If this edition of Quietly Judging You comes off as self-serving, big-headed or just plain braggadocious, then I apologize, for that most definitely is not my intention.
Actually... wait.
I'm not sorry.
See that name in the box to your left? That's mine. I guess that gives me the right to toot my own horn.
Toot toot.
Truth be told, I'm not as high on myself as my sharp-witted confidence may convey. The biggest hazard of being a creative person, whatever that may be, is that it leaves gaping holes in the ol' armor. Being creative isn't just mathematics or mechanical. It isn't a job in the sense that a "job" is pushing buttons to achieve a pre-determined outcome. Whether I'm designing something visually or writing something, there's most definitely a large part of me in there. For the majority of people, that display of one's soul is terrifying. Even more so for a kid who grew up fat with a bowl-cut.
That's a very green way of thinking though; I've been writing for the web for a number of years now and am as comfortable with it as I am in my underoos on a Sunday afternoon - which by coincidence are what you'll get in a signed, glossy 8x10, $35 personalized with your name. But like all creative people, one medium just isn't enough.
You see, I've recently come across a really great opportunity, and I'm looking for other creative, like-minded people to share that opportunity with. Now if you'd just give me your name, three of your friends names, and five of their friends names, we can start using this opportunity to make more incredible opportunities.
Woah, sorry, went into pyramid-scheme mode there. Where was I?
Ah yes. I'm in the comic book biz. Well, trying to be anyways. I, like many, many others, am writing a comic. At the moment the book is not under any publishing deal, but man am I in 'the zone'. This isn't the "hey we're staring a band" type commitment; in my mind this is the real deal. I'm totally and utterly living it. It's my first real foray into fictional writing and I'm terrified and scared and excited and just loving it.
You ever have one of those conversations that become these indelible little marks on your soul? That was how this project of mine started. One night my wife and I were having dinner with another couple, very good friends of ours - the male half also being my tattoo artist and future comic book co-creator. As he and I always do when we get together, we started talking comics (typically the two of us get tunnel vision at the table while our female counterparts watch in horror with a "dear God we're with the biggest geeks" look on their faces). I can't remember exactly how the conversation went, but we ended up discussing real-world logistics and superheroes, and if the army could equip us with super-powers would we do it? Of course we both answered with an excited, table-slapping YES and that spiralled into another half-hour of "OMG like what power would you have?".
That was over a year ago.
Unlike that band I always said I'd start, or that lawn I said I'd always mow, this time we're following through. It's almost as if this book is choosing us.
I don't want to get into the specific details of the book as I may save that for an a future edition of Quietly Judging You, but I think we've come up with something pretty entertaining. The book, called 'Terminals', isn't going to reinvent the superhero genre, but it is designed to take a real-world approach to it, put it's archetypes under a microscope and show what might really happen if super men and women truly existed. I like to think of it as the anti-superhero yarn. Right now I'm using the analogy that Terminals is The Breakfast Club meets Robocop meets X-Men.
What can I say, I was an affected youth.
Before I tell you more about the book, let me explain my relationship with comics. As a kid I loved superheroes. Loved them. I didn't really read comics, but I was a living, breathing, walking, talking advertisement for Marvel and DC. Sure I had some books, the odd issue here and there that came from the grab bags my mom would buy me, but I wasn't hip to any of the important comic stories of the late 80's. I do remember my very first comic though, Crisis on Infinite Earths #7 - also one of my favorite covers of all time.
The way Superman wept, holding a lifeless Supergirl still pierces me.
I've got it framed and hanging the wall in my office.
It wasn't until around '94 that I actually followed the story lines in comics and paid attention to more than just the costumes and the KAPOWS!
I was more of a Marvel kid, Amazing Spider-Man being my comic of choice, but there was a fair share of Batman and the odd Superman book in the pile next to my bed. You'll remember, folks, that this was at a time, especially for a chubby little eighth grader, when comic books were certainly not cool.
