You’re going to need a hardhat.

Let me know what you think!

I have also written a Christmas story. If all goes well, you may be able to read it in a few weeks. If not, I’ll have to hang on to it and try to sell it next year, since I didn’t write it until yesterday. Christmas holiday themed things have a rather narrow window of only about half a year, you know.

At any rate, I found this article over at The Comics Detective about one particular trial involving Will Eisner, one of the greats in the biz. The complete transcripts of Eisner’s testimony are available there. I’ve only had a chance to read the first few pages, but it’s fascinating stuff. My favorite line so far comes from the judge (who just seems really impatient and annoyed with the whole lawsuit): “I don’t know that a man in tights can be copyrighted.”

Splinters

…

“What?” Claude pulled open the door and stepped out onto the floor of the press area. Buck watched as he approached the shattered glass and nudged a few shards with his foot.

Buck heard a high pitched yelp, and a girl plunged from above to fall on Claude. Claude shouted in pain and fury and collapsed beneath a sprawling young woman half his size. A red sash obscured the bottom half of her face, and the top of her head was dominated by a short but wild shock of brown hair. She wore what appeared to be red aerobics tights beneath a jean jacket. Cursing, rolled off Claude and lurched to her feet holding her head. Buck saw cracks in the warehouse floor.

“The hell was that?” demanded Flanagan. “Was that Claude?”

“Some girl just fell through the skylight,” Buck told him. “She looks okay, though.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but go fix it.”

…

#

It’s hard to argue against the Fantastic Four’s boast of being “The World’s Greatest Comic Magazine.” It’s high concept science fiction that perfectly represents the attitudes of the ’60s, and the book revolutionized superhero books at the time. It’s likely the superhero would have faded out long before now if not for Reed Richards’s ill-conceived plan to take his girlfriend into space and get laid beat the Russians into space.

As I’m reading this first issue (November, 1961), a lot of things jump out at me, and I was having too much fun not to share. To the jump!

First off, if anyone ever doubts the power of The King, they just need to check out this book. The monster designs are incredible. I mean, just check out this guy on the cover.

I love the Mole Man’s design, too.

Also, the entire page where our heroes venture into space, just to be assaulted by the cosmic rays that give them their powers, is iconic. Every version of this scene drawn since has paid homage to Kirby’s version somehow. None of the silliness I’m about to point out can be blamed on Kirby’s mad penciling skills.

If you’re not familiar with The Marvel Method, this book is a good example of it in full force. Back in the 1960s, one man wrote most (if not all) of Marvel’s comics: Stan Lee. He had a number of artists, including Kirby here. So Stan would write a brief synopsis of the story for the artist, who would draw it up however they wanted. Then Stan would go back in and fill in the dialog. For a small group of guys just trying to pump out a bunch of magazines every month, it must have been an extremely efficient system. But it shows in places like the page above. Sometimes the writer wasn’t trusting the art enough, which is why you get lines like Ben’s “–Can’t move!–Got to lie down!” when clearly we can see that he’s just done a face plant on the floor. (We still see this problem today – it’s a common rookie writer mistake.)

I like Johnny’s “My body feels hot–like it’s on fire!” though. Foreshadowing!

Some of my favorite moments take place in the first half of the book. There’s danger, so Reed has sent out the signal for the Fantastic Four to assemble. Let’s watch comics’ first family make their way across town, shall we?

First up is Sue Storm, the Invisible Girl.

This is exactly how I get around Manhattan when I’m there. I hop in a cab, don’t say anything, and hope that they eventually get to where I need to go. At this point I can conclude only that Sue is either an idiot or really doesn’t want to be in the FF at all, and was secretly hoping the danger would be gone by the time she got there.

To her credit, though, she hasn’t destroyed half the city in her journey, which is more than I can say about these next two knuckleheads.

Thing crashes his way through too-small doorways (which, really, he can’t be blamed too much for), has a little run-in with understandably freaked cops, and then rips up the street so he can travel via sewer. Naturally. Unfortunately there’s no manhole cover handy when he needs to exit. Ben’s solution?

Yes, what an idiot this driver is! Crazy New York driver! What is this, the first time a giant rock dude has crawled out of the middle of the street? (Again, though, great art – you can really feel that impact and hear the crunch of the car.)

