tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37942859651983664262024-03-13T23:17:20.798-07:00(Re)Viewed by James K. MoranMusings and ReviewsJames K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.comBlogger371125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-25483294297999386422024-01-30T06:26:00.000-08:002024-03-12T08:22:44.269-07:00Favourite Comics of 2023 Part Two: Mark Waid's Shazam!, Tradd Moore's Doctor Strange: Full Sunrise, Alex de Campi's Parasocial, Bad Karma<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span>Once more, I pull from my favourites from DC, Marvel and indie presses. For those who know of Mark Waid, it should be no surprise that he and Dan Mora are absolutely having a blast on </span></span></span><span><span><i>Batman/Superman: World's Finest</i>, and their readers arem too. </span></span><span><span><span>Also, Marvel, in particular, surprised me with </span></span><span>Tradd Moore's</span><span><span> bending, gob-smacking </span></span><span><i>Doctor Strange: Full Sunrise</i>, while Alex de Campi kept producing superior creator-owned <i>Parasocial </i>and <i>Bad Karma </i>with Saskatoon artist Ryan Howe (always have to plug fellow Canuck artists). </span></span><span>Image seems to producing phenomenal creator-owned books, so they got two spots.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>DC<br /></b><i><span>Batman/Superman:
World's Finest</span></i><span>, writer
Mark Waid and artist Dan Mora<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span>2023 was quite
the year for both Waid, penning a </span><i>World’s Finest: Teen Titans</i><span> revamp and
</span><i>Shazam!</i><span> and Mora, also drawing </span><i>Shazam!</i><span>, gifting art lovers with
many breathtaking covers and interiors. It’s no surprise then, that Waid, a
masterful character writer and neo-classic scribe, is obviously having so much
fun writing Bruce and Clark in a classical way, but just skirting outside of
trenchant continuity. Mora’s gloriously detailed, heroic and expressive pencils
shine in this whimsical title. This combination wooed me. While it’s a master
class in character writing from Waid, the accompanying pencils from Mora
warrant a re-read. Waid always pens a heartfelt script and a plot that does
some unexpected and entertaining turns, such as minor character beats as
Supergirl and Robin having an unresolved feud in the background. I found myself
pre-ordering the collected hardbacks. And still do.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><b>Marvel</b><br /></span><i><span>Doctor
Strange: Full Sunrise<br /></span></i><span>Apparently,
Tradd Moore and Heather Moore had carte blanche to show the good doctor journeying
through the spiritual plane, getting through all manner of kaleidoscopic
escapades. The result was this trippy, oversized, visual feast. Moore’s art
takes centre stage. And for this, I am grateful. On terra firm, Strange acts as
a mid-wife to an otherworldly character holding Strange’s life in balance. Stephen
Strange’s other-dimensional adventure features phantasmagoric splash pages and
sweeping vistas. While there are allusions to Gnosticism, this yarn’s all about
the trip, not these religious allusions, and a tremendous tribute to trippy Silver
Age experimentation that was a way to draw out the college hippie set. Heather Moore’s colour palette is bonkers. (<i>Ed. note: </i>Where has
this colourist been all my life? I must pay more attention and look into them.)
The journey is mind-bending and dense. Strange appears as arguably a slender
transwoman or at the very least androgynous. I would wager that the whole works
would make Steve Ditko himself, a heady Doctor Strange architect, blush with
pride and appreciation. Once again, this is a book that might very well stand
outside of continuity, unlike anything else from Marvel in 2023, for readers
who want a stunning, expansive journey with the Sorcerer Supreme.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><b>Indies</b><br /></span><span><i>Parasocial</i> from
Alex de Campi and Erica Henderson<br /> </span><span><i>Bad Karma</i> from
Alex de Campi and Ryan Howe<br /> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I have committed it to print before
and will do so again-de Campi writes across genres and so exceedingly well. Some
have compared her to a modern Alan Moore, and in this sense, this descriptor is
accurate.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Parasocial </span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(Image Comics)<br /></span><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Parasocial</span></i><span>, de Campi and Henderson’s second collaboration, is billed as a
modern version of Stephen King’s <i>Misery</i>. That said, it does expand far
more on this fan-celebrity symbiosis. In the end, both parties come out looking
culpable. <i>Parasocial</i> is particularly timely, given the modern pop-cultural
addiction to social-media use and consumer adoration of a particular TV show
or movie or celebrity, the latter of which often has feet of clay. Once again,
de Campi shoehorns in social shredding or social commentary into the plot without
making it completely feel she is doing so. Henderson’s pencils disarm readers
because her work is seemingly simplistic and cute. Beware messenger, as anyone
who read their redux feminist goth </span><i><span>Dracula! Motherf**ker!</span></i><span>, knows.</span><span> This story goes dark, disabusing the
presumptive reader of that notion. The duo proves once again they can do
contemporary horror and suspense.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78RTvuhySEcV6M_iYdKzz7cVo6MY4NjrmVIijNAg4yMQfZgU_q_5Ero9ocrsvXf3Awxstsqmmn0bn9hRgPwNwYZv1_YQn-eaj1GpqT8aPUvU-7w56iCR6yTEs79OJnlPl3GLTGzAd47O-ApzTksZQnbTwoLrJD8oAh03zcG3K5aMYKG7QuICHaQuXkK8/s400/Bad%20Karma%20cover20231225_104102.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="378" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78RTvuhySEcV6M_iYdKzz7cVo6MY4NjrmVIijNAg4yMQfZgU_q_5Ero9ocrsvXf3Awxstsqmmn0bn9hRgPwNwYZv1_YQn-eaj1GpqT8aPUvU-7w56iCR6yTEs79OJnlPl3GLTGzAd47O-ApzTksZQnbTwoLrJD8oAh03zcG3K5aMYKG7QuICHaQuXkK8/w378-h400/Bad%20Karma%20cover20231225_104102.jpg" width="378" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous cover by Tony Stella.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Bad Karma</i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> (Image)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bad Karma</span></i><span>, de Campi’s team-up with Canadian artist Ryan Howe and artist Dee
Cunniffe<span style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">, is a stunner of</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.2px;"> an original graphic novel</span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">. Damaged army vets Ethan and
Sullivan discover that Aaron Carter, an innocent man, is on Death Row for a
mercenary job they did a decade ago and embark a Christmas road trip to save
him. So, it’s pulp to bone. And as I read it, <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbL0MYHx1dfwUrIgfVrkO7quHbNCO5i4kkPfs4kIu65G8F5FMC431kexFbaW5RvrtEyVEksy4sHbSqwgI6NdLPx-IYpfa5DkskTxu-PQD6rd7rnDazin_NaGp_j98rRuVPeEMVq6sfSvJUY40kKs3R6YoVSPuQ13WrmJhvYAqqm9Wetfc3jTQGlP4S-Q/s1822/Bad_Karma_Preview-7.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1822" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbL0MYHx1dfwUrIgfVrkO7quHbNCO5i4kkPfs4kIu65G8F5FMC431kexFbaW5RvrtEyVEksy4sHbSqwgI6NdLPx-IYpfa5DkskTxu-PQD6rd7rnDazin_NaGp_j98rRuVPeEMVq6sfSvJUY40kKs3R6YoVSPuQ13WrmJhvYAqqm9Wetfc3jTQGlP4S-Q/w264-h400/Bad_Karma_Preview-7.jpg" width="264" /></a></div></span><i style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Bad Karma</i><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"> just kept
getting better and better. It felt as though an auteur directed a 1980's action
flick that was too smart for a studio film script with fallible, loveable characters.
Ethan’s ex-wife Cheryl is also not resigned the traditional limiting supportive
girlfriend/nagging wife/vindictive ex role. She kicks some serious ass. Howe's
art seems deceptively simple at first but is, in fact, nuanced. Dee Cunniffe's colour palette and use is dynamic and moody. de Campi
explains in the afterword that she spent four years doing this one, first as a
Panel Syndicate webcomic, enjoying it all the while and after raising funding, took
</span><i style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Bad Karma </i><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">to Image Comics. All this hard work and love shows in each
panel. </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Bad Karma </i><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">is fun and sad and smart as hell and sometimes feels
like you’re watching an action movie circa 1985, such as the original </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Lethal Weapon</i><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"> flick.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9F-0kygJcKTWquQKR-H0pKG8WZwjVCpX85U1wtCb-xREVlo4KVUc65L4xDmxbgAGQHGKCfK_9xviEqr9vy7tkFU-qX9KsoE2LF4xfdFeLOhyphenhyphenx1TbJpUFE4vCkpa7WNoIcEmSaGWbwIpuqT67Thrutg9Y0QhdBF7JyRmkKtmgY-0E8DfkkMeEzSA58Vag/s1600/csm_Bad_Karma_Preview-8_1a8e342ddc.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1054" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9F-0kygJcKTWquQKR-H0pKG8WZwjVCpX85U1wtCb-xREVlo4KVUc65L4xDmxbgAGQHGKCfK_9xviEqr9vy7tkFU-qX9KsoE2LF4xfdFeLOhyphenhyphenx1TbJpUFE4vCkpa7WNoIcEmSaGWbwIpuqT67Thrutg9Y0QhdBF7JyRmkKtmgY-0E8DfkkMeEzSA58Vag/w263-h400/csm_Bad_Karma_Preview-8_1a8e342ddc.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcwUzT9gt_hIXxCOKWi0o3qTgegxcZGW1fiIMNMvrqISbFO8YDd5QiVR0I0D0zVm2KA0Lhuz2kz2tR6uOZsrgn6LB1TLgeNyIqoc6deDs0ceZ52Uc9t-30zkSS7ZVqNTaB34mlizEXQ7yTfMWMUGf2tlnbYzsobKEbRbjol2Acxn5RrUgDII0rVG2AqU/s1822/Bad_Karma_Preview-6.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1822" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcwUzT9gt_hIXxCOKWi0o3qTgegxcZGW1fiIMNMvrqISbFO8YDd5QiVR0I0D0zVm2KA0Lhuz2kz2tR6uOZsrgn6LB1TLgeNyIqoc6deDs0ceZ52Uc9t-30zkSS7ZVqNTaB34mlizEXQ7yTfMWMUGf2tlnbYzsobKEbRbjol2Acxn5RrUgDII0rVG2AqU/w264-h400/Bad_Karma_Preview-6.jpg" width="264" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /></span><span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; letter-spacing: 0.15pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-80684766254556349972024-01-12T07:08:00.000-08:002024-01-22T18:42:03.464-08:00My Favourite Comics of 2023 Part One: Phillip K. Johnson's The Incredible Hulk, Ram V's Swamp Thing & Eric Palicki's Black's Myth<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wow. Admittedly, 202</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">3, was a great year for comics. There were many compelling
new single-issue series, original graphic novels and trade paperback
collections not only from the Big Two, but also from the indie-press
renaissance. I am unsure how to approach my favourites because they are legion.
