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So glad it’s finally Free Comic Book Day! Lettering Jamal Igle’s MOLLY DANGER has been a blast and I’m so grateful that I can finally hold a physical copy of this book in my hands! Hope you guys dig it!
Not to be outdone by FCBD, I also received Kyle Starks’s amazing THE LEGEND OF RICKY THUNDER collection, a couple of fantastic mini comics, and some pretty rad Ricky Thunder stickers and trading cards in the mail today!
And, even though I technically received this a week ago, thanks to my best friends, Kev and Jody, I finally got my hands on a copy of THE LEGEND OF ZELDA: HYRULE HISTORIA.
Zelda is probably my all-time FAVORITE video game series and I have been wanting a Zelda art book for the looongest time. So you can imagine how absolutely THRILLED I was when the HISTORIA was announced last year.
(I don’t know if you can tell, but I am cackling maniacally behind the book.)
So, yeah, Ice Cube, I guess today was a good day…
Hey kids,
I’ve got a pretty exciting announcement to make.
As most of you know, in addition to writing comics, I also letter comics and have been lucky enough to have worked on a number of fantastic books. About a month back, I was hired to letter what is easily one of the biggest titles of my career thus far: Jamal Igle’s MOLLY DANGER!
Most of you will recognize Jamal Igle from his fantastic runs drawing books like SUPERGIRL and NIGHTWING.
MOLLY is his first all-ages creator-owned graphic album series. “She’s smart, and she’s incredibly brave. She’s the protector of Coopersville, the Princess of Finesse, the petite powerhouse known only as Molly Danger! But what secrets threaten everything she holds dear?” You can read more about both Jamal and Molly here.
And, as if that’s not cool enough, on May 4th, you can pick up the first eleven pages of the world’s most powerful 10-year-old girl’s story — with my letters : ) — for FREE in the MOLLY DANGER/PRINCELESS Free Comic Book Day book from Action Lab Entertainment!
You can read a preview of the MOLLY DANGER FCBD story here (although, I CAN NOT stress enough the fact that these are not final letters.).
Check back here for more MOLLY and non-MOLLY related comic book announcements in the near future. Like, say, next week-ish. ; )
Three individual little old men, each wearing little old men driving hats, complimented me on my little old man driving hat this afternoon while I was out running errands.
After several months — years? — of disguising myself in their garb, learning their language, and earning their trust, I have finally been accepted by the local tribe — or matlock — of little old men.
Tune in next time, as I further investigate the time-honored customs of: offering small hard candies to one another; loudly complaining about the length of hair, piercings, and tribal markings of area young; and uncover the mystery of the “early bird” dinner.
Hey kids,
Just came across this mini documentary about creative individuals in Toronto, called CREATIVE DIFFERENCES, that largely features my good friend and longtime comic book collaborator, The Amazing David Brame!
(Keep an eye out just before the five minute mark and you catch just a quick glimpse of SKOTTIE ROCKET, GAY SPACE PIRATE, a comic we created together!)
Give it a watch!
Trying to have a conversation with my aunt anymore is like trying to talk with a possessed Sigourney Weaver in GHOSTBUSTERS. “There is no JoAnn, only cancer.” Here’s a few fun things we talked about at hospice today!
ME: *not saying anything, just minding my own business and working*
HER: FRANKIE WILL JUST YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?
HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: Can you repeat that? I didn’t hear you.
HER: FRANKIE IS GOING TO BLOW UP.
ME: What’s the matter?
HER: Frankie did something.
ME: What did Frankie do?
HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: Did Frankie do something good? Or did Frankie do something bad?
HER: BAD.
ME: What did Frankie do bad?
HER: EVERYTHING.
ME: OK. I’m going to go home now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.
HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: What was that?
HER: GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.
ME: …
ME: I– OK. I’m going. I love you.
HER: …
ME: I love you.
HER: …
ME: I love you. Do you love me?
HER: NO.
(Hey! This was my 300th post on this blog! Woo! I’m going to go drink to forget now.)
I had this dream where I lost my pup, Chloe Godzilla Cvetkovic, in large pack of other, almost identical-looking beagles. I searched and I searched by, try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to spot my pup.*
So, instead of trying to search through them all, dog by dog, I decided to think smarter not harder and have the entire pack perform a series of very specific tricks. First, sit. Then, lay down. Roll over. Sit up. Give paw. Speak.
And while all the dogs were sitting and rolling over and giving paw, I quickly spotted the one pup who was instead completely ignoring me and busy sticking her entire head into one of my slippers, with a great big stupid moron puppy grin on her face.
And that’s how I found my Chloe again. : )
*The beginning part of this dream is almost identical to a reoccurring nightmare I used to have when I was a child, where I lost my Pop Pop in a large group of men who all looked just like my Pop Pop, but I couldn’t seem to find the Pop Pop that was mine. I would wake up crying and make my parents call my Pop Pop, just to make sure that he was still there.
Hey kids,
So I bought and read the latest issue of AMELIA COLE AND THE UNKNOWN WORLD today, a comic I have recommended before, and found an awesome little Easter Egg at the bottom of page 16.
Yep, Officer Freeman is pickin’ up cold, refreshing six-pack of Patrick’s Punch-Up Brew! LOL!
Issue number four of AMELIA COLE is out now and is written by Eisner and Harvey award winners Adam P. Knave & D.J. Kirkbride, drawn by Nick Brokenshire, and lettered by Rachel Deering. And, as if you needed another reason to be reading this book, all November proceeds of AMELIA COLE — and other MonkeyBrain titles — are being donated to the Hero Initiative! So read some awesome comics and help out a worthy cause!
…but I started playing around with a new personal logo today.