My favorite is Johnny, though, who ups the ante on inadvertent near-catastrophe. We meet Johnny Storm at a garage, where he’s just now finished repairs on someone’s vehicle. If this person just knew the noble hero who just changed out their spark plugs, surely they’d ask for his autogr-

Well, fuck. If cars are his second favorite thing in the world after being the Torch, I’d hate to see how he treats his third favorite thing. Actually, we’ll probably see exactly how that goes when he starts dating in a couple issues.

Understandably panicked by the Torch’s appearance in the airspace over New York City, the military responds.

Yes, I can’t imagine why the pilots in sealed jet fighters traveling just below the speed of sound can’t hear you. By the way, you now owe the National Guard about half a million dollars for those F-86s. That’s a lot of oil changes.

The best though?

Clearly terrified of this flaming man doing loops over Fifth Avenue, one of these pilots has launched no less than a nuclear fraking missile at poor Johnny. Keep in mind, this is in the airspace directly over New York. Cold War America really didn’t screw around! Luckily, Reed stretches to intercept the missile and toss it out into the harbor, where it explodes “harmlessly.” Does this explain Long Island?

Once the team if finally assembled, Reed explains that a number of power plants are being destroyed across the world, demolished by monsters rising out of the Earth. He works his genius mojo and determines the point of origin as the mysterious Monster Island. Nice work, egghead.

On Monster Island (or under it, rather), they encounter Mole Man, and also this:

Holy shit! Seriously, Mole Man, I know you got this whole vendetta against the surface world and all but think about what you’ve got here. For five minutes. The Valley of Diamonds, which could potentially alter the world’s economy and save the lives of countless future African citizens from De Beers slave mines is never mentioned again. Why would it? We’ve got monsters to fight!

So our adventurers escape from the Mole Man’s army of subterranean terrors, dragging the runt along so he doesn’t get away. Now time for Mr. Fantastic to drag his power-grid-wrecking ass to jail, am I right?

Goddammit. Who knew Ben was the brains behind this operation?

Overall, character development is paper thin. Of the main characters, all we learn is that Reed is a scientist (supposedly smart, but all he does is screw up despite Ben’s perfectly reasonable warnings), Johnny likes cars, his sister Sue likes Reed for some reason, and Ben is a curmudgeon. Actually, I’m not sure if Ben is really that grumpy or if he just hates Reed on general principle because he has a crush on Sue. I don’t think Johnny and Ben say two words to each other the entire issue, which if funny given how their relationship goes on to define so much of what is fun about the FF later.

The rest of the book is spent showing off their powers. I have to be fair, though; Stan was writing for a young audience, and keeping the characters simple would be a bonus. Especially if you’re also writing ten other books that week. Who can remember all those details? At any rate, Stan would go on to start developing them properly in the next issue, which is when the tension between the characters begins to ramp up and their individual personalities start to shine through the gloss of their super-powers.

It’s funny, but the Mole Man is the most well developed character in this first issue. He gets a whole story about how everyone mocks him for being ugly. He travels the world in an epic search for a place where he can belong, and finds it at the center of the earth with the monsters. He’s been nearly blinded in the process, and his other senses have been heightened to compensate. Clearly a man of considerable willpower and intelligence, he’s dominated the creatures that live beneath the Earth’s crust and directed them to a fairly ingenious plot. It’s an impressive story of a talented man driven mad by the petty cruelties of so-called humanity.

And what do our noble heroes have to say about it?

Nice one, Reed. Four Freedoms Plaza needs to schedule some sensitivity seminars.

With the first volume I was most struck by just how amazing they made Superman. He was powerful and could perform phenomenal feats, and the reader feels great just watching him do these things. All of Superman’s greatest traits are showcased, from his selfless compassion to his intelligence (which is often overlooked).

Some people complain that Superman is too powerful, and they can’t identify with him as a result. That’s all bullshit. It’s not like more the modest powers possessed by the likes of Spider-Man or  Captain America are attainable by us lowly humans, either. Even non-powered heroes like Batman are far better than any real person ever will be. Powers are little more than plot devices, anyway. They aren’t important. The personality behind them is what matters, just like any other genre. Kal-el of Krypton has plenty of personality to identify with.

The second volume is focused on another theme: the world is a better place with Superman. To me, this is vital. In my years of studying stories of heroes, from the epics of Gilgamesh and Beowulf to The Odyssey and Star Wars and Seven Samurai, one of the most important questions asked of any good hero story is whether the hero and their deeds makes their world a better place. Gilgamesh returns from his quests for immortality to discover that his people haven’t just gotten along just fine without him, they’ve actually thrived in his absence. Beowulf’s heroic deeds brought nothing but trouble on his people. The motley band of surviving ronin at the end of Seven Samurai muse on what it means that the people they’ve historically oppressed are capable of turning on them or abandoning them when the warriors are no longer needed. What does it mean to be a hero? And who gets more out of the experience? Is it worth the collateral damage?

