John Ostrander: WWGJD?
Warning: spoilers below.
“Look at the flowers.”
A seemingly innocuous line that should set shivers through regular fans of the TV series, The Walking Dead. (more…)
Tagged: Look
Jen Krueger: A Mislabeled Meltdown
At least three nights a week, I do long form improvisation. Sometimes I do this in a blackbox theater for a handful of other improvisers, and sometimes I do it in a hall at the Staples Center for hundreds of comic book convention attendees. Either way, I get in front of my audience, take a suggestion, and spend the next 15 to 60 minutes pulling things out of thin air in the hopes of making that audience laugh. I’ve been doing improv for almost five years now, and though I’ve sharpened the skills associated with it, that doesn’t mean it is (or ever will be) easy to get in front of people and make something up.
I’ve also done my fair share of working with something written. Whether it be public speaking or performing from a script, I’ve gotten in front of a group of people with the objective of delivering some manner of copy more times than I can count. While some people find a script to be a comfort when speaking or performing, I definitely do not. There are hundreds of ways improvisation can go well or poorly, but having scripted lines means all you need to do to get it wrong is flub one of those lines. I feel pressure to be faithful to what’s been written and it makes this endeavor at least as challenging as improv, if not moreso. But whether dealing with improvisation or something scripted, it’s a pretty universal human feeling to be nervous in front of an audience since no one wants to look bad or mess up.
So why is everybody giving Michael Bay so much shit about the Samsung CES press event?
Look, I get that some of Bay’s works are so big and silly that they’ve been the source of many punchlines in the past. I’m sure I’ve even made a Transformers 2 joke or two myself at some point. So when I saw tons of tweets and Facebook posts about Bay having a “meltdown” on stage, I figured someone moved beyond good-natured ribbing and into mean-spirited mocking of his work to his face, prompting the director to lose his temper and storm off. Curious, I watched a video of his supposed “meltdown” and (god help, I’m going to sound like a Buzzfeed headline) I was amazed at what actually happened.
Bay later explained on his blog that after he accidentally skipped one of the lines of the host speaking with him onstage, the teleprompter feeding them both their copy tried to compensate for the jump and went on the fritz. Watching the video, the moment the script is lost is clear even before Bay tells the host that he’s lost the prompter, and it’s this moment that made me feel bad for him. The nerves jangling as he tries to continue after that are palpable, and it’s not long before he’s simply unable to continue and walks offstage with an apology. The clip I’d thought might give me a chuckle actually ended up making my skin crawl because it and the way people have been labeling it made me so uncomfortable.
Admittedly, there are better ways Bay could’ve handled losing his place in his copy. He could’ve vamped for a moment while the teleprompter operator got the script back on track, or taken a deep breath to shake off the prepared text entirely and fully committed to winging it. I’m sure the fact that he’s a hugely famous film director means many people assume he’s used to speaking off the cuff, but the difference between speaking from a script and improvising is the difference between having turn-by-turn directions to get somewhere and just going out for a drive. When you’ve left the house with turn-by-turn directions, losing them suddenly is nerve-wracking, no matter how many times you’ve been behind the wheel. So what exactly is it about Bay’s response to this script flub that bears labeling what happened a “meltdown”?
Nothing. There was no yelling, no veins bulging, no expletives or accusations laying blame. Bay left the stage calmly and quietly to save face when he knew the snafu had unnerved him beyond the ability to continue, which is a fairly tame reaction when all things are considered. I suspect Bay’s preexisting status as a pop cultural punching bag is the only reason he’s being mocked over this. If the same thing happened to a student in a high school play or a scientist giving a TED Talk, the reaction from those witnessing it would likely just be sympathy. Personally, I’ve never gotten so flustered on stage that I’ve had to walk off, but I hope that if I did, I’d handle it as gracefully as Michael Bay.
Wait, did I just use “Michael Bay” and “gracefully” in the same sentence? There’s a first time for everything.
Ba dum ching!
REVISED COLUMN SCHEDULE FOR THIS WEEK:
THURSDAY 2:30 EST USA: Tweeks!