Where to begin? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">(I will add images as I find time, but I realize in blogging that I am spending far too much time on process-trying to post a certain format, font size, etc., and just want to get the word out my latest passions. In 2023, I wrote most of a novelette (about 8,000 words) in a spiral notebook on luncch breaks because I got too frustrated with how slow and obfuscating Word is. The horror-comedy story's about, in a nutshell, what Jehovah's Witnesses might fear the most. And what if a queer ex-JW was called in for help? But more on that later... So in 2024, I guess I am going to try to worry less about process and more about <i>producing</i> work.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Marvel and DC still manage to surprise, even while caught up
in the mire of event storyline, printing a seemingly
infinite number of X-books (Marvel) or Bat-books (DC). Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Nic Klein’s <i>The
Incredible Hulk</i> is rich with monsters, continuing in the vein of Al Ewing’s <i>The Immortal Hulk</i>. Steve Skroce's <i>Clobberin' Time</i>, a fun romp starring
the Thing, was a hoot, pairing everyone’s favourite blue-eyed brawler with the
Hulk, Doctor Strange and … Doctor Doom? From DC, I enjoyed Mark Waid and Dan
Mora’s beautifully retro-yet-new <i>Batman/Superman World's Finest</i> and
<i>Shazam!</i>, the most charming and entertaining reminting of that
title in years, Ram V’s <i>Swamp Thing </i>and Kelly Sue DeConnick’s <i>Wonder
Woman: Historia</i>, sort of the Amazonians’ epic year one.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Some indie titles of 2023 prove true
my claim that this is an indie-press renaissance, jumpstarted by the onset of
the pandemic. Comics creators want to get their creator-owned, original works
out there. We have <i>Black’s Myth</i>, a black-and-white, film-noir werewolf
police procedure with all the can-do spirit of a 1980’s upstart indie (<i>Editor’s
note: </i>Read that phrase again if you like!). Alex de Campi’s latest books prove
once more that she can write across genres with ingenuity. In the creator-owned
<i>Parasocial</i>, she teams again with artist Erica Henderson of <i>Squirrel
Girl (</i>comic-book) fame, with whom she did, <i>Dracula! Motherf**ker!</i>
and is a cautionary tale about the fan-celebrity relationship. Her original
graphic novel <i>Bad Karma</i>, with art by Canadian Ryan Howe, feels like a
1980’s-action-film, but shrewder, featuring two damaged vets trying to save a
man wrongfully convicted and on Death Row. Both remain top-notch storytelling
with incisive social commentary. Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillip's <i>Reckless,</i>
their<i> </i>pulpy, immediate original graphic-novel series from Image continues
to astonish.<b> </b>Not to mention Humanoid’s fascinating bio-comic <i>Bela Lugosi
</i>and Monstrous Books’ <i>Kolchak The Night Stalker 50th Anniversary Graphic Novel </i>tells
stories from before and after the character’s network-television existence.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In keeping with my predilection for outcast characters, here
are three of my hands-own most-loved titles about loner characters from 2023. Coincidentally,
two are about green guys. One is about a werewolf. Guess they all change shape, though.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBItr-fwhOKvkOvw06HHfh6Al-_JcrcjytLMqGa-yi49HasDPAOow_0okgEkTKVoiLXpbOd4zWZ3CIzrP-UjJ0gAx1QdpQksRWCeBvONcYuF7KZrLx0njfMoMvW9UeB9-ZqDKBu_D2Ybz-9meF7A-OG9WrGbq7HaWQ2bgDOG97IEYlfocCUmDtFui4Rw/w422-h640/hulk2023001_cov.jpg" width="422" /></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>The Incredible Hulk</i> (Marvel)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Nic Klein, taking their cue from
Al Ewing and Joe Bennett’s Green Door mythology and Bruce Banner’s dissociative
personality disorder developed in 50 issues of <i>The Immortal Hulk</i>, have
steered <i>The Incredible Hulk </i>into a full-out, pedal-to-the-metal monster
horror comic. Their tenure comes hot on the hells of Greg Pak’s, which elicited
a lukewarm response from many faithful readers. The book is a free-for-all as
all the monsters in the Marvel Universe take a run at Ol’ Greenskin, from
encounters with the Man-Thing and a vintage Ghost Rider to any number of
supernatural nasties. The Hulk is, in turn, suppressing the Bruce Banner
personality. Gone are the gentle multiple-panel, almost magical green-to-flesh
tone (and vice versa) transformations of yesteryear instead replaced by
flesh-ripping and bone-cracking sequences which Ewing laid all the body-horror
groundwork for. The Hulk is also a wander again, particularly in the South,
giving the book the feel of the syndicated TV series of the late 1970’s and
early 1980’s and of the comic during much of the eighties, for that matter.
Johnson is clearly delighting in playing with Ewing’s toys. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDcLMqVS6LFXlNW5yffmHIMKjGtjG8uKG1x7GLu3-7v5kOBE_5fBhfj-OXzzworvKHUgDKliPVy3cALRT0Gya_oNTYwBLdaIvBToidRrwbRb9a8f-7MyVhy_oy-UYJjWUxgXY8SGkLpVGgCkjWnfVqTx0oEGIoSlLHDXIexvz-WRc9_cYffCxP5CWCl0/s1440/Incredible%20Hulk%20%23%203%20PKJ%20Nic%20Klein.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="938" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDcLMqVS6LFXlNW5yffmHIMKjGtjG8uKG1x7GLu3-7v5kOBE_5fBhfj-OXzzworvKHUgDKliPVy3cALRT0Gya_oNTYwBLdaIvBToidRrwbRb9a8f-7MyVhy_oy-UYJjWUxgXY8SGkLpVGgCkjWnfVqTx0oEGIoSlLHDXIexvz-WRc9_cYffCxP5CWCl0/w418-h640/Incredible%20Hulk%20%23%203%20PKJ%20Nic%20Klein.jpg" width="418" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"></p>Four issues in, the
arc reminds me of Brian Michael Bendis picking up Frank Miller’s groundbreaking
character beats from <i>Daredevil </i>and fleshing them over 55 issues between
2001 and 2006. But more to the point, Johnson is developing characters in new
directions and expanding the mythos-and shoehorning in all sorts of
delightfully dreadful monsters that are terrifically (or horrifically) interesting to
watch the Hulk tussle with, especially with Klein up to the task in all its
gruesome glory. The sole drawback is that pace was a little slow as Johnson established the story, but an atmosphere of dread was fine compensation. Still, the protagonist-antagonist combinations also put me a mind of
Mark Waid doing the very same with Daredevil and with Superman and Batman. In
short, this Jade Giant is a fun, gruesome read not for the faint of heart.</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="656" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVJm-vvQDftfVA1jLKBap3i_eI4riIVc1G_ntsXXL-QRS6I37bBfbk6VPXwMoL6mUaT56MrjzICqvlEspXSVG07prra13dKzKKOsgCh_8pJ23cejvLSTXHLOSKjKP_1TvOLmiOsYKFtFUTFL6JX9ptAFXj-00caL2Pxfx8uxgMNTTzaebeEaR6t5FcCM/w422-h640/91feXXEmbOL._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" width="422" /></span><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></i></p><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The Swamp Thing Volume 3: The Parliament of Gears </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(DC)</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Writer Ram V and artist Mike Perkins stick the landing, as the
Americans love to say in podcasts, on Swamp Thing. The final six issues of
their 16-issue run, which I recently discovered was supposed to be ten issues,
is a visual delight and an intellectual stimulant. The combination of Mike
Perkins’ realistic penciling style and Ram V’s Green musings and keen
understanding of Swamp Thing mythos and character are a one-two punch. <i>Parliament
of Gears</i> was touted as the finest <i>ST</i> fare in years for a reason. It’s a
satisfying, thunderous finish to V’s cerebral-horror arc. Like Phillip Kennedy
Johnson on <i>The Incredible Hulk</i>, V takes the foundations of a seminal
writer, in this case Alan Moore, from his legendary tenure on the title, and
develops them in interesting yet logical and intelligent ways. Perkins’s
jaw-dropping work ranges from the pedestrian and mechanical to the utterly fantastical,
gory, and alien. Want to see wondrous vistas, unsightly horrors, and some fine
character mannerisms? Perkins has you covered. New Swampie avatar Levis Kamei
(who I maintain looks very suspiciously like a sh</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">orter-haired Ram V …) faces off
with his brother Jacob, a preternatural contender who wants to bring a cold
older to the world. The green guy must unite the Green with its different
fellows for the final showdown. It's a dense, sprawling and epic conclusion.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVJm-vvQDftfVA1jLKBap3i_eI4riIVc1G_ntsXXL-QRS6I37bBfbk6VPXwMoL6mUaT56MrjzICqvlEspXSVG07prra13dKzKKOsgCh_8pJ23cejvLSTXHLOSKjKP_1TvOLmiOsYKFtFUTFL6JX9ptAFXj-00caL2Pxfx8uxgMNTTzaebeEaR6t5FcCM/s1000/91feXXEmbOL._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVJm-vvQDftfVA1jLKBap3i_eI4riIVc1G_ntsXXL-QRS6I37bBfbk6VPXwMoL6mUaT56MrjzICqvlEspXSVG07prra13dKzKKOsgCh_8pJ23cejvLSTXHLOSKjKP_1TvOLmiOsYKFtFUTFL6JX9ptAFXj-00caL2Pxfx8uxgMNTTzaebeEaR6t5FcCM/s1000/91feXXEmbOL._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-4CdgzZ1AqASC_ChzyQ4vI0RnVusuW69__PXY2i86ZsIFyREiNWQPX06rrhS1GnObb5_2QB14BHo-6zNDnGN7XswcfCZDr34v0iyoeDkjYLd45mmdnKL_gBUWV-ZBF4vwLdp1sf_fElnh480tGhdihURCiNJlv_Tgs2YhtZPXwQiWjb_yBtFAw-sN8g/s640/The-Swamp%20Thing%2016%20Mike%20Perkins%20artwork.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="416" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-4CdgzZ1AqASC_ChzyQ4vI0RnVusuW69__PXY2i86ZsIFyREiNWQPX06rrhS1GnObb5_2QB14BHo-6zNDnGN7XswcfCZDr34v0iyoeDkjYLd45mmdnKL_gBUWV-ZBF4vwLdp1sf_fElnh480tGhdihURCiNJlv_Tgs2YhtZPXwQiWjb_yBtFAw-sN8g/w407-h640/The-Swamp%20Thing%2016%20Mike%20Perkins%20artwork.jpg" width="407" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Guest
stars include Hal Jordan’s Green Lantern, the Authority’s Jack Hawksmoor, King of Cities (how cool a title is that?) and <span style="background: white; color: #202124;">Tefé Holland, Swamp Thing’s daughter, </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: georgia;">whom</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Levis’ love interest Jennifer asks </span><span style="background: white; color: #202124; font-family: georgia;">for help</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">. A virtuoso, Perkins gives readers gore, but
also phantasmagoric tableaus. Mike Spicer deserves a shout-out for his
astonishing colour palette. Perkins also pulls off an astonishing trick. Aside
from all these other merits, he depicts new character Trinity, created by
nuclear tests in Trinity, New Mexico, and as a result unnervingly powerful
(it’s comics, after all, as they say) as a sultry, glowing entity. Ram V also
goes beyond the established Moore lore and adds a whole cosmic or psychedelic
aspect to the green guy’s lore, expanding on the mythos of the Green, the Red,
the Rot and the Parliament of Gears, literal man-made machinations trying to
elbow into these ecosystems.</span></span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1249" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaz6FEb-yL8LNg3Tw4IYhRlsHe_GJnkmBbacAMoIJnGcFO1kiCZ9l17zokR4fyaFybXa4aztwEHUBoLWCOATisCVX-Wd34EhqOGTQzWl3dl9PU2gRLnBKQ2dk-s0KdmNWqnLX7cpL8Mf4fBxEvr6jj2dITAensWiFe0VVO7Y8OENzXP2fn5SlIY3-sHfA/w416-h640/01.jpg" width="416" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Black’s Myth</i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> (Ahoy Comics)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Here’s another fine example of a creator-owned comic
offering a unique vision, thanks to Ahoy Comics, delivered with aplomb. Comics
creator Eric Palicki has gone and made a series about a supernatural police
procedural, a clever fusion of genres, starring lycanthrope Jamie “Strummer”
Jones, the bi protagonist. It’s black
and white, so readers can see the art as it was meant to witness, on the
drawing board. Wendell Cavalcanti’s linework is classical human form stuff, and
stunning as a result. comics-in-arms include Saladin Ahmed’s 1970’s/early
1980’s <i>Abbott</i> series or even Mark Waid’s <i>Black Magick</i> (one with a bi intrepid
reporter, the other with a bi intrepid witch detective), involved, sensual and
compelling. This second arc is on the racks now but will come out in the second
collected trade paperback. It’s this kind of bi rep and can-do-it attitude that
you often don’t find at jaded bigger houses, and I’m all in.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1248" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZd5KRXA2An1ZClcrQcXSjrqUho3co3iFtuwbraJlmEaIb_FQYrOz7Phx0Se3Hd5ujaQ9ztZn04i-xeGwShEkOae8joTaZWl4ZigWYsFmHDkM3udurV1MpHhs-zG76LoldjwaBmPZXzjwOYhq2e9rrZghmVs8YmMTsbjhn2N2M5P1ZaQTS40tKik3LBoI/w416-h640/BLACKSMYTHv2_02-p-5.jpg" width="416" /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div><p></p><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-47371682257427343752023-12-31T12:59:00.000-08:002023-12-31T12:59:22.488-08:00Bonus story, The Red Avenger Dies<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Here's a little bonus story for any reader out there looking for something escape into over the holiday season. This one's my love letter to comic-book creators, which I penned well before ever reading Michael Chabon's <i>The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Klay.</i> But if you like mysticism regarding inspiration and where ideas come from, or if you like comic-book lore or the writing of comic-book-famous writer Grant Morrison's trippy takes on archetypes and heroes or if you were a fan of shows such as the Twilight Zone or Amazing Stories, then this could be the yarn for you. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because, really, where do these characters, and these ideas come from? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I try to answer that in "The Red Avenger Dies".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: times;">The Red Avenger Dies<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: times;">By James K. Moran<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Late one hot and sticky night, Ron
Philip killed Manson Groves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
had wanted to kill him for years, and finally, beer and nicotine and dopamine
swimming in his system, he did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The task was easy, since he employed
his best weapons: the stub of an HB-lead pencil, a jar filled with greyish
water, a set of different-coloured paint brushes, and a Pink Pearl eraser he
applied for sentimental reasons. Finishing the heinous act, Ron leaned back
from his sheets of two-ply Bristol paper featuring panel boxes resplendent with
art. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My God,” he said. “Finally.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Manson Groves, aka the Red Avenger,
was dead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ron rubbed his eyes with his palms,
careful to keep his lead-and-paint smudged fingertips from his eyes. This trick
he learned years ago, sketching rudimentary comic book heroes with his boyhood
pal Jack Simon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ron sighed, his blood warmed by the