By the end of All Star Superman volume 2, I’m convinced that this is a book that has found a hero who makes the world a better place. His legacy is inspiring. His actions improve lives. He has stopped evil that wasn’t somehow his own fault. Even when he’s just a character on a page, Supes changes things.

I’ll need to reread volume 1 and then this one again to really catch everything (it’s that kind of book), but my initial impression is that this book has effectively made the case for Superman. Not that he really needed any help, but it’s nice anyway.

Anyway, here are the first few hundred words of an as-yet-untitled Quivering Jack story.

With that, Quivering Jack decided to make his exit. He dashed toward the alley wall, sprinted up the brick to grasp a drainage pipe, and flipped up and over the edge of the roof. I stared after him as his haughty laugh filtered back to taunt the mugger, who cursed in agony.

The 911 operator picked up and I stammered out my request for an ambulance. When I mentioned Jack’s name I could almost hear the operator roll his eyes. Then he asked who I was.

“My name’s Fletcher,” I said. “I’m his PA.”

#

I thought it was pretty great. The voice cast is excellent – Keri Russell, Nathan Fillion, and Alfred Molina lead, with smaller roles for the likes of Rosario Dawson, Oliver Platt, and Virginia Madsen (oh, and now I see it also featured Beth from NewsRadio – I’ve always liked her). It’s a solid telling of Diana’s origin story that doesn’t pull any punches (though there’s a suspicious lack of blood on the swords – I guess decapitating someone is okay unless there’s actually blood, then look out!). My only complaint would be the same as with Justice League: New Frontier, that it needed another twenty minutes or so for some character development.

On a personal level, I thought it was awesome that they didn’t give Wonder Woman the ability to fly on her own. She had to use the old invisible jet to get around (actually, I always thought a jet would be the best way to get around even if you can fly – I imagine it would only take one mid-flight bug swallowing to send you scrambling to your local superhero vehicle dealer). As I watched her kicking the crap out of a monster in a dark New York alley, I couldn’t help but think of my Scarlet Ranger (whose origin is rooted in Greek mythology as well). In the Justice League animated series I never quite connected the two, as Wonder Woman was always flying around, but here I really saw it. Really, Kelly and Diana are nothing alike in terms of personality, and Diana is a far more skilled combatant, but it was fun to to see how Kelly might look in battle.

It put me in the mood to write her again, so we’ll see what comes of that.

I’ve nabbed a gargantuan tome of short stories by T.C. Boyle, on Gay’s recommendation.

(Speaking of Gay, she’s got a pair of new stories up that you should check out, here and here.)

I do occasionally venture into that world of non-genre, contemporary fiction. A quick perusal of my bookshelves will find Rick Bass’s The Watch, Mark Richard’s The Ice at the Bottom of the World, and Eudora Welty’s A Curtain of Green. As I recall, each had at least a couple of stories I found excellent, though it’s been some time since I read any of them.

There’s also Colson Whitehead’s The Intuitionist, which I loved. It’s sort of an absurdest espionage story involving elevator inspectors that delivers some sharp social commentary. Great stuff. I really need to look into getting some of his other books.

A month or so ago TwoMorrows had a sale on their Modern Masters books, and I nabbed a couple (actually, looks like they have a sale going now, too, though not quite as good as the one I got). Volume 9 featuring Mike Wieringo, and Volume 10 featuring Kevin Maguire.

Mike was artist on an excellent run of Fantastic Four (along with writer Mark Waid) and an great visual storyteller. These Modern Masters books present a lot of the raw pages he drew, and even without the dialogue I have no trouble at all following the story. His art is full of fun, contagious energy. I identify a lot with Mike, the kinds of stories he likes, the moods he enjoys evoking, his unwarranted insecurities concerning his art. His sudden death a couple years ago pretty well crushed me. One of these days I’ll get a copy of his creator-owned Tellos. I don’t know why I keep putting it off. Maybe because I’ll feel awful, knowing that he won’t be able to produce more?