Then 1996 came around and the greatest thing happened. The thing that never thought could happen. Superman was set to fight the incredible Hulk. Captain America and Batman would go toe to toe. Marvel vs. DC was imminent.
Boy was it shit. That mini-series was so painfully bad, even to a clueless little kid like me, that I straight-up gave comics the ol' heave-ho. In four short issues I was reverted back to that kid again. The kid that really only cared about what the hero looked like.
Flash forward to around 2001 or so. I can't recall what exactly pushed me back, but there I was in the comic store. Within a month I was there every weekend, and soon after that I was there every Wednesday picking up a healthy stack of new books. For the next 8 years I pretty much read every comic ever made ever.
I never felt the desire to write my own comic, to create anything for the medium. It wasn't until that aforementioned dinner a little over a year ago that the seed was planted. Not to go all bromance on you, but my friend and Terminals co-creator and penciller, Rove, has played an integral part in my commitment to this project. Much like how I'm spilling the proverbial beans out to you here and now, showing him my story outline was an ultimate moment in geek insecurity.
You see, Rove is one of the greatest pencillers I've ever seen.
I'm not just saying that because he's a friend either, I'm truly slaphappy as to how he's not drawing every superhero book being made right now. Dude is so legit that I've got his artwork on my body permanently - Rove is also an accomplished tattoo artist; we're finishing my Daredevil sleeve tattoo at the moment. So to have him on board and excited and committed to putting his name and vitality into the book, well that was enough for me to say okay, let's do this and really take a shot. But enough of this, I don't want our next dinner or tattoo session or Terminals meeting to become awkward. If you want to check out some of Rove's work or book a tattoo you can visit his website for now.
So far I've fully scripted the first issue and the preview, issue #0, a nine-page sampler for the publisher if you will. Being my first comic writing experience I was incredibly surprised at how difficult it was once I actually sat down and tackled the darned thing. I appreciated comic writers before, but now I have a completely new respect for them. It's totally not as linear a process as writing a book or a film review or a self-serving fluff piece like this.
Forgive my ambiguity, I've been going on and on about this labor of love and I haven't given you the context of which I'm working in. Let me give you the sales pitch.
Terminals is the story of famed Unicorn wrangler Tex McCoy. When the villainous sorcerer Xaxasat casts a spell over the land of Perfectia, ridding it of it's horned, equinous beasts Tex must oh who am I kidding you're not that gullible.
I'm not going to give you any real specifics on my book. Not until it goes to the next level. If it goes to the next level.
What I can tell you is that it examines the physical and personal affects of superheroes in our reality, in our culture and at our current social status-quo. Terminals is a very literal "what if?". What if the human potential weren't as capped as we thought? It's very much an action book as much as it is a drama and a comedy. It's this neat little homage to everything I love.
If that abundantly soft sell hasn't peaked your curiosity then you should know the book prominently features a talking bear, a 19th century ghost, a zombie hobo and a girl who expels nano-controlled bees through every orifice in her body. So how many copies can I put you down for?
I promise the next edition of Quietly Judging You will bring you back to your regularly scheduled sex, violence and old-timey hair cuts. For now though I leave you with the entire monologue of Terminals Issue #0. I won't explain the visuals, I'll leave that up to you.
Page 1 Panel 1, etc.
I stand here, hundreds of feet above the ground, not as a God. I stand suspended as a man. As an insect. A mere speck in existence.
A blip.
A blink.
You would look at me and call me a superhero, a para-human, whatever. If I'm not Wynn Collins, I'm a dead man.
A man created me, just as a man created them. The villains. Are they truly evil, or do they wish to just live their lives completely and utterly for themselves? Somewhere in there, you can't help but respect that. What separates me from them? Is it because I don't kill and steal? Surely I'm just as dangerous. The potential to do terrible things lies in all of us, but I'm caught in a loop-hole; I have to stop them. Not because I know better, but because I signed the permission slip.
I could be slinging americanos for $8.50 an hour, but now I'm pulling a masked man's molar out of my boot.
