraph?), Alec’s inexplicable rage over centuries-old Magnus dating others before him (did you really think he was chaste, you idiot?), and the abuse being lumped on poor Simon–I kind of enjoyed CoFA. It’s not often that a book comes along and makes me wish for death, destruction, and actual conflict. It seems like Clare is ready to finally take her beloved characters down a dark path and challenge her readers. Not in an intellectual way, of course, but by potentially destroying the one thing they cherish the most.

I’m aware that Clare is probably going to find a way to right all of this and bring Jace and Clary back together in the third book. But in the meantime, I’m going to devour this bitter brain candy. Darkness tastes very sweet.

Now to return to reading one-star reviews written IN ALL CAPS WHAT HAVE YOU DONE CASSANDRA CLARE?!?!?!? Ha ha ha ha ha!

But first, let me go back in time. Back to May 18, 2010. I know the exact date because the file properties for Evan and Ronny say that’s when it was created.

I’d been working on a middle-grade sci-fi novel for the past several weeks. Determined to finish something and attempt to get it published, I dove into this project with nothing more than an idea and a handful of characters from one of my many abandoned projects. That project was a webcomic about a trio of college roommates trying to make it through the next four years in a topsy-turvy world. Yeah. Frigging groundbreaking.

But the protagonists were going to have more fun in this new project. For one, I turned them into preteens. What better age than those magical years when the world is still new, adventures can be found just down the sidewalk, and sex was something you’d heard about but weren’t too interested in (yet)? The limbo between childhood and the teenage years. You’re not quite aware of your own innocence, you don’t yet envy younger kids, but you wouldn’t mind emulating a few of the cooler kids. Toss in a few aliens, subtract a mom, sprinkle in a few elements from my actual childhood in Puerto Rico, and I had a bestseller in the making!

Outlines? I had a rough one, which was constantly updated as I barreled through the first draft. It took about 30 pages, but I got my characters where they needed to be. They were going to save the world! They were on their way to adventure!

Then it stalled.

I struggled over the last few words, looking back and forth between the sloppy outline and my word processor. Forcing myself to type. But nothing. I was stuck. Again.

Another abandoned project.

I was never going to finish anything. My creative life would be nothing more than a string of half-finished manuscripts and scrap paper with scene notes, notebooks filled with what-ifs and colorful sketches. I’d only dream about my characters. I’d become what I hated: a never-been, a mere dreamer. But at least I tried, right?

My eyes remained plastered to the black words frozen in the word processor. I knew I’d never revisit them again with any real intention to add to them. I accepted their fate. I was about to accept mine.

Then something clicked in my brain. Maybe my subconsciousness, maybe a muse whose existence I doubted, but something rang out through the desperate groans echoing among my frenzied thoughts. I’m calling it the spark. And this is what it said: “Open a new file.”

I did without hesitation. Then the spark started working. The ideas came spilling out like oil.

“Take some characters from another project, people you like. How about that other webcomic? How many of those did you abandon, anyway? Never mind, take that one that was supposed to take place in Hollywood. That had a cast of a thousand. How about Evan? You liked him a lot. How about Ronny? He was a great one, too. They had some real chemistry. Let’s throw them together again. Let’s choose a time. The future. How far into the future? Let’s make it a thousand or so. We can figure it out later. Wait, wait, let’s write something now. Something to stabilize this story, get it started.”

After mulling it over, I typed this:

Bradyn Corbeil’s alive, though not very well. He’s not talking. So I’ve been sent in.

“A mystery!” the spark said. “We’re not writing a mystery, but some mysterious elements won’t hurt. So Evan’s telling the story? Don’t worry about his age or sex. You’ve never been a girly girl to begin with; you can probably fake a gender-neutral voice pretty well. Let’s just get a story going. What, is this first part too boring? Okay, let’s skip ahead. We’ve got an anchor in place; we can follow the chain back after we’ve had fun. Let’s get Evan in trouble. What kind of trouble? Life-threatening? I love it! How’d he get there? Unknowingly ingested something? Is he seeing weird nightmare-fueling shit? Awesome!”

Back and forth, back and forth, over the next several weeks. Going ahead to the adventure in progress, then skipping back to figure out how he got there. Probably not the best way to write, but many authors had done it. Why couldn’t it work for me?

Somehow, it did. Over the next three months, I watched Evan and his friends struggle through an unforgiving wilderness. Editing while I wrote, throwing away entire chunks of the story, weaving in elements from Evan’s previous project, making second draft notes in another file… Oh, it was an awful, wonderful mess. Nearly 141,500 words later, I had a workable first draft which I would later transform into an even better draft.

Over five months later, I had that second draft of nearly 213,400 words. Now I know what I need to do to create an even better, and hopefully final (and somewhat shorter), draft.