THURSDAY 5:00 EST USA: Mike Gold
FRIDAY: Dennis O’Neil, Martha Thomases, Michael Davis
Michael Davis: The Gold Standard
The following article is a lesson for young creators entering the business.
Remember, the comics industry is made up of relationships and the industry is filled with the bodies of young professionals who choose to go with the flow regardless of where that flow takes them or who that flow screws with.
Bad idea.
Be very careful who you hitch your wagon too and don’t throw a good friend under the bus just because it’s what everyone else does.
Thus begins the lesson…
There is a very short list of people I’d take a bullet for. Mike Gold is on that list. Mike and I have known each other for over 20 years. I was around three when I met him.
What?
During the time I’ve known Mike, he has not only been a good friend but also a real confidant and staunch supporter. Look, it’s not easy being my supporter. I’ve been known to bring drama into certain situations and the easy (if not smart) thing to do when that occurs is to step away.
Step away, quickly and with purpose.
Mike has always stood by me even to the point where that decision could have caused real risk to his position at the time.
Mike is like family to me.
Mike does not like the San Diego Comic-Con.
I love the San Diego Comic-Con.
Mike thinks SDCC has very little to do with comics and a bunch of other not nice things.
Mike is entitled to his opinion. I respect but disagree with Mike’s opinion.
Mike and I are still like family.
Thus ended the lesson.
WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON: Even MORE Emily S. Whitten!!!
Dennis O’Neil: Superman and Me
Look, up in the sky…It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…
…a whole lot of really, really numerous photons striking a large, white rectangle.
Or: it’s remembered images and sounds careening around the inside of my skull because, pay attention now, Superman and I go back a long way.
He’s one of the first fictional people I can recall meeting, though whether our first encounter was in one of the comic books Dad bought me after Sunday Mass or as voices emanating from Mom’s kitchen radio…the details of Supes’ and my initial acquaintance I do not remember, and who cares?
I next saw Supes on a movie screen, perhaps smaller and shabbier than the one mentioned in the second paragraph above, but serving pretty much the same purpose and.. Was I outraged? Disillusioned? Shattered? Or mad?
The problem was the flying. The grade-school me was anticipating watching the Man of Steel leave the ground and zip around he sky because… well, that would be an exciting thing to see. Then – the big disappointment. First the Easter Bunny, then Santa Claus, and now…What kind of bushwa was this? Superman goes behind a rock or something and then he flies up, up. and away. Only it wasn’t him flying. No, even to a kid it was obviously some kind of drawing, like the animated cartoons that often appeared before the cowboy pictures Iliked. Movie magic? Or a dirty stinky cheat?
But I wasn’t done with Superman, nor he with me. I won a story-writing contest that was fostered by the Superman-Tim club. Club membership, which cost Mom a dime, consisted of a card, a Superman pin and a monthly magazine that featured contests and jokes and puzzles and stuff. I don’t know how many contestants won prizes – maybe everyone who entered. And the prize wasn’t great: some kind of cheesy board game with cardboard cutouts that got moved. But hey – I’d gotten rewarded for writing a story! Wonder where that might lead!
Next came the Superman television show shown in St. Louis on Sunday morning well after Dad and I returned from church. Not bad. Okay way to kill a little time before the Sunday pot roast.
Then a long hiatus. Bye for now, Superman. Was it to be bye forever?
No. Years later, by then a freelance comic book scripter living in Manhattan, an editor named Julius Schwartz asked me if I’d like to have a go at Superman. I had some misgivings. Superman was… too establishment for me. Too goody-two-shoes. And too powerful. Melodrama turns on conflict. So how do you create conflict for a dude who could tuck all the gods of Olympus into an armpit, his suit apparently lacking pockets, and still have room there for the gods of Egypt and a few sticks of deodorant? Could I do that every month? I had some doubts. But I was a professional with mouths to feed and so I took the gig. Julie agreed to let me dial down the superpowers thing and let me make another change or two and off I went. For a year. I walked away from Superman and I’m not sure why. Just because I wasn’t enjoying it much? A lot of freelancers might consider that a pretty lame reason for dumping a paying gig and I’m not sure I’d disagree with them. But dump it I did and once again, sayonara Superman.