I had nothing to lose, I suppose. I'm a sucker for authority and a major pushover. Major Pushover, now there's a superhero name. I'll have an MP embroidered on my cape.
You could say I left one prison only to find myself in another.
You see us as you want to see us. You see us as an animal, a telepath, a freak of nature, a muscle-head and a walking corpse. Correct? That's the way we saw each other this morning. We were created. We were normal, unusual, entirely unremarkable humans. Then our names were pulled out of the scientific lottery.
We were given gifts. Curses. Responsibilities. Burdens. Abilities. Disabilities.
We were not up for what we signed on for. Of all the powers we were given not one of us had the power to go back in time and change our minds. But would we?
Protecting the country. A thankless job. What good is the victory when you can't enjoy the spoils. I sound bitter but I'm not. Just young. Just scared.
We are all going to die soon. Not in the figurative, over-dramatic “we're all dead on the inside now” kind of way. In the literal “worms are eating their way through my sternum” way. That was all part of the plan, you see. Like I said, there's not much difference between us and them. They kill you, we kill them, you kill us. The circle of life. The monkey holds the lion.
Just as any story unfolds, this one has it's ups and downs. This one has its love. Its terror. Its deceit.
It's as human as much as it is inhuman. It has family. It has hope. It is completely and utterly everything all of us have to face, the villain with the mask. Life.
It's not all shades of grey however. The evil that men and women do are real, as real as you or I. This isn't fantasy. Legends are passed down for generations, why are we surprised to finally see them? These threats, they come in every size, shape, color, every possible angle and vantage point and possibility. Half beautiful. Half rotten. Whether you want to believe or not, these bad men and women are very real, and will force you to make a leap of faith that you don't want to. If you don't you're either lucky or dead.
I stand here ready to kill those that created us. Created only to be destroyed. Why does a team of forgotten souls even bother when their clocks are ticking, deafeningly? Perhaps we're fulfilling a destiny. Maybe it's some misplaced sense of heroism.
I like to think we're all simply terminal.
CAPTION: Next... “The Big Bang”!
I'm not sorry.
See that name in the box to your left? That's mine. I guess that gives me the right to toot my own horn.
Toot toot.
Truth be told, I'm not as high on myself as my sharp-witted confidence may convey. The biggest hazard of being a creative person, whatever that may be, is that it leaves gaping holes in the ol' armor. Being creative isn't just mathematics or mechanical. It isn't a job in the sense that a "job" is pushing buttons to achieve a pre-determined outcome. Whether I'm designing something visually or writing something, there's most definitely a large part of me in there. For the majority of people, that display of one's soul is terrifying. Even more so for a kid who grew up fat with a bowl-cut.
That's a very green way of thinking though; I've been writing for the web for a number of years now and am as comfortable with it as I am in my underoos on a Sunday afternoon - which by coincidence are what you'll get in a signed, glossy 8x10, $35 personalized with your name. But like all creative people, one medium just isn't enough.
You see, I've recently come across a really great opportunity, and I'm looking for other creative, like-minded people to share that opportunity with. Now if you'd just give me your name, three of your friends names, and five of their friends names, we can start using this opportunity to make more incredible opportunities.
Woah, sorry, went into pyramid-scheme mode there. Where was I?
Ah yes. I'm in the comic book biz. Well, trying to be anyways. I, like many, many others, am writing a comic. At the moment the book is not under any publishing deal, but man am I in 'the zone'. This isn't the "hey we're staring a band" type commitment; in my mind this is the real deal. I'm totally and utterly living it. It's my first real foray into fictional writing and I'm terrified and scared and excited and just loving it.
You ever have one of those conversations that become these indelible little marks on your soul? That was how this project of mine started. One night my wife and I were having dinner with another couple, very good friends of ours - the male half also being my tattoo artist and future comic book co-creator. As he and I always do when we get together, we started talking comics (typically the two of us get tunnel vision at the table while our female counterparts watch in horror with a "dear God we're with the biggest geeks" look on their faces). I can't remember exactly how the conversation went, but we ended up discussing real-world logistics and superheroes, and if the army could equip us with super-powers would we do it? Of course we both answered with an excited, table-slapping YES and that spiralled into another half-hour of "OMG like what power would you have?".