beer he had drained from the empty bottle on the side table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Granted</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">,
he thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comic book characters don’t
retire for long</i>. He knew this in his heart. Yet, Ron still hoped to lay to
rest his indelible contribution to the medium’s history just long enough to
retire from his corresponding 40 years in the business. Ron’s fingers, which
formed into a claw for his craft, sometimes ached, particularly after a
marathon drawing session. His peripheral vision was spotty. His right wrist and
his ring finger told him about forthcoming rain before the weather forecast
did.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">But
his creation was beyond such pains after years of crime-fighting. The hero was
not fallen-out-of-the-panel-with-an- “Ahhhhhh...” dead. The hero was
mortally-wounded-and-shot-three-times-and-fallen-from-a-collapsed-building-after-defeating-the-Scrawler-and-saving-Pagegirl-Franky-Knox-who-then-finds-his-body-and-inherits-his-legacy-dead.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
knew the rules; he had played with them for decades. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">An
injury? Pshaw! Nothing! A bullet wound? Two? The hero would heal! A fall from a
five-storey building? He’d land in the nearest garbage bin. But all these
things, topped with collapsing beams, a fallen villain, a found body, and a
handed-down legacy? That could be the End. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">No—it </span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">was<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> the end,</i> Ron thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He opened another beer, assessing
the sculpted abdominals, shaded pieces of wreckage and the rivulets of tears
shining on Franky Knox’s cheeks. Ron felt like he had just ended a forty-year
marriage that had soured somewhere in the middle years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 1.0in; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now, that was classic,” Carrie
Fanworth told Ron, rising from behind her managing editor desk. Her eyes, he
often thought, could seduce or reject anyone with a glance. “I haven’t seen
that sort of demise since the early 80’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She leaned on her desk, close enough
for him to detect the scent of jasmine, something sweet, and also something
strong: coffee. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Really.”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She held his gaze. “You know how I
am with compliments.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sparing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Miserly.” She tilted her head up.
“The Red guy’s a big property. I know he’s really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> property, but it’s like, well, he’s taken on a life of his
own.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not you too.” Ron groaned. “Jack’s
been on about that again...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What you fellas do on your own time
is no more my business than what I do at the Velveteen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Habit </i>on 14th Street every other Thursday.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fair enough.” Ron pondered how
little he knew about Carrie outside of work, aside from her legendary drinking
bouts at the Velveteen Rabbit, the bar down the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But the next time you decide to
expand your minds on a week off, I’ll definitely commission another Mandora
mini-series or a year-long Dr. Calgari story arc. The fan mail for both titles
was outrageous. If I open one more envelope that reeks of patchouli in this
lifetime...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Agreed.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But seriously, Ron. What did you
guys <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> do in the Mojave Desert
anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Those are rumours.” Ron flashed
what he hoped was an enigmatic—and not lecherous—smile. “Let’s just say that
Steve Englehart and company have nothing on us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Slouches,
all of them,” she replied. Carrie nodded toward the wall on her right side
displaying framed comic book covers. “Not like you have had much to show for
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Quicksilver
Comics showed a proud history of sales and characters. The Tenebrous leered,
gimlet-eyed, from under his fedora in the 1940’s. Max Reeves, Detective,
wrestled a Nazi spy on the wing of a B-17 hurling toward a cliff. Aslavak! Heir
of the Vampires brandished his knife-like incisors before a semi-naked virgin.
Imigan the Traveller leapt at a scaly monstrosity in a misty land. Dorius posed
with one knee-high-boot planted on a pile of Greek soldiers, her mane of hair
whipping behind her. Wind Rider soared, propelled by his jetpack, while thugs
from the 22<sup>nd</sup> century pursued him. Omnivaxx, the Android Hero, swung
at a giant snake coiled around his steely torso. And the Mandora spun ropes
made of light around an evil sorcerer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">And
if you looked there, Boom!, you were back in the forties with gangsters. Or
Swish!, you coasted over an Arctic landscape in the fifties. Or Zap!, you were
drowning in the space-blasted mists of Jupiter. Or Wham!, you stood
shoulder-to-shoulder with the Red Avenger, staring down his nemesis, the
beady-eyed Scrawler, on the roof of a skyscraper, backing the fiend toward the
edge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Slouches,
no,” Ron said, breaking the weird spell the images always cast over him. He
looked at Carrie. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
work reminded me of the heart-and-soul type of stories around in the 40’s
before the Comics Code ruined all the fun,” she said, looking past him.
“Fast-paced, with consequence. Yet you resisted that temptation to be gritty or
sentimental.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A
starred review in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Publishers Weekly</i>,
then.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t
get too cocky, now, kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
raised his eyebrows. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is Carrie
paraphrasing </i>Star Wars? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
wouldn’t rule out the possibility of an Eisner Award,” she said. “Now let’s
talk about what’s next.” Carrie cleared her throat. “I’ll lay a clue on you.
The Red Avenger. He chases, dodges, flies by night...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“...to
stop evil in its plight! Uh-huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">She
rolled her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out for you? The Scrawler is dead. His
evil metal gloves laid to rest because of the final battle.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Indeed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“There’s
only one problem.” Carrie ran her fingers along her temple, shrugging like she
and Ron shared an inside joke. “The Scrawler’s death is one thing. But the
Crimson Avenger’s is another. How are you going to convince your readers that
he comes back from all that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Thing is, I’m fine with
the idea of resurrecting the Red Avenger</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">,
Ron thought, going out for lunch. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I just
don’t want to be the guy who does it</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
had to walk this thought out, and did. On the sunny sidewalk of the bustling
metropolitan street, he passed a kid, about eleven years old, wearing a Red
Avenger T-shirt. The “Flies by night!” phrase appeared in bold red letters
alongside a silhouette on a rooftop backlit by the full moon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
felt like someone was observing him, a discomfiting impression that he couldn’t
shake, glancing around at the passers-by on their way to their day’s
appointments, whether small victories or failures. Even a few minutes ago,
alone in the bathroom, wondering how Carrie would take his ultimatum about the
demise of his four-coloured ex-wife, Ron felt eyes on him from somewhere,
despite the empty stalls. He had stared himself down in the mirror. The Red
Avenger had always been married to Ron’s career and vice versa. Ron detected
that flowery hand soap scent he always liked. He practised saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m out, Carrie. Someone else can buy me out
and take over. </i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ordering
his lunch, Ron felt no different about being scrutinized.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
can I get you, Ron?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“My
regular, Marty.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Eh,
you got it, buddy. And that’s quite the thing you did in your latest comic. I
mean, even if not everyone liked the twist ending.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Well,
I read my boy’s, right? So he’s kinda upset about the whole thing. He thinks
the Avenger really died! Can you believe that? Nobody really dies in comics,
least that’s what I told him. I mean, I thought they killed off Captain Marvel
back in the 1980’s because of cancer and, man, I didn’t like that. Maybe that’s
a bad example.” Marty whistled a low note.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Does </span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">everyone<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> read comics now?</i> Ron thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Marty
poured coffee from a jar into a mug on the counter. Ron shifted his attention
elsewhere. Marty’s Deli was quiet, for which Ron was thankful. The unassuming
space of a few tables and large front window was the reprieve he needed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Too
many people had approached him in the past, wanting autographed comics,
drawings, T-shirts or a quick sketch. In San Diego a few years ago, he and Jack
were overrun by hordes of fans. Some even stole souvenirs—a handful of HB
pencils, a dirtied napkin, and Ron’s nameplate from the signing table. Comic
book conventions became a nightmare of camera flashes and endless requests. His
hand would cramp up from the hours of signings or sketches. He felt like fans
were always pushing him for something more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
lit a cigarette, inhaled, and exhaled. Filling and emptying his lungs relaxed
him. The smoke rose and faded, he fancied, like clouds in a drawing. When his
cigarette was a stub, Ron extinguished the butt in an ashtray in front of the
counter. He had hoped it would be that easy, hadn’t he? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Behind
the glass counter, Marty assembled Ron’s food with an artist’s skill and
technician—rye bread, grainy mustard, piled high with pastrami, a side of wedge
fries, and a halved sour pickle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Here
you go, buddy,” Marty said, placing the lunch plate and coffee mug on the stainless-steel
counter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Someone
cleared their throat behind him. With a glance, Ron saw that other clientele
had lined up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
was halfway back to the office when the panic attack seized him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
halted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
UPS truck pulled out of the delivery laneway on his left. Ron ducked in, placed
his palms hand against the cold concrete wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Just what am I doing
exactly?</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> he thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Sometimes
he felt like he was creating in the void from where all things came from. Other
times, like now, he realized that many, many readers, like Marty for instance,
enjoyed his creation. Did he have a right to take its life, and rob them of
their pleasure? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Egomaniac</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">,
he thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clarisse was right to leave
you.</i> He took several deep breaths. His belly roiled, full of food and
coffee. But breathing helped. He stood upright. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
voice sounded down the littered lane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Well,
if you’re not gonna’ give that to me, I’ll just take it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
looked down the alley. A clean-cut, youngish man in denim and a bomber coat
spoke to a middle-aged woman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">She
shrank away, her purse strapped around her left shoulder. “I don’t think so,”
she rebuked. “Get away from me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">She
saw Ron. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
other man grabbed her purse strap. The short-haired man stood a foot taller
than her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Afraid
not,” he said, shaking his oval-shaped head. “I’ll take this off your hands.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
stepped toward them. He had drawn many shaven-headed, nose-pierced, tattooed,
leather-wearing criminals. But none of them looked so, well, average, he
realized. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Villainy has many faces</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">,
he thought, cringing while quoting his own copy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Get
away from me!” the woman said, pushing the mugger. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Jeez,
why you being so rough?” he replied. “Now I have to defend myself.” The thief
yanked her off balance, extracting the purse. She lurched forward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
man turned, clutching the purse to his chest with one hand. Now he saw Ron.
“What are you looking at?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
want a second opinion?” Ron rebuked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Give
me back my purse,” the woman said with surprising firmness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
she said,” Ron added.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
mugger laughed, walking toward him. “Huh. Right.” His face changed. “Hey, I
recognize you. I saw your photo in a magazine. About the Red Warrior or
something.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
sighed. Media coverage had always been generous about his decades-old
hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an indirect result, strangers
often picked fights with Ron simply because he chronicled a courageous figure.