But never say never. I’m going to the movies, probably this weekend.
FRIDAY: Martha Thomases
SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman
Cosplay Cleavage Tutorial
We’re getting to convention season, and it seems like there’s a demand for finding out how to get the sort of… proportions that superhero costumes can require. In other words, how can a woman with normal breasts look like she was drawn by J. Scott Campbell?
We’re happy to help. Go take a look at this cosplay cleavage tutorial, and with the help of bras, wires, and socks, you too can be spathic.*
- Yes, spathic is a real word. Look it up. Who said comics never taught you anything?
PHILIP JOSE FARMER’S HADON OF ANCIENT OPAR RETURNS!
Titan Books continues to re-release the Philip Jose Farmer library in January with the release of Hadon of Ancient Opar, the first of the Khokarsa Series chronicling Wold Newton’s Prehistory. Look for this title to be available in paperback and ebook on January 15th.
About Hadon of Ancient Opar:
Twelve thousand years ago the great lost city of Opar was in its prime, with its Atlantean tradition, its fabled jewels, its living goddess and Hadon, son of ancient Opar, whose claim to a throne launches him upon an enthralling and dangerous venture.
A brand-new edition of the classic novel.
DERRICK FERGUSON DELIVERS A BROOKLYN BEATDOWN
The Fight Card series continues on in 2013 with Brooklyn Beatdown by New Pulp Author, Derrick Ferguson, writing as Jack Tunney.
Ferguson described the Fight Card experience here.
Look for Fight Card: Brooklyn Beatdown in February 2013.
NEW BOOK! NEW STORIES! AND A CHANCE TO DIE IN PRINT!
Meteor House Press announces a wonderfully strange, wild new novel and and a contest! And even offers a free excerpt below!
The Abnormalities of Stringent Strange
The Abnormalities of Stringent Strange
The exploits of an apeman test pilot
The world has never seen an aviator quite like Stringent Strange. Half man, half ape, half badly added fraction, he can fly anything with wings and many things without. Under the mentorship of the unorthodox genius Professor Tobias Crinkle, our hairy hero soon gets much more than he bargains for when he finds himself up against a fiendish Nazi plot to invade and conquer America before the war has even begun!
Fortunately there exists an invention that can help him fight back against the warlike scoundrels, but the consequences of using it will propel him into even greater peril, into an alternative future where the themes and tropes of early magazine science fiction are menacingly real and coexist in perfect disharmony! Into a bracing reality where the only weapons he can rely on are the three special abnormalities he was born with…
Come and join Stringent Strange in a stupendous, mysterious, inventive adventure set in a far-flung time When Pulps Collide!
Get this at http://meteorhousepress.com/stringent/
In addition to buying the book, which will be a signed limited edition, customers can order a “deleted scene” which Rhys will write specifically for them. It will not appear in the book but will printed out from the “manuscript” and mailed with the book. In this (short) scene the reader will be killed by the author of their choice in the arena as they battle as gladiators. Here is an example: http://meteorhousepress.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/deleted1.pdfAlso, Rhys is currently writing a new novelette featuring Stringent Strange, “The Further Fangs of Suet Pudding,” http://rhysaurus.blogspot.com/2012/11/suet-pudding-returns.html. Everyone who preorders The Abnormalities of Stringent Strange, will get the ebook of “The Further Fangs of Suet Pudding” for free.Anyone who orders a deleted scene before the end of November (Two days left!), will be Tuckerized as a character in “The Further Fangs of Suet Pudding.”Go on a wild ride and learn all about THE ABNORMALITIES OF STRINGENT STRANGE! Start with the excerpt below!
Excerpt from
The Abnormalities of Stringent Strange
THE PLANE TRUTH
Sunlight flashed on the wings of the single-engine Northrop Gamma as it banked around the small cumulus that was the only cloud in the sky. The monoplane performed a final barrel roll before coming in to land and the Pratt & Whitney R-1830 14-cylinder radial engine droned comfortably as the pilot adjusted the fuel/air mix. The overinflated wheels bounced once on the hot tarmac and the propeller clattered to a standstill. Then the pilot emerged and rubbed his gloved hands.