That was over a year ago.
Unlike that band I always said I'd start, or that lawn I said I'd always mow, this time we're following through. It's almost as if this book is choosing us.
I don't want to get into the specific details of the book as I may save that for an a future edition of Quietly Judging You, but I think we've come up with something pretty entertaining. The book, called 'Terminals', isn't going to reinvent the superhero genre, but it is designed to take a real-world approach to it, put it's archetypes under a microscope and show what might really happen if super men and women truly existed. I like to think of it as the anti-superhero yarn. Right now I'm using the analogy that Terminals is The Breakfast Club meets Robocop meets X-Men.
What can I say, I was an affected youth.
Before I tell you more about the book, let me explain my relationship with comics. As a kid I loved superheroes. Loved them. I didn't really read comics, but I was a living, breathing, walking, talking advertisement for Marvel and DC. Sure I had some books, the odd issue here and there that came from the grab bags my mom would buy me, but I wasn't hip to any of the important comic stories of the late 80's. I do remember my very first comic though, Crisis on Infinite Earths #7 - also one of my favorite covers of all time.The way Superman wept, holding a lifeless Supergirl still pierces me.
I've got it framed and hanging the wall in my office.
It wasn't until around '94 that I actually followed the story lines in comics and paid attention to more than just the costumes and the KAPOWS!
I was more of a Marvel kid, Amazing Spider-Man being my comic of choice, but there was a fair share of Batman and the odd Superman book in the pile next to my bed. You'll remember, folks, that this was at a time, especially for a chubby little eighth grader, when comic books were certainly not cool.
Then 1996 came around and the greatest thing happened. The thing that never thought could happen. Superman was set to fight the incredible Hulk. Captain America and Batman would go toe to toe. Marvel vs. DC was imminent.
Boy was it shit. That mini-series was so painfully bad, even to a clueless little kid like me, that I straight-up gave comics the ol' heave-ho. In four short issues I was reverted back to that kid again. The kid that really only cared about what the hero looked like.
Flash forward to around 2001 or so. I can't recall what exactly pushed me back, but there I was in the comic store. Within a month I was there every weekend, and soon after that I was there every Wednesday picking up a healthy stack of new books. For the next 8 years I pretty much read every comic ever made ever.
I never felt the desire to write my own comic, to create anything for the medium. It wasn't until that aforementioned dinner a little over a year ago that the seed was planted. Not to go all bromance on you, but my friend and Terminals co-creator and penciller, Rove, has played an integral part in my commitment to this project. Much like how I'm spilling the proverbial beans out to you here and now, showing him my story outline was an ultimate moment in geek insecurity.
You see, Rove is one of the greatest pencillers I've ever seen.
I'm not just saying that because he's a friend either, I'm truly slaphappy as to how he's not drawing every superhero book being made right now. Dude is so legit that I've got his artwork on my body permanently - Rove is also an accomplished tattoo artist; we're finishing my Daredevil sleeve tattoo at the moment. So to have him on board and excited and committed to putting his name and vitality into the book, well that was enough for me to say okay, let's do this and really take a shot. But enough of this, I don't want our next dinner or tattoo session or Terminals meeting to become awkward. If you want to check out some of Rove's work or book a tattoo you can visit his website for now.
So far I've fully scripted the first issue and the preview, issue #0, a nine-page sampler for the publisher if you will. Being my first comic writing experience I was incredibly surprised at how difficult it was once I actually sat down and tackled the darned thing. I appreciated comic writers before, but now I have a completely new respect for them. It's totally not as linear a process as writing a book or a film review or a self-serving fluff piece like this.
Forgive my ambiguity, I've been going on and on about this labor of love and I haven't given you the context of which I'm working in. Let me give you the sales pitch.