Still, he felt plenty courageous as the stranger closed in. He smelled onions
on the would-be thief’s breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Give
me back,” the woman said, “my goddamn purse. Now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
mugger raised his eyebrows, surprised. He switched to Ron.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Finders
keepers, ‘Crimson Avenger’,” he said to Ron. “Come on, let’s see how tough you
are in real life.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
swung his free fist at Ron.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Returning
to work, after giving details to the arresting officer, Ron maintained that he
gave the mugger a chance to back out. But once the thief jumped him, Ron had
only to choose from a selection of defences. In the dive bars that he and Jack
used to frequent, he had practiced his other art.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
passed through the double glass doors into the reception area. Carrie and a few
others waited for him at the front desk. Their applause was a little much. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It
wasn’t enough publicity for you already, pal?” Jack Simon said, slapping Ron’s
shoulder. He stared impishly over the rims of his hip, rectangular spectacles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
rotund Harry Wilson stood back, grinning. “It appears no evil is safe!” he
cackled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
told them?” he asked Carrie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">She
shrugged. “After you called to say why you were going to be late, it had to be
done. It’s not every day that our star creator stops someone from being
mugged.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“She
held her own.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
too,” Carrie said. “Besides, you don’t look as bad as I thought.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No?”
he replied, and she almost touched his tender left eye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">It
hurt to blink. Otherwise, he was in far better shape than his assailant. The
arresting officer had slapped Ron’s back. “Stops evil in his plight, eh?” said
the black, 275-pound sergeant with a grin. “But you coulda’ been hurt, sir.
Glad you weren’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Not
bad at all,” Jack said now, smiling ear to ear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Carrie
poured Ron a glass of red wine. They all toasted him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Harry
tittered over his tulip-shaped glass. “How’d you do it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, Ron and I did some martial arts training
back in the day,” Jack interjected with a wink. “Hey Ronnie—I called our
Aki-Jitsu teacher and told him.” He brushed a stray lock from his forehead. The
remainder of his greying hair he had tied back in a ponytail.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Shaddup,”
Ron replied. “Just don’t tell Clarisse,” he added, referring to his third, and
most recent, ex-wife.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yeah,
it’s probably safer to tell our old teacher than to tell Clarisse.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why,
you little...!” Ron lunged toward him. His half-glass of wine threatened to
spill over. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
retreated, knocking over the standee of their trademarked hero.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Whoops,”
Jack said, glancing at the decoration, his eyes huge and round. “Sorry there,
big fella.” He set the Red Avenger upright.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
glanced at Ron. The culpable look on Jack’s face was too much. They both
laughed uproariously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 1.0in; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
scrutinized the completed pages. The caped man in red tights gripped his right
shoulder. Nowadays, they called the muscle-hugging material Spandex, but Ron
missed calling them tights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
man’s shadow fell across the protagonist. “SURRENDER, AVENGER!” read the word
balloon stretching from the shadow’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
following panels were shot, counter-shot between the protagonist and
interlocutor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“NO.
NEVER. NOT WHILE YOU’RE STILL...FREE.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“HA!
HOW HEROIC. PATHETIC. YOUR SPIRIT NEVER BREAKS, DOES IT?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“HOW
MANY PEOLE HAVE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU, SCRAWLER? HOW MANY INNOCENTS?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A
FEW SCORE. WHOEVER HAS STOOD IN THE WAY OF MY VISION. I STOPPED KEEPING TRACK A
FEW YEARS AGO. BUT NOW YOU JOIN THEM.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">In
the next panel, the Scrawler brandished a gleaming metallic glove and snatched
off the Avenger’s cowl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“MANSON
GROVES?” the Scrawler exclaimed. “THE PHOTOGRAPHER? I’VE BEEN FIGHTING AN
INFERIOR ALL THESE YEARS? A JOE AVERAGE?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
red-clad figure stood in three cascading panels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
Scrawler swung at him, panel-for-panel, delivering a blow to the head, brow,
and stomach. By the fourth panel, the villain thrashed the Avenger against a
wall. In the fifth, back against the textured red brick, the Avenger caught the
Scrawler’s right fist.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’LL
NEVER GIVE IN TO NAZI SCUM LIKE YOU...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
Avenger pulled the Scrawler by the arm, slamming him face-first into the
brick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
Scrawler, stunned, palms against the wall, turned to the hero.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
muscular arm rocketed from the dark shadow, without an accompanying sound
effect. The Scrawler reeled in still-life grimace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">In
real life, Ron rubbed his palms together. He had saved these last panels. After
all, they depicted the last appearance of a beloved flagship character and his
nemesis. Depending on how long the Scrawler stayed six feet under, these sheets
could be worth more than a commissioned piece, certainly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
removed the sheets from the board and set them on the side table beside his
ceramic ash tray, paintbrushes and coffee mug. He pulled out some blank drawing
panels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Now what? </span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">he
thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Take Carrie’s advice and
continue the legacy? Or tell her that the dream is dead?</i> The dream of
making a hero so immersing that a reader would gladly pay a
dime-on-up-to-four-fifty for pulpy pages chronicling his exploits.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">No, there is no Red
Avenger now,</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> he thought. It was time to create a
new hero, a new gimmick, a new age. But what hadn’t the business done already?
Some young kids had already rebelled and left one of the two big houses to
start their own company. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">But
Ron already knew the answer to the first question. Ron Philip would do what he
always did—what he loved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
closed his eyes, and breathed in memory, recalling the smells of tobacco,
chewing gum, and newsprint. If he tried hard enough, he could see Carl’s Smoke
Shop. Back then, though, he could barely see over the long storefront glass
counter filled with cigars and novelty whoopee cushions and rows of candy bars
and hard candy. At the back of the shop, in front of the magazine shelves, a
metal rack stood, displaying comic books. “Hey!! Kids, Comics!” proclaimed the
red-white-and-blue sign atop the rack. There, the 10-year-old picked up a title
and began his life’s great adventure. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
bustling man in a red cape leapt to the rescue of the oppressed. That guy in
the bat-suit and dark cape confused him, though, because he was powerless, and
looked like a bad guy. Ronnie also adored the big green guy wandering the face
of the Earth, from Easter Island to Russia to Canada to China to the American
Southwest. He tried to stay out of fights, but someone always provoked him. He got
pretty mad about the whole deal sometimes. Still, the jade giant often helped
many people, his trademark purple pants torn always staying intact from the
knee upward. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
didn’t do sports well, but he could read better than anyone in Fourth Grade.
So, while other kids played soccer or ran around at recess time, Ron preferred
an alternative three-colour adventure as a daring kid who could swing on
home-made web-lines from rooftops. So began his heady days of page-flipping,
word-balloon-reading and drawing-adoring. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“He
fights, dodges in his flight, to snatch a nap or fly a kite!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">At
the sound, Ron resurfaced from his past.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
crossed the threshold of their shared studio. They divided their time between
here, Quicksilver Comics, and their own residences. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sorry
to interrupt,” Jack said, removing his coat and placing it on his chair in the
other corner of the room. He saw the sheet. “Reconsidering?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
glanced at the paper. A sketch of the Avenger’s battered fist emerged from a
pile of wreckage. The sleeve was shredded to the elbow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">How did I do that without
knowing? </span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Oh,”
Ron said. “I’m planning on...“<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“...I
know. Keeping him dead. Tell Carrie yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
scowled. Jack, despite his hippie demeanour, knew how to ask Ron the toughest
question.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Didn’t
think so,” Jack said. “I’m guessing that your recent heroics bought you a few
days’ grace, tops. She’s going to want something soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
sighed heavily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
placed a magazine on Ron’s side table. “You see this?” The Red Avenger’s stoic
profile filled the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time Magazine </i>cover.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Sure
did. All six pages.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
feature writer had done an admirable job, too. They succinctly ran down the
hero’s late 1930’s/early 1940’s heyday, his reinterpretation for the
straight-laced mid-1950’s, the psychedelic 1960’s, risqué 1970’s, and grim
1980’s. Hitting all the right cultural notes, the reporter returned to the
current, widely popular “demise story arc”. “Has this four-colour icon finally
met his end?” the reporter wrote. “Have his adventures, too, ended? Previous comic
book legends have, with few exceptions, passed on only to return in new
incarnations and, in turn, produce record sales. On that note, this journalist
withholds judgement until the next issue.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“It’s
something to think about,” Jack said. “The sales on the ‘death issue’ broke
records. It’s probably the biggest single-issue print run sellout since that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">X-Men </i>comic.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“When
they killed off Jean Grey?” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
nodded, waited a moment. “You sure you want to do this? It’s been a good ride,
Ronnie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
was silent, a time-proven counter-technique with Jack. He glanced at the framed
comic book above his desk, a golden age Red Avenger issue. The scarlet figure
clutched a panic-stricken villain by their lapels. At the bottom of the
illustration, white lock letters declared ‘NOW EVIL HAS NOWHERE TO HIDE!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
stood beside him. “Buy you a pint at the Rabbit?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">At
the ”Habit”, Jack switched tact on their third round. They sat in a corner
across from the bar under dim lights. The stereo played “Don’t Fear the
Reaper”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
watched Ron over the rim of his martini glass. “That reporter was fishing for
details about our little retreat a few years back, you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
else is new?” Ron had long since established a rule with reporters—what he and
Jack did during their famed week away was off the record. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Did
you say anything about our ‘Mojave Desert Escapade?’” He quaffed back his pint
and motioned to the passing bartender to bring another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
smiled with his eyes only. “Not a thing. Twenty years back, it was a great
publicity stunt to say that. Boosted sales, piqued reader interest. Hell, they
treated us like rock stars at conventions...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“...a
record amount of fan mail from the hippie set rolled in,” Ron said with a
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Little do they know that
we never went near any desert</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">, Ron thought.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> But the rest is true. We started in-town,
then visited a remote cottage</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’ve
never been the same, friend. Doubt I have, either.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
know that look, Ronnie.” Jack glanced around. A few pretty women in their
mid-twenties, in skirts and blouses, passed behind him en route to the
restroom. He leaned forward. “Because I thought I had a cosmic glimpse into the
creator-creation symbiosis, that the things we create, our art, could possibly
live and breathe in another parallel universe. That what we perceive as our
‘art’ is, in fact, an alchemic deal struck with the Creative Well of Infinite
Time...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
know, I know.” Ron winced. He had cringed the moment Jack had first uttered his
theory. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Back
then, they peered with blood-shot eyes at the lake. The sunrise kissed water,
water kissed sun. It was impossible to discern between the two. Marijuana,
peyote and beer swam in their bodies. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
only remembered waking about the same time as Jack. They were wrapped in the
cocoon of a two sleeping bags zipped together, Jack peering at him mystically.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What?”