“She’s a beauty, no doubt about it, doc. Handles like a French whore. I mean that the frills serve a purpose…”
“I comprehend the allusion,” sighed Crinkle.
“Another winner, in my opinion.”
The pilot removed his goggles and grinned. Stringent Strange was tall and muscular with a manly chin and the clear blue eyes of a hero. He was exactly the sort of fellow that girls should go wild over, but in fact he had to spend an unhealthy percentage of his test pilot’s salary on prostitutes. It was his body that was the cause of this discrepancy. It was hirsute beyond belief, the torso of a gorilla balanced on the legs of a giant lemur; and the hairs were malodorous in the extreme.
“My worst fear has been confirmed,” continued Professor Crinkle, as he rubbed his bleary eyes, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. Jack is the winner and that’s a plain fact.”
“Knowing when to quit is a useful talent, doc!”
“Yes, I suppose so, dear boy.”
Stringent began walking back to the control tower. He was in a good mood but he tried to hide his exuberance for the sake of his mentor, who trailed behind him with pouting lips. When a man’s dreams are shattered in front of him, it’s poor taste to whistle and skip. Tobias Crinkle, Ph.D., had devoted almost twenty-five years to the cutting edge of the aviation industry but dedication isn’t enough on its own. Genius counts for more and his main rival had plenty of that.
His main rival had a name. Jack Northrop.
Although Stringent felt empathy for Crinkle, his recent flight brimmed him with an almost sexual joy and he strode ahead rapidly, not caring to be brought down by the glum expression and nihilistic mutterings of the disappointed professor; but at the entrance to the control tower he turned for a last glance of the gleaming Northrop Gamma, its aerodynamic spats giving the airplane a curiously anthropomorphic appearance, like a jazz musician performing a primal dance.
Stringent’s psychology wasn’t quite that of a normal man and he often saw resemblances that no one else could perceive, or would even want to, but on this occasion he could be forgiven his conceit, for the machine did actually have the semblance of a speakeasy reveler. Three steps at a time he climbed the spiral stairway to the control room and grinned at the man who sat on a leather chair in front of a transmitter. This man had been in constant radio contact during the flight.
“A beautiful plane, Mr. Northrop,” Stringent said.
The seated man nodded once. “I’m glad you like it. I do feel bad about Tobias, but it’s a cutthroat business.”
“That’s true. We appreciate the situation.”
“Well, Jack,” cried Professor Crinkle as he emerged into the room. “It only remains for me to throw in the towel and admit I’m beaten. Stringent here says your new Gamma is something really special and I know better than to ever distrust his word on anything connected with aviation. So I’m going to quit the business and sell up.”
“That’s a shame,” said Jack. “You’re a good designer.”
The professor smiled wistfully. “Sure, but not a patch on you, and I’m not too proud to acknowledge the obvious. My own rival prototype, the Crinkle Crisp, just isn’t up to scratch. Sure, it’s faster than diarrhea in a Malay Peninsula missionary, but it doesn’t have the maneuverability of your model. Look, I don’t have a towel on me, just a pocket handkerchief, so I ought to throw that in instead.”
He bunched up the square of filthy cloth and hurled it at Jack’s head. It missed and struck the wall behind: a wholly symbolic gesture. The mucus acted like glue and it remained stuck on the wall. Stringent thought about wrenching it off, then decided not to.
Jack Northrop leaned back in his chair until the leather creaked and he made a pyramid with his fingertips. “Listen, Tobias, my new Gamma is a superb small cargo plane and does everything it should to make it the best of its kind in that category, but that doesn’t mean you should abandon all your ongoing projects. I’m extremely interested in some of your proposed innovations. The Flying Tail, for example. An aircraft without fuselage or wings, cutting drag to the minimum!”
Professor Crinkle shook his head. “I suspect you’re just flattering me, Jack. Agreed, my Flying Tail is a pretty neat idea, but the tests I’ve run on miniature models prove that it’s very unstable. And you’ve got your own low drag project, the Flying Wing.”