While writing the second draft, I got it in my head that I needed to turn this into some sort of trilogy. (All the rage, right?) Explore other parts of this galaxy I’d created. Weave in some sort of family saga. I could do that. Hell, I got through this novel twice. I could do it all over again with TSoS.

So that’s what I did. Or attempted.

Start, restart, restart. Graphic novel or heavily illustrated novel? Back to plain text? Change POV. Try to like these characters. Why isn’t this working? What the hell am I doing wrong? What the fuck?! Did that doorstop spoil me for other novels? Am I so stuck on writing and drawing a webcomic that I can’t think in words anymore? Of course I can think in words! I’m writing notes for everything! What the hell is wrong?

It was happening all over again. I couldn’t abandon this project. Not again. If I did, that meant I could easily abandon E&R.

I was getting scared.

Not too long ago–last week, actually–I decided to continue my quest to read 50 books this year (downgraded from 100 books, which was a pretty insane undertaking). Write Faster, Write Better was one of those books I bought during my “I’ve got to learn how to WRITE” phase, long before I decided that I knew everything possible and it was time to study “how to SELL and PROMOTE”. David Fryxell could have gotten his point across in a short paragraph, but he stretched it along 245 pages. I wasn’t looking forward to struggling through another page of my novel in progress, so I was snappish towards Fryxell and his meaningful advice.

“Yeah, I get it. You’ve got to prepare. Need to think about the topic, need to do research before you write. Why are you repeating yourself?”

It didn’t hit me until the thirteenth chapter, “Writing Fiction Faster and Better”. I was thankful for Fryxell for hammering the point home several times, because it was only then that I realized what I need to do for this current novel: I need to be prepared before I even write.

The more I thought about it, the more my predicament made sense. I wasn’t in love with my story.

I fell in love with E&R. From the start, after I put Evan’s life in danger, I was concerned for all of the cast. It was more than just feeling bad for them or crying when something horrible happened. As I was forcing them through crises or giving them crippling backstories, I told them, “I’m sorry I have to do this to you, but you can’t grow otherwise.” Then I proudly watched them move through their trials. I loved them, even as I harmed them. I wished I could have given them perfect beginnings and endings, but if they’d been coddled, would they have stories to tell?

With this current novel in progress, I’d set up a few obstacles and was planning to move my characters through them. I knew what they were going to do from the beginning. No movement for error, misjudgement, or backtracking. No one questions motives; everything was plotted out. It’s perfect.

It’s rigid, boring, and it leaves no room for real adventure.

All that just to satisfy the desire to write another first draft in record time.

I was trying to repeat my success with E&R. Talking to my husband about it, I realized something else: E&R was a fluke. A wonderful fluke that proved my determination to see a project through to the end, and fed my confidence as a writer and creator. That’s probably the real reason why it was written, even though I intend to publish it one day. The spark did it to give me hope.

Yet along the way, I fell in love with the story and the characters. That’s why I stuck with it. I wanted to see everyone through, even if some of them weren’t going to make it or have very happy endings.

With TSoS, it was all a race. Can I write another first draft in three months? Sure, I could. Would I enjoy the rush? No. I wouldn’t.

***

Last night, I took out the TSoS journal and continued my protagonist’s bio. Writing on paper forces me to think words through. It’s easy to get carried away on a keyboard and write a bunch of crap you don’t intend to keep.

An hour later, I’d uncovered little bits of Tedric and his family I never knew. I learned why he was angry with life in general, yet how he maintains a cheery disposition with his friends. I found out that despite the hasty divorce, his mother still loved his father. More surprisingly, Tedric’s half-siblings also liked his biological father. What would the stepdad think if he ever found out? I’ll solve that little mystery when I get to his bio.

I think I’m getting to the heart of this story by plotting it out on paper. If it turns out that I have to do all the rough work in my journal before I can write the real story on the computer, then that’s how it’ll be done. If I need to plan out the story for several months or even a year before I can create a fantastic final product, then that’s how it’ll be done.

Like I said, E&R was a fluke that boosted my confidence, and I’m sure it’ll go places once the time is right. But now that the thrill of a whirlwind, breakneck love affair is over, I need to properly court this other story. I need engagement rings in the forms of loose outlines and character journals. If it takes several months or a year before the “marriage” finally begins, that’s fine. I shouldn’t be in a hurry to put out a sloppy, half-assed (or quarter-assed) story; I’ve got an ongoing webcomic and other projects, so it’s not like I’m unproductive.

In other words, I need to take the time to simply fall in love with this story.