Ron asked fuzzily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Did
you ... did you just experience what I did?” Jack said, his face alight, his
eyes wild.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
could only nod.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“What
... just what in the hell was that?” Jack asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
sat up, shifting the sleeping bag they passed out in. But the hard wooden
planks of the deck underneath him had afforded Ron comfort as though he had
slept on a feather bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Where
... the hell were we?” Jack asked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
pleading in his voice was such that Ron must answer, immediately. Still, he
delayed. He snatched the water bottle from beside him, then a third-full bottle
of whiskey. He returned both to Jack.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We
were, we were in the—well—in the place where it all comes from,” Ron said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Under
his eyelids swam visions. Contortions of energy, vivid and alive, sprang and
decanted from a source beyond known Physics. He had danced with them. Danced
with Jack, too, he remembered, grinning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A...
a creative Well of Infinite Time,” Jack replied, handing the bottle back. The
bottle clinked in Ron’s palm. “The place of all ideas that have ever been. Ever
will be.” A hysterical whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
knew this was true. But Ron was already feeling rooted to the cold dock. Birds
piped far off. The morning dew sprinkled his brow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
had seen where ideas come from, and returned, changed. Part of the energy was
in him, now, he knew. He must create and share it. The ideas, the swirling
ideas and dancers and prism-ranging ideas, had asked him as much. But he
couldn’t articulate this thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
shivered and looked down. He was butt-naked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
scurried out. He too was naked and leapt up and released a manic holler of joy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
snatched up his nearby clothes, in a heap, and dressed. He stood up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Without
hesitation, he and Jack embraced, two wanderers back from a journey, one still without
clothes, but carrying the trip with them still. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">From
the pit of his gut to his slowly beating heart, Ron felt changed. He could not
predict that his newfound outlook would alter him, from how he framed a panel
to how he felt about his marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack,
sitting across the table at the Velveteen Rabbit, confirmed Ron’s idea from
that morning. But this confirmation rattled Ron then almost as much as now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Admittedly,
Ron never felt as alive as when the Red Avenger did. Once, an enemy poisoned
Manson Groves. Groves needed a week to recover. Likewise, Ron took a week of
sick leave to shake off a debilitating flu.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
still believe it, Ronnie,” Jack muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
know.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“If
you...“<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
goateed bartender placed Ron’s beer on the table and left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“...if
you kill him, I don’t know what’ll happen.” Jack’s eyes glistened. He looked at
the sugared rim of his glass. “Tell me, Ronnie, why don’t you ever want to talk
about this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
drank, realizing he too was leaning forward conspiratorially. “It scares me,
frankly. And I don’t know what’ll happen. What it would even be like to live
without this character.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
stared at him long enough for the Grateful Dead to finish the song. The Verve’s
“Bittersweet Symphony” started up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Finally,
Jack nodded. “Good, Ronnie. Good.” Jack sighed and crossed his arms. “So ...
who will the Wind Rider team up with instead?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
laughed so hard that he snorted up lager.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 1.0in; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>*<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
heard Carrie from several desks over, swooping between the workspaces, an F-15
jet fighter flying close to ground, ready to let loose bombs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Alright,
I want this shortened by four o’clock. And take out the profanity.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“But
that’s the point, Carrie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Not
in a teen comic, it isn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Thompson,
re-draw this page so that you can see Max Reeves’ face as he confronts the
inter-dimensional double agent.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
looked up to see her, hard-eyed and flush-cheeked, pausing at his desk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Harry
needs help finishing the pencils for the Tenebrous Annual,” she said. “The
second story. Could you please lend him a hand? And we don’t have a new cover
for the Aslavak special.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Dare
I ask why?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Because
we fired the new guy off the book. Any chance you can lend us your legendary
last-minute talents?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
winked at her. “And here I thought that coming into the office would be a nice
break from sharing my digs with Jack-o.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Ah.
Don’t let that magazine<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>coverage go
to your head. That’s a ‘Yes’, then, to both?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“An
unequivocal one, my darling. And they’re around-the-clock talents. Not
last-minute ones.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Good.
And don’t you ‘darling’ me.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
know—darling,” he replied, but she was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Although
it was late summer, the rush was already underway to kick-start new series,
limited series, reprints and fall specials. At times like this, pencil lead hit
the paper, ink transformed lines, colleagues traded a steady fire of banter
over coffee, cigarettes and take-out food, and Ron loved the business. Deadline
pressure fuelled him. He often joked that if someone dangled him out an office
window, he would still carve out beautiful work. Maybe better than ever, in
fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
did his job well, dizzily pencilling the <i>Aslavak! Heir of the Vampires</i>
cover. The vampire stood to one side of the lit doorway of a one-storey
suburban home, his cadaverous frame pale and birch-tree thin. A skeleton,
half-stripped of bloodied flesh, lay on its back before him, with outstretched
skeletal fingers clutching for an overturned garbage can. The doorway light
threw a rhombus of wheat-yellow across ribs and gristle. In the doorway, a word
balloon asked, “Ronald? Have you put the garbage out yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
stood, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and walked to Harry Wilson’s office,
where Harry paced around like a man deliberating an appearance in court that
would decide his freedom. His half-bald pate shone under the office lights.
Completed sheets stood on his easel and half-finished ones on his drawing
board. The Tenebrous’ face was hidden under the shadow of his fedora, save for
a gleaming emerald eye.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Ron!”
Harry exclaimed, seeing him. “You’re just in time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
exhaled smoke. “Show me where to start.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Harry
indicated the second drawing board and stool to the left of his desk. He
briefed Ron about Tenebrous delivering cold justice to an abusive husband. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Waddya’ think? Can we make it?” Harry’s
pleading tone belied that he was a sprinter, not a long-distance runner, in the
drawing world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Harry,
the number of times you’ve said that to me...of course we can make it! Glad to
be of service.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Even
though it’s almost five?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“We’re
gonna’ be here well after five, old friend. Just keep the coffee coming. I
don’t mind staying late as long as our baby looks good. Let’s pull a Wheezy,
Harry.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Wheezy,”
Harry replied in an awed tone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Louise
“Wheezy” Woods had singlehandedly reversed the mid-1970’s sales slump. She
edited, wrote and pencilled multiple titles at break-neck pace, and also
birthed several characters with staying power. Lesley Nelson-F.B.I. tapped the
mid-to-late teen female demographic and older male fan base. But with the end
of the 1970’s, Wheezy, a cigar-smoking, single-malt-imbibing raconteur and
prankster, left the business, without notice or a forwarding address. No one
had heard from her or seen her since. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Those
were the days,” Harry said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“They
were. But I know what evil lurks in the minds of men, and we’ll have it all
ready for the morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Thanks
a million, as usual, Ron.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Don’t
thank me yet.” Ron snuffed out his smoke, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and set
to work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
better know what also lurks in the mind of Ron Philip by tomorrow,” Carrie
said, leaning in the office doorway. “We meet at ten.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
didn’t bother answering. She had already departed to pinpoint other,
higher-priority targets. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">At
a quarter of midnight, Harry and Ron finished. They were closing the office
again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
stood admiring the amassed panels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Thank
you,” Harry said, sighing contentedly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’re
welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
toasted a tumbler of Taylor Fladgate port.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
Tenebrous, popular during the 1940’s, navigates rain-slick avenues dwarfed by
buildings. He faced down criminals who could be people you worked with or lived
beside. In the final panels of this evening’s work, a young female beat cop
tells Tenebrous he disapproves of his cold-blooded methods. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“IF
ANYONE STANDS AGAINST THEIR FELLOW MAN, I STAND AGAINST THEM,” the Tenebrous
says. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
cop draws her pistol.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Tenebrous walks down a rainy alleyway,
merges into the darkness. The cop stares after him on the foggy, deserted,
late-night street. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron,
feeling like someone was watching him, was relieved when Jack hollered outside
Harry’s office door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Who
is up for a run to the Rabbit?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
and Harry turned to see Jack leaning against the jamb. “Up for a pint,
guv’nors?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Harry
glanced at his watch. “Aw, jeez, I gotta get home.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’ll close shop,” Ron said. “No
one’s waiting for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I appreciate it. Thanks!” Although
Harry made motions to hug Ron, he slapped Ron’s shoulder hard instead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
approached reception together. Jack pressed a stainless-steel flask into Ron’s
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’ll kill the wabbit, kill the
wabbit,” Jack sang. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Harry
walked ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sounds good to me, Jack-o.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Harry yelled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
stopped. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s the matter, Harry?” Jack
said. “You change your mind?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They passed the reception-area
couches and pushed through the double doors. Harry had pinned himself back
first against the marble wall between the closed elevators. A man limped past
him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Um, guys?” Harry said. “You have a
visitor.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
florescent ceiling lights flickered once, twice, and extinguished. The man’s
face was shrouded save for the pallor of a square jaw.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello there,” Ron said. He handed
Jack the flask. “Just a second. I’ll grab a light.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, I can see just fine,” the
figure replied. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
and Jack re-entered the double doors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Good
night vision, then?” Jack said, holding the door open. “Please just wait right
there. We’ll back in a sec.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I
wait for no one. I chase evil in its plight.” He lurched ahead, a silhouette in
the doorway. The backup lights came on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
hesitated to reply. He recognized the scarlet suit, the broad shoulders and the
emerald eyes reflecting the weak light. He should have. He created them with
Jack over a weekend of endless coffee, cigarettes and Chinese take-out,
sketching on eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheets of paper. The HB-pencil lead
still stained his fingertips and fingernails when he got carried away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But this is no comic book</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">,
he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’ve
got the wrong place,” Ron said behind the desk. He tried the light switch on
adjacent wall. Nothing. “Fan Expo isn’t until next weekend.” He opened the
top-left drawer, rummaged around, and produced a weighty flashlight. He picked
up the desktop phone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I have found the den of evil,” the
stranger said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
had heard enough. He shut and locked the door and backed away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
lock broke with a startling crack as the visitor pushed through the doors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron’s
blood froze. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
stranger raised his chin, peering from his half-ripped cowl. Tufts of <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">blond hair poked
out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack,
eyebrows raised, glanced at Ron; Ron reached for the button marked “Security”
on the phone console. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The stranger shook his head,
grinning tightly. He flicked out his right hand. One moment, Jack held the
flask. The next moment, the container was gone. The stranger held it. The
stainless steel flashed as he launched it. With a clack, the flask hit the
telephone receiver, knocking it from Ron’s hand. Pain stabbed at his wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What the hell?” Ron said, his shirt
and the phone doused in single-malt whiskey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You’ll
answer to me,” the stranger said. He gripped his own left shoulder with his
right hand, his bicep a rock. The stranger dragged his right leg behind him.
Bloodied splotches covered his chest. He stared down Ron with a steely gaze.
“How many innocents have died because of you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Is
this some sort of prank?” Ron asked. “Did one of our fans put you up to this?
Or Carrie?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You think this is a prank?” The
stranger reeked of sweat and gunpowder. A bruise marked his chin.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jack stared at him. “Ron,” Jack
said. “Ron, that’s our guy. That’s him—I mean, right here in front of us. At
least I think it is. Is it?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The visitor spun on Jack. ““How
perceptive, Jack Simon. You would know. You know about the well source.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
faced Ron. “Told ya so!” he exclaimed. His fervor, though, dissipated on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i>. He inhaled, the sound of strange
wind bending the sail of a ship set on a course to madness. “The well source of
all ideas,” he muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
are both equally culpable,” the visitor said. His eyes bore into Ron.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Culpable of what?” Ron asked. “Of, of making
things?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of murder. Murdering the Scrawler. But also
in issue 72, the ‘accidental’ death of The Wrangler, who fell into the Hudson
after trying to defeat me. And also the murder of countless others.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But...” Ron said. “...they’re all
fictional.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they</i>? Am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i>? Because I
assure you that I am no piece of fiction. I walk. I breathe.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And talk,” Jack said, “you
certainly talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And kill!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Their hero moved fast. In short
order, Jack felt as though a medicine ball pummeled his stomach. Ron now lay
half across the desk. Stray papers flew about the room. His head rang. His
right eye throbbed. The hero clutched Ron’s shirt. The hot breath on Ron’s face
was a mixture of minty after shave and copper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But...why?” Ron managed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
fist answered. Twice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
reeled, caterwauling, hands out. He attempted to right himself. His free palm
found the wall behind the desk. He stopped the world spinning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still, Ron could not grasp the sight
before him, breathing in sharp, painful bursts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You
don’t understand?” his creation asked. “You didn’t make me, you cads. This...”
he glanced around, motioned at the only real world Ron had ever known, “this is
the fiction. Understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ron retreated further. His jaw was loose,
and he couldn’t seem to tighten anything just now. His knees didn’t want to
stand, his arms were directionless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack
warily approached the Red Avenger. Ron saw that he was also swimming. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I made you. I made Quicksilver
Comics. My friends made your friends. Imagine if you ran around looking for
super-villains every day of your life. Might get boring, don’t you think? So we
made you, you and your famous life. Just like we made Wheezy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wheezy?” Jack said. “No way.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His creation, bloodied, battered, was
more maniacal-looking than heroic. “Oh, yes. She wanted to leave, too. So we
had to go after her as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go after her?” Ron replied, backing
between the cubicles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">His
creation limping toward him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“How...how
did you ‘go after her’?” Ron asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let’s just say Lesley Nelson took
care of that mission. And now I’m taking care of you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He lunged. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
flinched, swinging the flashlight hard against his attacker’s temple. His
creation staggered backward. Ron pushed a rolling chair at him, knocking the Avenger
backward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
hero shook his head. “Now evil has nowhere to hide.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re doing this because I killed
you?” Ron asked. He felt like someone had applied flames to his lower back.