Jack licked his lips and lowered his voice.
“Yes, that’s a particular favorite of mine. But I’m going to come clean with the pair of you. There’s something even more special in the works. A stratospheric cruiser with a highly experimental propulsion system that’ll generate vast amounts of free power if it works properly. Forgive me if I don’t say much more at this stage.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Jack,” said Crinkle.
The leather creaked again as the occupant of the chair stood up. “Time is passing rapidly and I have an engagement in Los Angeles this evening, so I should make my farewells now.”
Stringent nodded. “Thanks for inviting us over, Mr. Northrop, and for letting me fly your Gamma.” He turned to the professor. “I know you are sore disappointed, doc, but at least you’ve been saved pumping more cash into that ridiculous Crinkle Crisp.”
“Yes, that was a rather large favor, dear boy.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Jack.
“Keep us updated about your triumphs, will you?” asked Crinkle. His reddening eyes blinked rapidly.
“Of course I will, Tobias. Maybe I’ll see you again before 1932 is out, and if you decide to let Stringent go, there’ll always be a job for him here. Have a safe journey back to…?”
“Tallahassee. That’s where we’re based.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “In Florida? But I always believed you had headquarters somewhere in Nevada.”
“We did. Then a freak sandstorm destroyed all our hangars. We had no choice but to relocate and now we’re on the far side of the continent. Rent is lower and the climate isn’t so harsh, plus I prefer the food and the local Seminole workers are reliable.”
“And I enjoy swamp whores,” added Stringent.
There was an awkward pause.
“Ahem… Yes, well, many factors contribute to the desirability of the Florida Panhandle as a suitable location for our operations, not that there will be any further products rolling off my production line. My intention is to cancel all Crinkle Industry programs. I’ve had it with aviation, Jack. I can’t even face getting in a plane to return home. I think I’ll take a train instead. Is that fine by you, Stringy?”
Stringent nodded dubiously. “I guess so.”
Jack Northrop pulled on his coat and perched a hat on his head. “If I’d known you had to come so far, I wouldn’t have invited you over just for a few hours and a solitary test flight. Damn it, Florida’s two thousand miles distant and by locomotive it’s a monstrous and vaporous journey. And I’m not referring to California when I honestly point out that you don’t look in any fit state to go back right now.”
“I amrather tired,” admitted the professor.
Jack puffed out his cheeks. “In that case, why not spend the night here on the airfield? There’s a cabin on the edge of the runway with a bunk bed and a kitchen and other facilities. I had it built so I could sometimes work late without having to go home.”
Crinkle and Stringent exchanged glances.
“Why not?” they said in unison.
The Abnormalities of Stringent Strange, copyright © 2012 by Rhys Hughes
ON DECK WITH JACK MURPHY
Author Jack Murphy has released a preview of the latest Deckard novel, Target Deck, the sequel to Reflexive Fire.
You can read the preview here.
Look for Target Deck coming this Winter.
Mindy Newell: A World Of Pure Imagination
Charlie Bucket lived with his mom and his grandparents in a dirty, downtrodden industrial city that used to be a thriving center of commerce, with factories making cars and furniture and steel and zippers and paper clips. The citizens of the city were happy to work in the factories, because they were well-paid and had wonderful benefits thanks to their unions, and all their kids were able to go to college because of the money they were able to save and the national student loan program. But then all the factories moved to China and Vietnam and India and Malaysia because the CEOs of the companies who owned the factories needed more money for more corporate jets and limousines and private islands and new mansions with elevators for their cars, and the people in China and Vietnam and India and Malaysia didn’t have unions that forced the CEOs to give wonderful wages and pesky pensions and hardy health insurance to their slaves…uh, I mean, employees.
So all the factories in Charlie’s city closed – except for one, Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Charlie’s father died because he didn’t have health insurance, and Charlie and his mom got kicked out of their 3 BR, 2 BATH, RMS W/VU apartment overlooking the harbor because the Social Security money which they depended on had been privatized, and when the market crashed, there went the monthly checks for Mrs. Bucket and Charlie. They had to move to a little, tiny house that was really too small for the two of them, and then Mr. and Mrs. Bucket’s parents came to live with them because their homes were foreclosed after the mortgage securities crisis, so things were really crowded in the little house.