Maguire was artist for the (in)famous Justice League International era of DCs premier superhero team back in the late ’80s, early ’90s. For those unfamiliar with the period, this was shortly after DCs big Crisis reboot of the Universe. Their big heroes (namely Superman and Wonder Woman) were all sort of tied up being modernized, so the company put together a new Justice League of lesser-known characters. There are few heroes I love more than the 2nd stringers, they guys who should never win but manage to anyway, and Maguire’s expressive art really made you love them. He’s one of those artists who doesn’t work as often as I’d like, and it’s a treat every time he pops up. His recent Batgirl arc of Batman Confidential was a hoot.

I finally read V for Vendetta, by Alan Moore and David Lloyd. I particularly liked the film version and the book didn’t change my opinion. They both work in their own ways. The film solved a few problems the book had and updates it for modern audiences, but it delivers a different philosophy, so I see how people might be a little irritated by it. People like to say the movie is an attack on the Bush administration, but I think that says more about Bush than the film. Plus I don’t get people saying Evey was a prostitute; she tries to be, for like one panel on page 2. What would people say about my entire summer of 2001?

Watching

I recently obtained a Playstation 3 and holy crap does Blu-Ray look good. We nabbed Superman and Goodfellas for cheap and they look amazing.

(FYI, if you ever want to see my cry like a baby, you’ll put on Superman and queue the scene where Superman saves Lois from the helicopter crash. Goddammit it gets me every time.)

For some reason I thought it would be fun to create this Mexican crime-fighting duo. Goyo is very much the standard Luchador, but I have an interesting idea for Lady Remedios that I may expand into a full story.

I should note that, for a Texan, I know virtually no Spanish, and visiting Mexico has never appealed to me. You can’t drink the water, right? And it seems like lots of people die there, often of falling on bullets. Doesn’t sound like great vacation material to me. I have good Mexican friends here, anyway, no need to go. I do, however, find the people quite interesting.

As a result, there isn’t really any Spanish in this piece. As a fun nod to comics, I did encapsulate the dialogue in <>. Comic book letterers used to do this all the time to indicate that people are speaking in foreign languages, why not here? I’m not sure it’s a technique that you could use for a mass audience, as they’ve probably never heard of it, but I think in the right circles it could work.

Anyway, here’s the scene. It’s really just a big action scene, me getting a feel for the characters, how they look, and speak. I’d originally intended to make Remedios an empath, with the power only to heal (which you can kind of see there in the paragraph introducing Goyo), and I think I’ll still do that. Telekinesis was a little more handy for this, though, and it just kind of naturally popped in there. So that probably makes all this useless, but who knows?

I like the villain, Subterráneo. He almost fits into the Mole Man archetype, but rather than some mad scientist or megalomaniac who feels the surface world has wronged him, he’s basically just a lunatic who likes to occasionally surface and fuck with people. That’s pretty much all I had in mind for this. I may develop him further at some point in the future.

Based very loosely on this prompt:

Write a story where an earthquake is/has taken place. You can decide the severity of this natural disaster.

Almost 1,200 words!

From the Bottomless

The wind whistled through the cracks in his goggles, so Goyo closed his eyes. In freefall, the blood from the deep laceration across his arm flowed up. He sensed Lady Remedios floating alongside him. He wasn’t sure if she was unconscious or dead.

“<Is this ever going to end?>” he called out to no one.

“<It’s called a bottomless world for a reason!>” Lady Remedios shouted back.

*

Lady Remedios and Goyo the Watchful were, as usual, the first on the scene. Though easily a foot shorter, Goyo stood protectively in front of Remedios, fists clenched. The ground beneath Zócalo Square heaved and buckled, as though something was clawing free of the earth.

The newspapers called Goyo the sidekick, but he did the bulk of the heavy lifting, hammering their foes into submission. It was said he was among the greatest wrestlers in the world. Thick sinews flexed beneath his red and green costume. A mask covered kept his face completely hidden from the public, but women swooned over him whenever he passed.

Where Goyo was all brute force and power, Lady Remedios was grace and style. Her more subdued but far more revealing costume was a few shades darker than his, with a deep V line slicing down to her belly button. The style magazines suspected it was only her telekinetic powers that kept the outfit in place. Billowy dark hair cascaded across her shoulders and down the length of her back, and a small V-shaped mask covered her eyes and nose.

The Zócalo bucked angrily, tossing pedestrians and cracking the venerable walls of the Metropolitan Cathedral. Police attempted to guide people from the area, but couldn’t even keep their own footing.

“<Quickly, help those closest to the center, Goyo>,” said Lady Remedios. “<I will attempt to keep the buildings from failing, at least until they empty.>”

Goyo nodded and took a moment to watch her as she spread her arms and lifted into the air. She glided toward the cathedral. He’d seen it hundreds of time, but his heart still ached at the beauty of her gifts.