It’s not one hundred percent finished. I’m still tinkering with it. I’ll probably continue to tinker with it until I get sick of it and design a new one. I’ve already adapted it for a new blog header (look up) and it will eventually be on new business cards and whatnot. And, as always, colors are subject to change based on need or boredom. But I really do like the color orange, though. A lot. So I’ll probably still use it as the default logo color.
What do you think?
My friend Scott posts a daily writing prompt for his creative friends on Facebook. Today’s subject was “The oddest item left in a lost-and-found box.” I usually only respond with a haiku or a quick paragraph, just to participate or to get the creative juices flowing before I start writing comics or working on freelance stuff. Today, I wrote this:
The Bottle
I told the security guard at the _______ that I lost my umbrella and could I please see if someone turned it in at the lost and found.
He looked up from his newspaper, half-shrugged, and pointed down the adjacent hall. “Box’s in the closet. Second door on the left.”
I walked down the hall, looking behind me to check if the guy could still see me from the security desk. Not from back behind the sports section, he couldn’t.
I opened the door, spotted the box on the floor, and started digging.
There were a few dogeared paperbacks, a workout DVD, a busted disc man, some janky-ass knotted up headphones, two country and one gospel music CDs, three action figures, a raggedy doll, a baseball, an old shoe, a cell phone, car keys, a camera, an umbrella – That’s why you always tell the guard you lost your umbrella. Every lost and found box has at least one. – one envelope containing photographs taken at a party and another holding twelve dollars and sixty-three cents.
All labeled with the date they went into the box.
Tip Number 1: If you’re just out for the thrill of the hunt, look for the labels with the oldest date. Nobody’s coming back for those. Tip Number 2: You have to be careful if you take more recent deposits, especially electronics and things of value. Sometimes the guards do actually do they’re jobs make you sign in or, at the very least, will remember a face. Tip Number 3: Don’t hit the same place twice in one week and, if you do, at least wait until a different guard is on post.
I pick up the cell phone, the camera, both envelopes and stuff them in my pants pocket – I can maybe get some money for the gadgets and the party pics might be worth a laugh. – and take the umbrella, so the guard doesn’t notice how long I was back there and start to suspect what else I may have taken.
I shift the leftover items a bit, so it doesn’t look too obvious, and, just before I stand up and close the closet door, I spot it.
Down at the bottom of the box, hidden underneath a couple of books and loose sheets of what look like someone’s chemistry notes, is a small roundish greenish bottle. It looks almost like a snow globe, except there isn’t a miniature city scene proving you visited Niagara Falls or Disneyland or wherever inside and the glitter doesn’t settle at the bottom. It just keeps swirling. And GLOWING.
Written in small letters on a bronze plate are the words THE GHOST OF JEBEDIAH HOLLINGSWORTH.
I pick it up by the red ribbon wrapped around the neck and, for a second, consider removing the cork to see what’s inside.
I stifle the urge and stuff the bottle in pocket of my hoodie. It will make for a cool conversation piece on my coffee table or mantle. The ghost I stole.
“Found it!” I sang, gleefully waving the umbrella as I marched past the security desk and out the door. The guard acknowledged with a grunt, although, I’m not entirely sure if he even looked up from his paper.
Now there’s something you should probably know about me. I’m not exactly the superstitious type. I don’t believe in ghosts or the boogeyman, magic, witchcraft, voodoo, hoodoo, or Yoo-Hoo.
But none of my problems started until I took that damned bottle…
My Aunt — my mother’s sister, who has lived with them for the two and a half years since my grandfather passed — has been sick for the past week or so and was just diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer.
I mentioned that I was angry at a woman who said some pretty counter-productive things to my Aunt at the hospital yesterday. Then, a friend of mine on Facebook — I won’t name who. It doesn’t really matter. — mentioned that I wasn’t really mad at this woman; I was mad at God for taking my Aunt too soon. Just to get this out of the way, once and for all, this was my response:
I’m an atheist so, no, I’m not mad at “God” for “taking my Aunt way too soon.” I’m mad that cancer is such a fucking douchebag of a disease. I’m mad at the fact that there’s nothing that can be done except “making her comfortable.” I’m mad at the people who write off cancer as “God’s Will” when they have no idea what else to say, because any GOD who WILLS such a horrible fucking disease on a person who so devoutly worships him has got to be kind of an asshole. I’m mad at this woman who came to see my Aunt and told her how LUCKY she was and how much she ENVIED my Aunt that she would get to “meet Jesus soon.” I’m mad that my Aunt will do anything a complete stranger asks because they say “Jesus loves you,” but ignores and fights me when I say “I love you.” I’m mad at my Aunt for believing that because she has cancer she’s going to die tomorrow when she could still live and enjoy life for several more months or years if she fought for it. I’m mad at the fact that I can’t get her to eat or drink anything, even though she’s weak and dehydrated because she HASN’T been eating or drinking, and fights me at every spoonful because she’s basically given up. I’m mad at the fact that I go in there every day, from nine o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock at night, to try and take care of her, feed her, talk to her, read to her, that I am strong for ten to twelve hours a day because she needs me to be strong, neglecting my own health and well-being, and then I go home every night so weary and frustrated and there’s no one to care for me when I fall apart. I’m mad at the fact that I have to hide all of my emotions while I’m there to take care of everyone else and have nowhere to direct any of that stress and anger and sadness when I get home. I’m mad that I’m generally pretty private about my atheism but the one time I say that I’m sick of hearing about “God’s Will” and “Jesus’s love,” people want to cram “God’s Will” and “Jesus’s love” down my throat. I’m sure there a few other things that I’m mad at that I just can’t think of at the moment. But, no, I’m not mad at “God.”