“But you killed my life, in a sense. I’m only known as the guy who created
you!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His creation stood up straight. The
chest, six-pack and bulging thighs were a textbook drawing of musculature.
“That’s the idea. That’s how I made you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And me too?” Jack said. “Me, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But you also had us take Aki-Jitsu,
you dumb-ass,” Jack said, and attacked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
joined him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">In
the first volley of fists and flesh, the trio felled two cubicle walls, rained
down papers, toppled a semi-functional fax/photocopier/printer, propelled a
stapler, and trampled a corkboard bulletin board. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
pell-mell separated. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
and Jack bore bloodied brows, dishevelled hair and ripped clothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A noble effort,” their hero said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
fist shut Ron’s right eye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
heel to the brow snapped Jack backward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Strong hands clutched Ron’s shirt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He’s pushing me toward
the office window</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">, Ron dimly realized. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">He
felt a thrashing along his shoulder blades, and another. Pain scoured his back,
from neck to kidneys. Distantly, he heard glass crack and give. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jack stood one knee, a hand out, his
right eye blackening. “Nah,” he said. “You don’t kill in cold blood. Not like
this.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This is in self-defense,” their
fictional character replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The
hot, sticky night heat flooded in through the open window frame. The avenging
hero hoisted Ron up and outward into what he dimly realized could be his final
night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jack, weeping through his injuries,
stumbled after them and witnessed impossibility.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
crashed to the floor. He tried to clear his head. Everything hurt. His back
still felt aflame. He tried standing, stumbling on glass shards and looked up,
thinking Jack was wrestling with their visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Somebody
else attired in red held their hero at arm’s length in the window frame. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She grinned at him from under her
cowl. “Franky Knox, Pagegirl, no more,” she said with thin red lips. “Call me
the Red Avenger.” Her costume was sleeker, modest in the V-cut neck, her auburn
hair tied in a ponytail. <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She laughed at Ron’s gawking. “What?
It’s what you were thinking all along, for a successor, wasn’t it?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Their hero flailed and grunted.
Their new heroine shook her free index finger at the Avenger. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">“This
will get us new readers and carry on the tradition at the same time,” she said.
“Besides, once you get into cold-blooded killing, I’m afraid Jack’s right.” She
looked at Jack, standing, slack-jawed. He rubbed his forehead with his palm.
“You become a murderer, whether you’re or not you’re killing a villain or a
good guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can’t...get away with this,” her
mentor uttered, kicking. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, odds are you might survive to
fight me again,” she said. “Farewell, Manson Groves.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She dropped him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ron staggered to the window with
Jack. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">They
stood on either side of Franky Knox. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">A
few strong arguments? A hero would rebuke these. A few Aki-Jitsu moves? A hero
would recover. But fatal wounds, another toss from a building, the breaking of
his own life-taking code, a changing readership, a changing comic book history,
and a life-altering shock at Quicksilver Comics? There were things that even
the Red Avenger could not recover from.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ron and Jack watched their hero
fall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dozens
of papers spiralled around Manson Groves like white birds. There was Max
Reeves, Detective! And there was Imigan the Traveller! The Mandora! Aslavak,
Heir of Vampires! The Incredible Wind Rider! Omnivaxx, the Android Hero!
Dorius! Lesley Nelson, FBI! And don’t forget, Pagegirl, Franky Knox, donning
her costume, gazing around the secret headquarters of her fallen hero, her eyes
bright, full of life! The Red Avenger lived on. She would carry his mantle and
deliver a trouncing to any challengers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The papers parted. The figure hit
the black cement below. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">Ron
turned to Jack. They looked at each other like two friends who have just
finished a long adventure together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">No
one stood between them anymore, smelling of jasmine and sweat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">On
the wind, a full-throated voice carried through the night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She chases, dodge</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">s, flies by night<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To stop evil in its plight!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;"> Franky Knox had made her debut.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: times;">The End</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-46729391606305395322023-11-13T11:28:00.000-08:002023-11-14T07:10:24.244-08:00Cornwall book launch a smash success: Fear Itself and Queers Like Me with Michael V. Smith<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oARipy6G55KZsVFvXVgrJBdznTDquTauf6JdUat690zIa8bAsQO9D9G6rkgdx5YkUt0jLk196MGc2404xxbHDsv93BaWNk-bWgry1wfaAkaWEh1u6LcRV_3dl1Vj6g3iLpsg02RK25kERN3grbWpjvOL1TkrZK9atmpCAK8adjtL5eL7SdE-XAYjBqg/s2365/received_299815352851861.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2116" data-original-width="2365" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oARipy6G55KZsVFvXVgrJBdznTDquTauf6JdUat690zIa8bAsQO9D9G6rkgdx5YkUt0jLk196MGc2404xxbHDsv93BaWNk-bWgry1wfaAkaWEh1u6LcRV_3dl1Vj6g3iLpsg02RK25kERN3grbWpjvOL1TkrZK9atmpCAK8adjtL5eL7SdE-XAYjBqg/w271-h261/received_299815352851861.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="271" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Francis Langevin</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Had a brilliant October 29 Cornwall launch for my Lethe Press collection <i>Fear Itself </i>with Michael V. Smith launching his new Book*hug Press poetry book <i>Queers Like Me</i>. It was a double-threat book launch, two local queer boys who made good. </span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>This one was a milestone</span></span>—<span style="font-family: georgia;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="270" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6-ksR1QVeBtLO9MavJdkTEuZU_0ojdsMr2vxJXzt9o3gom5FOoU1DDk5rmzMRJ1nOLVo6-40-cScxDjQnm_jUpr-_vdeePtfqtjErek01RcrWUbtPkm5F9TO_5dfKUdxHyA4Vf-S0Kna2yr2LJ5vJhJZfoNtZ21YPkYOS_zxgFjs0QPmaQphc-bPkWo/w257-h321/IMG_20231101_185929.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="257" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Francis Langevin</span></td></tr></tbody></table>my first reading from one of my books in in my home-town. While I have promoted my books at CAPE (Cornwall & Area Pop Event) on and off for years, I have never done an event for my writing there. It was a doubly pleasant reading as Michael and me have never done an event together before. While we have supported each other throughout the years as our writing vocations have taken on unexpected trajectories (he is </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">an Associate </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Professor</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> of Creative Writing, Faculty of Creative and Critical Studies at</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> UBC, for example), this was our first opportunity to perform together. </span><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>But the timing was right. <i>Fear Itself </i>my first horror, sci-fi and fantasy collection, came out last year. In <i>Queers Like Me</i>, </span>published October 24 this year, Smith <span>examines growing up queer in Cornwall. </span><span>Luckily, with the tight publication, Book*hug provided him with advance copies for the intercity tour he is doing while on sabbatical.</span><span> </span><span> Michael was also in town October 28 to attend a gala to be inducted into the <span style="background-color: white;">Cornwall and Area Hall of Fame for the Arts</span>. In short, Michael was in town and I was not far away. Years back, we also attended Saint Lawrence High School and the original Central Public School together. While Michael is a few years ahead of me, our history and friendship </span><span>run deep. Small-town roots deep.</span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQRN9aLLmiwPUHo5p_LOqtKCA8KNhmda2Gtoq1AfaBnsCOuDw2Kz95P579A1QJz1uqno5lOv4OuB77HjfpcXgIT9T-9dRv2p2oaDoIR1jqV8kEQNQs7k4w1OYDv36qOoU6svJvLKC-1HdI1ixevz63EqacZegMSEYBsaroIUfS5Hkf8p3iY90XesFmyCw/s1600/IMG_20231101_185423.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQRN9aLLmiwPUHo5p_LOqtKCA8KNhmda2Gtoq1AfaBnsCOuDw2Kz95P579A1QJz1uqno5lOv4OuB77HjfpcXgIT9T-9dRv2p2oaDoIR1jqV8kEQNQs7k4w1OYDv36qOoU6svJvLKC-1HdI1ixevz63EqacZegMSEYBsaroIUfS5Hkf8p3iY90XesFmyCw/s320/IMG_20231101_185423.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Photo: AJ Dolman</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;">I liked</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Smith's 2002 novel <i>Cumberland</i> from Cormorant Books so much that I asked him permission to use two of his characters in walk-on cameos in my first novel <i>Town & Train. Cumberland</i> features Earnest, a closeted mill worker navigating the small-town milieu as much as his own sexual identity and awakening.<i> </i>Like myself, Michael also used a fictionalized Cornwall in his novel (Cumberland), whereas I called it Brandon in my horror novel <i>Town & Train</i>. He touched on some of the same local landmarks as settings, the gay cruising area down by the waterfront, the international bridge and even an RCAF jet in Lamoureux Park. Michael graciously granted me permission to use two of his characters (one of whom I name), and continually encouraged me to get the book published instead of leaving it in a drawer, as he said (back when we kept manuscripts in drawers and not on hard drives or ethereal clouds).