(Now that I’m done with this post and all its awkward analogies and metaphors, I think I’ll get back to watching MST3K. I’m saving the courting for tonight. All right, that was a little too weird…)

Reading Josh has made me realize something: I like comics. (Kind of makes sense, since I’ve been drawing my own and recapping a few on this blog.) But as much as I like digging into banal storylines and out-of-character characters, it gets tiresome. After all, there are only so many scans I can do in an hour before I get cranky and want to abandon the whole project. So what’s a part-time snarker like myself to do?

Why, focus on shorter pieces, of course!

Yeah, it was fun recapping entire issues of Marvel’s Disney Afternoon, but do I really want to write recaps of every story? More importantly, do you want to read those recaps? Hell, no. You’ve got social networking to do, and so do I. So from now on, I’m going to focus on comics that really interest me or have too much snark bait to pass up.

Ah, before I forget, I’m sure you’ve noticed the decided lack of Saturday updates. Well, when you’ve got a webcomic to draw, a novel in progress, and several real life demands, weekends are used as vacation time. Monday blog updates will continue, and TIJ will also continue on Wednesdays and Fridays. If you want random thoughts and general goings-on in my life, there’s always my Tumblr. Because if I have a bagel for breakfast, I want you guys to know about it. That’s how important you guys are to me.

With that out of the way, let’s dive in to this month’s comic sampling, or what I like to call, “Thank gods I’m not reading another Disney Afternoon comic.”

Yes, it’s an Archie comic. Because it was lying around the spare room, that’s why. Besides, no matter the decade or the content, Archie comics are just too fun. For the curious, this was published in Archie’s Double Digest #87, 1996… and elsewhere, I’m sure. You can’t have a franchise run for seventy years (as of now) without recycling a few stories, after all.

Surf’s up in Riverdale, and the town jerkass cum horndog* Reggie Mantle is catching some serious wave, or whatever surfers say. What better way to cool off after chasing/being used by Veronica? But a pleasant time isn’t to be had, as you can plainly see. Reggie and Moose Mason are literally on a collision course for wackiness, hyuck!

After the surfboard delivers a satisfying, bold WHACK to Moose’s meaty head, Reggie does the reasonable thing and begs the ripped bull not to cave in his beautiful, raven-haired skull.

Oh, please, Reggie, you were at least 54 when this story was published. Middle age is a perfectly fine time to die.

The swirly lines and bubbles dancing around Moose’s head don’t lie. He’s been hit by the Easy Amnesia trope, created specifically for the writer who wants to play with trauma-induced split personalities. Moose brushes off the collision, assuring Reggie that “accidents will happen you know!” Poor Reggie is all, “Huh?” and “?” (How do you pronounce a questions mark?)

Moose blissfully wonders off, feeling nothing but love and joy for the universe around him. Reggie still can’t believe it. “Am I hearing things? Moose wasn’t even mad!” Jughead, in a somewhat useless cameo, assures Reggie that he hasn’t gone crazy as well. “I heard it, too!”

Reggie’s brain gears start whirring. “You don’t think that bump on his head had anything to do with it, do you?” “I don’t know,” Jughead replies, “but it’s quite possible! I’ve heard of guys having split personalities on account of a bump on the head!”

I’m not a medical professional, and I’ve done very little research on head injuries and their long-term effects (most of my stories require bloody, gaping chest or limb wounds), but I’m pretty sure that a bump on the head would probably result in tragic memory loss or death. But who’s concerned with reality when you’ve got a wacky story to tell?

Reggie isn’t all that concerned easier. He’s going to have some fun with Moose’s new handicap. “If I were you I wouldn’t press my luck!” Jughead says. Reggie smiles pleasantly, probably thinking, Whatever, you heavy-lidded, slack-jawed waste of flesh. Isn’t there a burger calling out to you?

Reggie approaches Moose, who’s chilling with his sweetie, Midge Klump. (Aw, she does look cute in that bikini. I wish I had those scrawny measurements.) “Hey, Moose! Do you know you put a dent in my new surfboard!” Reggie dickishly yells. “You have such a thick skull, you chipped the paint on it! I ought to make you buy me a new one!” “?” says Midge. (No, seriously, how do you pronounce that? Is it a “wha” or a “uunnhhh”?)

“I said I was sorry, Reggie,” Moose says. “But I’ll be glad to have it repaired for you!” Midge is surprised! “Moose! Have you flipped your wig?” There’s no talking or chastising Moose out of this one. Split Personality Moose decides that “fair is fair,” and that he should repair the garishly pink surfboard.

While Moose goes off to repair Reggie’s heterosexually-painted extension of his manhood, Reggie turns to Jughead with a lecherous smile. “It’s happened, Jug! He’s not himself anymore… I’ve been waiting for this for a long time…” Then why didn’t you bang the lunk’s head earlier? Why let fate take its sweet, snail-paced time?