Eventually he tore his gaze from Remedios and sprinted toward the center of the square. He bounded across the shuddering pavement, leaping over fallen people and debris. Up ahead, the massive flagpole that dominated the Zócalo leaned too far over, the Mexican flag nearly grazing the ground.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Goyo spotted a metro bus topple onto its side and slide toward the center of the square. Goyo slowed, his eyes darting across the scene. The Zócalo was collapsing in, falling into the Earth. People began to slide, screaming, toward the center, and Goyo felt gravity tug at him.

He glanced at Remedios. The Lady was occupied, her arms spread wide, eyes squeezed shut. The cathedral shook, but held firm. The windows of the National Palace shattered.

“<As usual, it is up to Goyo,>” he said, grinning beneath his mask. He steeled himself and pushed toward the very center of the square, his compact body covering the distance in mere moments. As the ground beneath him cracked and began to fail, he leapt. Goyo slammed into the flagpole, giving it the last push it needed. The base of the pole shattered, and with a screech the 50-meter pole toppled to the ground.

“<Come!>” Goyo shouted. “<Climb!>” he jumped from the pole to the nearest citizens and began shoving them toward the pole. After a few confused seconds, they began to catch on and climb the pole to the relative safety offered by the outermost reaches of the Zócalo. Goyo circled the collapsing area, helping people reach the pole while it was still stable.

As the last of the civilians reached safety, Goyo hauled himself up to higher ground. With a final groan, the center of the Zócalo gave way and swallowed the flagpole, a few tons of concrete, and a few scattered vehicles.

“<Nice work>,” Lady Remedios said as she touched down beside him. Goyo noted that all the buildings still stood.

“<Not bad yourself>,” he said.

The darkness below rumbled again, and a pillar of stone rose from the underground. Atop the stone crouched a tall, lanky man dressed in filthy overalls. A cracked miner’s helmet perched on his misshapen head. Heavy boots encrusted with dried mud stamped the stone. The man screamed at the heroes, apparently too enraged to form proper words.

“Señor Subterráneo!” Goyo swore under his breath. They knew of Subterráneo by reputation only, as he frequently attacked cities in the United States and elsewhere. He had never struck in Mexico. Subterráneo thrust a dirty finger at the duo.

“To the world bottomless!” he cried.

“<Move, Goyo!>” shouted Lady Remedios, and she began to drift off the ground. Goyo felt the concrete beneath his feet shift. He took a step forward, preparing to leap the gap. Before either of them could get far, a slab of rock erupted from the ground and slammed into Remedios.

“<Lady!>” Goyo twisted, trying to reach for her as she plunged over the edge and into the darkness. A jagged edge of the stalagmite sliced across his arm. He struggled to keep his balance, but another surge of the stone sent him tumbling.

#

Goyo squinted across the darkness at the faint outline of Lady Remedios. He fought against the wind and pulled her close. “<Are you okay?>” he asked.

“<I will not be defeated by a homeless man with a dirt fetish,>” Remedios said. He sensed more than saw her smile. “<Now hang on!>”

Goyo felt the familiar tug of the Lady’s telekinesis slow their descent. Remedios wrapped her arms around his torso as they came to a stop. Far above, the surface was a jagged circle of light.

Lady Remedios took a deep breath, and they shot up toward the light. He heard screams and curses above them, and the rumbling of more earthen weaponry. Goyo planted his feet on her thighs, balled his fists.

In moments they cleared the hole and burst into the warm afternoon air. Around the Zócalo, police fled, their cars impaled on concrete stalagmites or crushed in tidal waves of soil. Subterráneo cackled and pointed again, and a SWAT van crumpled between two sheets of rock.

Goyo didn’t waste any more time. The instant Remedios steadied them just above the hole, mere feet from Subterráneo’s position, he shoved off. He spun through the brief span and hammered into the villain’s back fists first. Subterráneo’s laughter choked off in a gargle of pain, and he fell from his stone pillar. Goyo collapsed on the pillar, scrambling to keep from following Subterráneo into the abyss.

Even as Goyo’s fingers found purchase on the stone, he felt it crumble. All across the square, the rock constructs fell apart into piles of dust. The pillar began to evaporate. He felt a moment of uncharacteristic panic.

Then, once again, soft hands lifted him from danger. A warm, invisible blanket wrapped around him as Lady Remedios took them from the collapsing pillar to safety.

#