Terminals is the story of famed Unicorn wrangler Tex McCoy. When the villainous sorcerer Xaxasat casts a spell over the land of Perfectia, ridding it of it's horned, equinous beasts Tex must oh who am I kidding you're not that gullible.
I'm not going to give you any real specifics on my book. Not until it goes to the next level. If it goes to the next level.
What I can tell you is that it examines the physical and personal affects of superheroes in our reality, in our culture and at our current social status-quo. Terminals is a very literal "what if?". What if the human potential weren't as capped as we thought? It's very much an action book as much as it is a drama and a comedy. It's this neat little homage to everything I love.
If that abundantly soft sell hasn't peaked your curiosity then you should know the book prominently features a talking bear, a 19th century ghost, a zombie hobo and a girl who expels nano-controlled bees through every orifice in her body. So how many copies can I put you down for?
I promise the next edition of Quietly Judging You will bring you back to your regularly scheduled sex, violence and old-timey hair cuts. For now though I leave you with the entire monologue of Terminals Issue #0. I won't explain the visuals, I'll leave that up to you.
Page 1 Panel 1, etc.
I stand here, hundreds of feet above the ground, not as a God. I stand suspended as a man. As an insect. A mere speck in existence.
A blip.
A blink.
You would look at me and call me a superhero, a para-human, whatever. If I'm not Wynn Collins, I'm a dead man.
A man created me, just as a man created them. The villains. Are they truly evil, or do they wish to just live their lives completely and utterly for themselves? Somewhere in there, you can't help but respect that. What separates me from them? Is it because I don't kill and steal? Surely I'm just as dangerous. The potential to do terrible things lies in all of us, but I'm caught in a loop-hole; I have to stop them. Not because I know better, but because I signed the permission slip.
I could be slinging americanos for $8.50 an hour, but now I'm pulling a masked man's molar out of my boot.
I had nothing to lose, I suppose. I'm a sucker for authority and a major pushover. Major Pushover, now there's a superhero name. I'll have an MP embroidered on my cape.
You could say I left one prison only to find myself in another.
You see us as you want to see us. You see us as an animal, a telepath, a freak of nature, a muscle-head and a walking corpse. Correct? That's the way we saw each other this morning. We were created. We were normal, unusual, entirely unremarkable humans. Then our names were pulled out of the scientific lottery.
We were given gifts. Curses. Responsibilities. Burdens. Abilities. Disabilities.
We were not up for what we signed on for. Of all the powers we were given not one of us had the power to go back in time and change our minds. But would we?
Protecting the country. A thankless job. What good is the victory when you can't enjoy the spoils. I sound bitter but I'm not. Just young. Just scared.
We are all going to die soon. Not in the figurative, over-dramatic “we're all dead on the inside now” kind of way. In the literal “worms are eating their way through my sternum” way. That was all part of the plan, you see. Like I said, there's not much difference between us and them. They kill you, we kill them, you kill us. The circle of life. The monkey holds the lion.
Just as any story unfolds, this one has it's ups and downs. This one has its love. Its terror. Its deceit.
It's as human as much as it is inhuman. It has family. It has hope. It is completely and utterly everything all of us have to face, the villain with the mask. Life.
It's not all shades of grey however. The evil that men and women do are real, as real as you or I. This isn't fantasy. Legends are passed down for generations, why are we surprised to finally see them? These threats, they come in every size, shape, color, every possible angle and vantage point and possibility. Half beautiful. Half rotten. Whether you want to believe or not, these bad men and women are very real, and will force you to make a leap of faith that you don't want to. If you don't you're either lucky or dead.
I stand here ready to kill those that created us. Created only to be destroyed. Why does a team of forgotten souls even bother when their clocks are ticking, deafeningly? Perhaps we're fulfilling a destiny. Maybe it's some misplaced sense of heroism.
I like to think we're all simply terminal.
CAPTION: Next... “The Big Bang”!
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