No matter. It’s time for Reggie to do what he’s been wanting to do for a long, long time, possibly since the 50s:

DANCE!

Wow, in addition to being a hot cheerleader, Midge is apparently a technical genius. She managed to turn a microwave into a music box!** Knowing Moose’s violent jealousy, she nervously looks to him and asks if it would be all right with him. “Well, if you really want to… it’s up to you!” Big Moose for women’s rights!

While she and Reggie get funky with the miraculous musical microwave, Midge wonders if something is wrong with her beau. “I think that crack on his cranium has cooled his thinking!” “You’re so right, doll!” Reggie says, showing off his knowledge of rarely used pet names. “But aren’t we the lucky ones?”

Ha ha, classic sexism!

(This is going to drive me crazy for the rest of the day. How the hell do you pronounce “?”?!)

“Moose! Are you just going to stand there and let Reggie kiss me!” I’m just a petite female–I don’t have the fury or power of your namesake to mash my assaulter’s skull into a fine crimson paste!

Moose weakly approaches Reggie. “You know you shouldn’t do that, Reggie! Midge is my girl!” I own her, tiny body and soul! Reggie isn’t the least bit impressed. “Flake off, you big gorilla!” Oh, snap!

Midge is furious! She storms up to Moose and points a dainty, cute finger at him. “Are you going to let Reggie talk to you like that? I demand that you protect me, Moose! I’m your girl! Now bop him one!” Yeah, Moose, enable your girlfriend’s dependency and give in to your aggressive tendencies! Make your gender proud! MAN POWERRRR!***

Oh, now you’ve done it, Moose. “Is that what you think of me?” Midge says. “I’m just an immature child?” With a violence befitting of a female disappointed in her mate’s sudden lack of bloodthirsty tendencies, she shoves him into another surfboard. “Well, you can find yourself a new girlfriend, because we’re through!” Gosh, and they were so perfect for each other.

Reggie basks in his easy victory and leads Midge off. But what’s this? Moose is getting up, bubbles popping around his skull. Could it be? The foreseen–I mean, miraculous reversal of his amnesia?

“Where are you going with my girl?” he demands Reggie. “Beat it, lardhead!” Reggie snorts. “Or did that bump on your head affect your hearing, too?”

Duh!

You know, between Moose’s jealousy and aggressiveness and Midge’s enabling and equally unsettling taste for bloodshed, I shudder to think how their children are going to fare. Of course, seventy years doesn’t exactly leave one fertile…

* Go ahead and laugh, you immature dink.

** See, kids aged 16 and under, music boxes–also called boomboxes, jamboxes, and ghetto blasters–were bulky music playing devices that we old-timers (read: thirty- and twentysomethings) used to play, well, music. Well, audio cassettes and radio stations. We didn’t have iPods–hell, MP3s weren’t even invented yet–but Walkmans were plenty and CD players were a pricey investment. Yeah, I know. How did we EVER SURVIVE? If you think that’s amazing, ask your older relatives about eight-track tapes and vinyls. Be prepared to have your minds exploded by ancient knowledge.

*** For the love of cheese, I’m not saying all men are violent. Women can be pretty violent, too. Look at Midge!

Just humor my quirks, would ya?

The above sketch shows (left to right) Ronny and Evan as they wait out a storm (not that you can tell, but then, I never intended these sketches to be seen by the public). Just chilling out. Evan gets along with people; he’s got charisma. Ronny, not so much, but he can fake it. It’s a classic tale of two unlikely souls becoming friends, and this, I believe, is the heart of the story.

I don’t hate my cartoony style. I think it’s fitting for the webcomic, and it will evolve over time. But for a sci-fi series with both drama and comedic elements (more of the former than the latter), I might have to find a style that has more depth. If I can’t change the way I draw characters, I can at least modify my background art. And that will create more atmosphere.

I think lots and lots of watercolors and grunge will do the trick.

So here’s a list of things I want to do with this blog:

Create new banner

Find more colorful theme

Find better Tumblr widget or a simple icon

For that matter, decide if it’s better to use icons for linking to both Tumblr and Facebook; the Twitter widget can pretty much remain as it is

Create permanent link in menu to webcomic or create “Projects” page

Write more material for “About” page; include better drawing or photo of self

Include more links in the blogroll

As for the webcomic:

Create new banner

Adjust background so it’s lighter

Modify “About” page

Create “Cast” page

Might want to modify archives and RSS feed, too

Include more links in the blogroll

This will keep me busy for… hey, wait, did this thing update itself for Daylight Savings? Because I’m seeing that the draft save time is an hour… off…

Verify that blog settings were set for DST

Also, Ibuprofen and Tylenol mixed together makes a wonderful, legal narcotic substitute. Dentists know all the good things that make people feel good… *continues to feel good*

Welp, back to work.