Charlie tried to help out by delivering newspapers, which is how the family found out that Mr. Willy Wonka, sole owner and proprietor of the one factory left in town, had hidden five Golden Tickets in the wrappings of his Wonka Bars. The five people who found the Golden Tickets would not only win a lifetime supply of Willy Wonka chocolate, but also be taken on a private tour of the factory.
Four of the tickets are bought and found by Klaus Rave, a man who looks just like the chief pig in Animal Farm; twin brothers named Donny and Cain Coke, who are very rich and give money to philanthropic organizations like Success For All Amerikans and The Birthright Society; Alice Coltrane, a girl with a sassy, big mouth known for making hilarious barbs; and a boy named Pablo Rico, who saved up all his Social Security money after his father died and used it to go to college. But he doesn’t like women too much.
There’s only one ticket left, and Charlie is sure he is going to find it. But then it is announced that an eccentric millionaire who claims to wear magic underwear bought the final ticket. His name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary.
So Charlie is among all the other onlookers as Klaus and Donny and Cain and Alice and Pablo are greeted by Willy Wonka and led inside the magical, wonderful, chocolate factory.
Inside Willy Wonka has them all sign a contract before the tour can begin. There is lots of small print on it, and everybody grumbles, but they all sign it, because Klaus and Donny and Cain and Alice and Pablo and the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary really want to get inside and look around.
The factor is full of mind-blowing, mouth-watering, stomach-rumbling marvels like a real chocolate river, tasty flowers and mushrooms, and even delicious wallpaper. Wonka’s workers – considered the luckiest people in town, not only because they have a good job with benefits and a guaranteed pension, but also because they work for Willy Wonka – are all hard at worker. Willie Wonka warns his guests not to touch anything unless he says it’s okay, but Klaus and Donny and Cain and Alice and Pablo and the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary ignore him, and one by one, they disappear.
Klaus gets sucked into the chocolate works, after falling into the chocolate river from which he was trying to drink. Donny turns into a giant blueberry after chewing on a piece of Three-Course Dinner Gum, which was still in the experimental stages. Cain falls down a garbage chute that is for the “bad eggs” in the Chocolate Golden Egg Sorting room. Alice opens her big mouth and makes some sassy barbs about Wonkavision television, and finds herself stuck in a TV land where there are no commercial breaks and she can’t go to the bathroom.
The eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary sneaks into the Bubble Room and tastes the Fizzy Lifting Drinks. He starts to float up, up, up, and is nearly whisked into an exhaust fan on the ceiling. But he starts burping to let out the fizz and floats back down to the floor.
The tour is over. Willy Wonka says goodbye to the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary, but before he can leave, the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary demands his lifetime supply of chocolate. But Willy Wonka tells him he has violated the terms of the contract by tasting the Fizzy Lifting Drinks, and snaps out the signed contract to emphasize this.
But suddenly the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary pulled his own contract out of his magic underwear and flaunts it in Willy Wonka’s face. He revealed that Klaus, Donny, Cain, and Alice are all actually employees of the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary, and they have actually worked together, through the lawyers of the Success For Amerikans Organization and The Birthright Society, to have become the primary shareholders of the Chocolate Factory, with the eccentric millionaire whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary as Chairman, President, and CEO.
“We are moving the Chocolate Factory to China, Vietnam, India, and Malaysia,” said the eccentric Chairman, President, and CEO of the Chocolate Factory whose name is Mingus Wilbur Rosary.
“You can’t do this!” said Willie Wonka.
“I can, and it’s already done. Look around, Mr. Wonka.
Willy Wonka looked around. All his workers were gone, and men in black suits and dark sunglasses were supervising other men in overalls as they took down and broke apart the Chocolate Factory.
“And you, Mr. Willy Wonka, are out of a job.”
Artwork courtesy of The Daily Share.
TUESDAY MORNING: Emily S. Whitten