</span><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">On top of the significance of getting together to read from our books with our shared history, we had a strong crowd of about 25 attendees at the fine venue of Carrots N' Dates and sold a stack of books each. You can't really ask for more at any reading, much less one at 2pm on a Sunday in grey, leafy late October in the Seaway Valley. One of my friends, who I was in Beavers with as a kid, was there on a first date with a young woman who made the hour drive from Montreal. In signing a book for her, I thanked her for making my launch her hot date.</span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9kr9moSzc1pL4-wGhUoKqZ1JYQH5QzE3jj3gfkN1oEHfnwN3XU-E3mm3AljLA20U-CFvl4dipONVhEvSHnNUqlBMrXXwbpuWY_3z4ual-fpc2BxOGXMdqLSeE74j1P4cRSbFA15QNfRhAdNlc9bQ5_Mx66KahJDJF7yOsMlJdLOcJgELcRx2ehsDmE/s3456/20231029_103912.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9kr9moSzc1pL4-wGhUoKqZ1JYQH5QzE3jj3gfkN1oEHfnwN3XU-E3mm3AljLA20U-CFvl4dipONVhEvSHnNUqlBMrXXwbpuWY_3z4ual-fpc2BxOGXMdqLSeE74j1P4cRSbFA15QNfRhAdNlc9bQ5_Mx66KahJDJF7yOsMlJdLOcJgELcRx2ehsDmE/w238-h238/20231029_103912.jpg" width="238" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia;">Often, at a well-attended reading, you might only sell a few books. Alternatively, sometimes with only a few in the audience, you might just sell quite a lot. Here, we were lucky enough with seats filled and phenomenal sales. I'm grateful, but even more thankful with all the hometown connections such as Councillor Elaine MacDonald, who saw the baby second draft of my novel-to-be <i>Town & Train </i>in grade 13,</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> and even my high-school drama teacher (now retired) Barb Mallette and several friendly faces I knew from grade school, and high school.</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thank you, everyone who showed up, friends of many years; high-school peers and best pals. Thank you, Carrots N' Dates, for the Hallloween-errific space.</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thanks, all!</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To find more about <i>Queers Like Me</i>, or buy a copy, here's a <a href="https://bookhugpress.ca/shop/author/michael-v-smith/queers-like-me-by-michael-v-smith/#:~:text=Smith%20moves%20from%20first%20home,a%20celebration%20of%20personal%20insight.">link</a> to publisher Book*hug press. </span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For more about my new book <i>Fear Itself, </i>purchase it, go <a href="https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/fearitself.html#/">here</a>, the Lethe Press site.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Both books are available through the amazons and independent bookstores.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2113" data-original-width="2273" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMXln3WZKjtWZudxnMqbO4URLbOvvqzcwruMdUEbmtyQGwK0JxEq8yJjETmBiMtH4YVda4urymaipRQKKZg68DvpG5UWbaxtPXL5i523-zurCJGOJH1w898BFkMjFtviG4ALXr99Mb28K8Kouz3LTFb6fGddNRhK5YihkgBICEIcuWhIZpwUYvBwBsRg/w281-h260/received_649031123764631.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="281" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Photo: Francis Langevin</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6-ksR1QVeBtLO9MavJdkTEuZU_0ojdsMr2vxJXzt9o3gom5FOoU1DDk5rmzMRJ1nOLVo6-40-cScxDjQnm_jUpr-_vdeePtfqtjErek01RcrWUbtPkm5F9TO_5dfKUdxHyA4Vf-S0Kna2yr2LJ5vJhJZfoNtZ21YPkYOS_zxgFjs0QPmaQphc-bPkWo/s369/IMG_20231101_185929.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMXln3WZKjtWZudxnMqbO4URLbOvvqzcwruMdUEbmtyQGwK0JxEq8yJjETmBiMtH4YVda4urymaipRQKKZg68DvpG5UWbaxtPXL5i523-zurCJGOJH1w898BFkMjFtviG4ALXr99Mb28K8Kouz3LTFb6fGddNRhK5YihkgBICEIcuWhIZpwUYvBwBsRg/s2273/received_649031123764631.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><p></p></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-34467649481116107682023-11-13T11:09:00.000-08:002023-11-13T11:57:19.635-08:00Late Notes from a chilly, leafy All Hallows' Eve 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BgT0Q9vFZPOP8yd_HysmR3lNezCYVP7Uz0Q7IQlOcXrINr-hqCYOIEIur76_yKCRw4hOGFA5qUW_VGPbNC0FkjM1nD3xayy8ruLwuz6aw2L1qLyUV0_O2IBimxMMvCOka_N_P8p1QUDneGqWuoDh8YxaxeEjgWhHjwkdEUkdpedfwvlHGEMCTUX-GmY/s1440/IMG_20231102_212512_813.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BgT0Q9vFZPOP8yd_HysmR3lNezCYVP7Uz0Q7IQlOcXrINr-hqCYOIEIur76_yKCRw4hOGFA5qUW_VGPbNC0FkjM1nD3xayy8ruLwuz6aw2L1qLyUV0_O2IBimxMMvCOka_N_P8p1QUDneGqWuoDh8YxaxeEjgWhHjwkdEUkdpedfwvlHGEMCTUX-GmY/w200-h200/IMG_20231102_212512_813.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">We received about 57 trick-or-treaters, all told, less than pre-pandemic, but about the same as last year. Many younglings among them, including Spidey-Kids, Mandalorians, and sparkle bunnies, the latter which made our Pomeranian/Chihuahua crossbreed lose her furry mind. Some blood-spattered high-school kids made an effort, and others, in hoodies, not so much, and parents, as clowns or robed figures with glowing axes. The young man and a friend had his last trick-or-treating outing, hitting residents, about to close shop, who praised the details of his apparel, and doled out generous handfuls of candy. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hope everyone had a good Hallowe'en.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlHBaRpLhtX4J1Pt0ZjPpBQbm7QrO9W3xLhtUcJvoO9VE5VuhNP9X8BKVdbV-zYdtMvpOjTbytnl6GH7TSSgZO8kkD4rNk5cCldpIJ-oAaYpY1TQOyHolMrBgnSpHAM2WpNv__DEMGDJ-zOSzdYye4YxuPN0x_9r-wk35cITmYHc53026R-q-XBQ3zgs/s3456/20231031_181830.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNzv_qFHHmCfdvpqqM8MdK1UimkdrFBYSSHaRD2_I309lG60AXFkRbqvt9wWoZpJVj_X7d0fbDoO1chyphenhyphen5wAigRyiOxvduRISASGeXUk0uf4hsmJZIGDuEimW30yB9e4ClO3ckN-3DRbOnjaany-aHyYkJ4sTGosm33L7YJMopir2ntT3Vyz7l1Fq9tBc/s1440/IMG_20231102_212512_943.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNzv_qFHHmCfdvpqqM8MdK1UimkdrFBYSSHaRD2_I309lG60AXFkRbqvt9wWoZpJVj_X7d0fbDoO1chyphenhyphen5wAigRyiOxvduRISASGeXUk0uf4hsmJZIGDuEimW30yB9e4ClO3ckN-3DRbOnjaany-aHyYkJ4sTGosm33L7YJMopir2ntT3Vyz7l1Fq9tBc/w200-h200/IMG_20231102_212512_943.jpg" width="200" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlHBaRpLhtX4J1Pt0ZjPpBQbm7QrO9W3xLhtUcJvoO9VE5VuhNP9X8BKVdbV-zYdtMvpOjTbytnl6GH7TSSgZO8kkD4rNk5cCldpIJ-oAaYpY1TQOyHolMrBgnSpHAM2WpNv__DEMGDJ-zOSzdYye4YxuPN0x_9r-wk35cITmYHc53026R-q-XBQ3zgs/w200-h200/20231031_181830.jpg" width="200" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiyOoEUl8cQzNB8J1CjN1RhpnnCp5-zBZg6I__DhbCAALgNsY7Q5O-jLLUi8hJLOaA3hrdKprWQ5QZj0Z253ZhNlp5AGKMxkswT_s0OvqTgy6J7Zg245gYPc4cZH4bgFEjFR6rTx566X7pl6teu9hz7nY7OnTYj3-KqKn25WCLnPcWTHcGYr4J9M9_HQ/s1440/IMG_20231102_212512_892.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiyOoEUl8cQzNB8J1CjN1RhpnnCp5-zBZg6I__DhbCAALgNsY7Q5O-jLLUi8hJLOaA3hrdKprWQ5QZj0Z253ZhNlp5AGKMxkswT_s0OvqTgy6J7Zg245gYPc4cZH4bgFEjFR6rTx566X7pl6teu9hz7nY7OnTYj3-KqKn25WCLnPcWTHcGYr4J9M9_HQ/w200-h200/IMG_20231102_212512_892.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-77646426542327189832023-10-18T11:17:00.006-07:002023-11-05T19:51:21.761-08:00Fear Itself collection is spooky reading<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFC4Lby6tUQTW-9N_J_JH-0M5LQpl5iLV93zUp6VdMLZVlZoiszCVsBwCJThArVZivGsIfzr4Wv26QXzqR1W8cyM6nOcQJ6nJrxI42hwU55M1hxH0MwSqjUwcbY8yboWe72OKlffiZBQyxkXx945l1UnTV17FFC95f12HDVUK3VFkbkV8jpJJuZg2Nhvs/s3456/20231017_141950.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFC4Lby6tUQTW-9N_J_JH-0M5LQpl5iLV93zUp6VdMLZVlZoiszCVsBwCJThArVZivGsIfzr4Wv26QXzqR1W8cyM6nOcQJ6nJrxI42hwU55M1hxH0MwSqjUwcbY8yboWe72OKlffiZBQyxkXx945l1UnTV17FFC95f12HDVUK3VFkbkV8jpJJuZg2Nhvs/s320/20231017_141950.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Just another spooky-season PSA as we enter Ray Bradbury's October Country. <i>Fear Itself</i>, my new Lethe Press short story collection, is a blend of horror and SFF, which Publishers Weekly called "unsettling". <div><br /></div><div><p dir="ltr">Audible version narrated by the inimitable and talented Gavin J. Annette. </p><p></p><p>Don't be afraid to snap it up. </p><p>amzn.to/3PGsMEb</p><p>amzn.to/3v1wJtV</p><p>bit.ly/3WAi3O8</p></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-88462527052387360982023-09-29T05:56:00.002-07:002023-11-13T11:58:42.722-08:00Review of Daniel Allen Cox's I Felt the End Before It Came: Memoirs of a Queer Ex-Jehovah’s Witnes<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My latest book review is up at </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="xt0psk2" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;"><a href="https://plenitudemagazine.ca/hope-and-hideous-truths-a-review-of-daniel-allen-coxs-i-felt-the-end-before-it-came/?fbclid=IwAR2k6lnumHs59EiOWx8q_HR3kQ2q4_DwEqCaHwBsKNDGR9vnqSd7cq9LWPg">Plenitude Magazine</a></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><a href="https://plenitudemagazine.ca/hope-and-hideous-truths-a-review-of-daniel-allen-coxs-i-felt-the-end-before-it-came/?fbclid=IwAR2k6lnumHs59EiOWx8q_HR3kQ2q4_DwEqCaHwBsKNDGR9vnqSd7cq9LWPg"> </a>of Daniel Allen Cox's <i>I Felt the End Before It Came: Memoirs of a Queer Ex-Jehovah’s Witness</i>. Link's <a href="https://plenitudemagazine.ca/hope-and-hideous-truths-a-review-of-daniel-allen-coxs-i-felt-the-end-before-it-came/?fbclid=IwAR2k6lnumHs59EiOWx8q_HR3kQ2q4_DwEqCaHwBsKNDGR9vnqSd7cq9LWPg">here</a>.</span></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Particularly proud of the blood, sweat, tears-and life research-that went into this one.</span></div></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-41026615620107288112023-09-22T17:42:00.003-07:002023-11-13T11:59:33.334-08:00Primal from Genndy Tartakovsky woos me<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEp33qOIfnebJtnrK-ITC_mJhuib3OfY0eyHm7Ba-gklqjAHkTGK-5R6cpVn3bU25yRKFuq6ycJBunNKlroxmRNtuEmUKKzuR7QBc7GjSWrtU-GJTa1tOYhWare2jYXAXF-WinryY5PnZCyF1Nd6nEluyHhAyWKUhmrQOTrCNE4uWOrcYixqVT4WPAlQ/s3388/20230826_122353.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2433" data-original-width="3388" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEp33qOIfnebJtnrK-ITC_mJhuib3OfY0eyHm7Ba-gklqjAHkTGK-5R6cpVn3bU25yRKFuq6ycJBunNKlroxmRNtuEmUKKzuR7QBc7GjSWrtU-GJTa1tOYhWare2jYXAXF-WinryY5PnZCyF1Nd6nEluyHhAyWKUhmrQOTrCNE4uWOrcYixqVT4WPAlQ/w415-h299/20230826_122353.jpg" width="415" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">This show has wooed me. From Genndy Tartakovsky, creator of the cult-favourite <i>Samurai Jack</i>, comes <i>Primal</i>, in which there is no dialogue. Spear, a Neanderthal, and Claw, a female, adult, teal-colored Tyrannosaurus, navigate a savage Prehistoric landscape, banding together after predators kill their respective families. It is brutally Darwinian, not for the faint of heart, and deeply visceral. <i>Primal </i>plays for keeps. Good and bad characters can die at any time. The recurring theme, unsurprisingly, is the fragility of a species, and musings about mortality. Battles are often gory, wnd even gorier, be forewarned. The score soars. The animation is immersing. The colour palette is sweeping and transporting. Did I mention there's not a single word of dialogue? <i>Primal</i> remains a master example of visual storytelling. Very satisfied to finally watch the 2019 first season. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxVjl_5Sfxz3YUujhNzJmxxELPTIIZQgMWhO73YJT6yAGP8kMGd1GnetlN7GVmm8zciGW2OHJVVywNvZWLcOxf7olKrcHb3PgVwhmpuZJ4XWE5-KB3ryitRnLZWJJfM3uYrMqswL5LE-258ByGg-QSwN14J3cV32ydMAdRLTzMSw1JBZs4RZRwcTwAHw/s3333/20230826_120912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2094" data-original-width="3333" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxVjl_5Sfxz3YUujhNzJmxxELPTIIZQgMWhO73YJT6yAGP8kMGd1GnetlN7GVmm8zciGW2OHJVVywNvZWLcOxf7olKrcHb3PgVwhmpuZJ4XWE5-KB3ryitRnLZWJJfM3uYrMqswL5LE-258ByGg-QSwN14J3cV32ydMAdRLTzMSw1JBZs4RZRwcTwAHw/w405-h254/20230826_120912.jpg" width="405" /></a></div><br />James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-73038668300203166392023-09-06T17:45:00.009-07:002023-09-24T21:36:00.615-07:00Taking Stock and Summer Snapshots: Loss, Writing Projects & Covid<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">September always makes me take stock, turn inward, and try to move with that big ol' wheel turning from late summer to fall.</span></p><p></p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div><span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Summer was rough at the start, had a smooth middle, and then a rough finish. In late May, I got a phone call saying a dear friend took their own life. This crushed my spirits. Well, more than my spirits. I was bereft. Levelled. I knew he had been dealing with mental health issues (agoraphobia, PTSD, psychotic breaks) for a few years. The following weeks were a blur of cleaning out his apartment. Their immediate family, his sister, lives in Connecticut and had to come up here and sort out details while the lawyer handled the estate. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgL3R8pdzHw-e3pdozg7WTCbxOu45nzsadrFVTHmFJaKfqjEMN2gz2-M95W4tU0LQeqPj1IiQE2bTY_e-YRnAkXxaAO6p2o2RUL_RUfqD4vs-WcupuayRRz0wP-Ufdx7mCJuQ2SuVRg2Nud_stU8AMnfW0Y_2UXUwTHIXcnCI7LShrwXecJj8jX8ckJk/s1054/FB_IMG_1687040184330.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="1054" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgL3R8pdzHw-e3pdozg7WTCbxOu45nzsadrFVTHmFJaKfqjEMN2gz2-M95W4tU0LQeqPj1IiQE2bTY_e-YRnAkXxaAO6p2o2RUL_RUfqD4vs-WcupuayRRz0wP-Ufdx7mCJuQ2SuVRg2Nud_stU8AMnfW0Y_2UXUwTHIXcnCI7LShrwXecJj8jX8ckJk/s320/FB_IMG_1687040184330.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>On June 15, I spoke on a very smart panel, Celebrating Artists' Pride as part of Lanark Pride. The other queer artists included, from left to right: Lorrie Potvin, Arria Deepwater, a photographer I know from a ways back named Lori Taylor, Susan Wagner-White (absent) and moderated by Kathryn Baker-Reed (not in the shot). The event was a great opportunity to talk about my creative process and writing in general, and talk to readers, which I love doing. I am grateful that it helped me feel like a writer again, as I had not worked on anything since learning of my friend's passing.</div><div><br /></div><div>My June 28 launch of my short-story collection <i>Fear Itself</i> raised my spirits, with a great crowd and great questions from my host, Dr. Sean Moreland. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCopWsD6SfyQC0woJU9cmlUJUABt_j1_u65biyw4VDh4a37JatjEUqgVjkwkKaDwmNxjmdASLjGzKlV3P-eBf8hl82I2NEQ4zkLNinXFkMq_KHZXc5_H4WUZa-ZppH0cPYvM1PbV2WAT0XBSW2zHXck5bq8eJ30njWkYhVY0TOZxQvob8fVr6SxLDvjY/s1143/image0000011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="1143" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCopWsD6SfyQC0woJU9cmlUJUABt_j1_u65biyw4VDh4a37JatjEUqgVjkwkKaDwmNxjmdASLjGzKlV3P-eBf8hl82I2NEQ4zkLNinXFkMq_KHZXc5_H4WUZa-ZppH0cPYvM1PbV2WAT0XBSW2zHXck5bq8eJ30njWkYhVY0TOZxQvob8fVr6SxLDvjY/w320-h229/image0000011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Performing my story "Carl and Monty's Prairie Wager" with my pal and co-conspirator Sean McKibbon was definitely a Rocky-Mountain-high sort of highlight, as we have known each other nearly as long as the grizzled cowboys in the story. Blogged about it previously <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2023/07/had-smash-hit-launch-on-june-28-for-my.html">here</a>.</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rFpcdyvLBQHyvBWD2IxAxycqx3_3zc4vy7dAmBTpDICdYzJxqJ9kK9uvRHuPnyektwFW_D-lwbek4KilQFaqYxyurZoDpXkHzzPDq3Fo6o1see5xwxnEZ0k5UuCY9mKmDaFVPc3cWJHarLYMqQfRJ2UtB5nnQZ3dwIfgWvGG5peTZihW1DLJR8ImqoY/s3456/20230603_212637.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rFpcdyvLBQHyvBWD2IxAxycqx3_3zc4vy7dAmBTpDICdYzJxqJ9kK9uvRHuPnyektwFW_D-lwbek4KilQFaqYxyurZoDpXkHzzPDq3Fo6o1see5xwxnEZ0k5UuCY9mKmDaFVPc3cWJHarLYMqQfRJ2UtB5nnQZ3dwIfgWvGG5peTZihW1DLJR8ImqoY/w262-h262/20230603_212637.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left;"> <span>Full moon</span></span><span>—<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left;">a Strawberry Moon, in fact</span>—<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left;">over<br />the St. Lawrence River. June 3, 2023. 9:26 pm.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>July was an adjustment. I continued to parry the blow of my grief with both healthy coping mechanisms (staying busy, exercising, talking about it) and unhealthy ones and taking pictures of the good ol' moon, a coping mechanism I developed during the slow loss of my sister to lung cancer in fall 2021. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our teenaged son traveled out west to work at his aunt's store for six weeks while we learned to do things on our own here. Still, this mid-stretch was fairly good, between ending June with my launch of my short-story collection <i>Fear Itself</i>, reconnecting with founding members of my Little Workshop of Horrors group and trading stories again, reconnecting with an old friend (more below) and getting much done in the day-to-day details of our lives. My co-pilot and me managed to go to attend great friends' gatherings and got out for some a few fine-and-fun dinner dates and we also found adventures wherever we could, big or small.</div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHickPEgDHgS6LgljcFOccN6thADi0ZfBjBlCnFG4F0W5ybDCTtsd60k-VxVC1fk9zHnJV2z-U0slvtgarga15xavLMe0jHbeswXAWwnqyMb8Rk-AHrrS8e6BQlbDJhuhmzVjxk8TlgbTaBdWx3Kbd94LI0V6seOnoG2lyd6mFKn3AGdbxGINGErl2DIw/s3456/20230805_115042.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHickPEgDHgS6LgljcFOccN6thADi0ZfBjBlCnFG4F0W5ybDCTtsd60k-VxVC1fk9zHnJV2z-U0slvtgarga15xavLMe0jHbeswXAWwnqyMb8Rk-AHrrS8e6BQlbDJhuhmzVjxk8TlgbTaBdWx3Kbd94LI0V6seOnoG2lyd6mFKn3AGdbxGINGErl2DIw/w221-h221/20230805_115042.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><br /></div><div>In early August, we visited our son in BC. It was either that or driving about six hours to the National Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine (the <i>other</i> Portland), but seeing our kid again clinched the decision. We went west instead of east. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwfQE2f8K8Gyfowj5TPEaS7NBLIR_7ptoE-s8PuwXBPObb8GLXVb3W9DIkH6bh0DQGJ5yK2OYQs0krqXRp-rau_FSLR77tdpG9vW4U1B00TBwL8idh8a4YmDCyWyrJSi4-S-Uov1788WPitIW-Z4vydXhSwzg6qpybo0wDt2jpvmR3fAycUar-ZorZ1M/s3456/20230821_111951.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwfQE2f8K8Gyfowj5TPEaS7NBLIR_7ptoE-s8PuwXBPObb8GLXVb3W9DIkH6bh0DQGJ5yK2OYQs0krqXRp-rau_FSLR77tdpG9vW4U1B00TBwL8idh8a4YmDCyWyrJSi4-S-Uov1788WPitIW-Z4vydXhSwzg6qpybo0wDt2jpvmR3fAycUar-ZorZ1M/w226-h226/20230821_111951.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span>A positive rapid test for Covid can look like<br />this, with a single red line on top. </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A few days after returning, and having a two-hour delay of layover time at Pearson International Airport in Toronto, we tested positive with Covid. Yes; it's still out there. On the plane and the airport, only a handful of other people masked. We masked whenever we were in the air, in fact. There then followed the inevitable self-isolation period. Our neighbours had dropped off the rapid tests. For groceries, my best friend offered and he got us emergency staple items (ready-made chicken, hummus, milk, produce). In other words enough to get through a week. But still, we missed work time (I luckily had enough sick days, although there is no longer a Covid-sick-day category, but only regular sick days). This was frustrating and we just felt awful.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdy-geJ356Ax1hXxtcaV0Tiqy53874rolrQeXoJgSpGqeT6HtaaNCD1c8A2945hGqrw9WNBeYJw7DKVxSPts5temz5PLO36OOvO701dJW3BlRfQFeNhIwqg2Ovi_-ntDPUmatnyQvfPeIoC2QBqolB0e8qkA_2edGVg_ZBjNpOsLHRCqCu3bO3RbI58CU/s3456/20230716_122233.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3198" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdy-geJ356Ax1hXxtcaV0Tiqy53874rolrQeXoJgSpGqeT6HtaaNCD1c8A2945hGqrw9WNBeYJw7DKVxSPts5temz5PLO36OOvO701dJW3BlRfQFeNhIwqg2Ovi_-ntDPUmatnyQvfPeIoC2QBqolB0e8qkA_2edGVg_ZBjNpOsLHRCqCu3bO3RbI58CU/w230-h249/20230716_122233.jpg" width="230" /></a></div></div>At least the symptoms were lighter than last time (a year ago, around the same time, after traveling to Toronto and Niagara On The Lake). I could focus long enough to read, too, which is fortunate. No fever or chills, agonizing aching hips, head cold, headache, and various flu symptoms. So, we lost a few weeks due to Covid. Time permitting, I will share pictures of my coping mechanisms. </div><div><br /></div><div>Grady Hendrix's heartful and entertaining <i>My Best Friend's Exorcism </i>I blogged about recently <a href="Grady Hendrix's heartful and entertaining My Best Friend's Exorcism, ">here</a> last time. But, as well, I read Suzette Mayr's rather stunning <i>The Sleeping Car Porter</i>, Kate Beaton's literary and epic <i>Ducks</i>, J. W. Ocker's highly amusing <i>The United States of Cryptids </i>and writer-artist Steve Skroce and colourist Bryan Valenza's <i>Clobberin' Time</i>, a rollicking five-issue series with the ever-loving blue-eyed Thing getting into tight situations with characters including the Hulk, Doctor Doom and Dr. Strange in wildly imaginative and cosmic, senses shattering fights. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNufTBBqySS7kwBraiibOVbouNPaI9UTZrdVRLhNn0-6Entnv6-lm8amlm4A8e1LWWXSy0Q9Zro7iLDfNV5PFbH-dnk5LiGcpEGN-_fWix4F2V4Rkual4iFtLoAqVDyv0al4PC8euo6MS9KBzvwosspoyBLYzXpuGZ46E-EXS07zV6QKca4yR7ylYgxo/s3456/20230909_100921.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNufTBBqySS7kwBraiibOVbouNPaI9UTZrdVRLhNn0-6Entnv6-lm8amlm4A8e1LWWXSy0Q9Zro7iLDfNV5PFbH-dnk5LiGcpEGN-_fWix4F2V4Rkual4iFtLoAqVDyv0al4PC8euo6MS9KBzvwosspoyBLYzXpuGZ46E-EXS07zV6QKca4yR7ylYgxo/s320/20230909_100921.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgqzyUoUqXu6gFjK8fksJno3tj4VGrxAdPBwjJxBP6v4UXVy5djzllgG08hrbKWVOMmDG7V0aBpFsT1CMmUa1QvHLnxVHGeM8QK0wauT62R_L371eeWshSoAy6GxztyISN9ehFiPIyA2Dr04CXpFhe7qpQgV5sKsIpP2I6W_uN9a39KR7VNz90_1t_R4/s3456/20230909_101144.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgqzyUoUqXu6gFjK8fksJno3tj4VGrxAdPBwjJxBP6v4UXVy5djzllgG08hrbKWVOMmDG7V0aBpFsT1CMmUa1QvHLnxVHGeM8QK0wauT62R_L371eeWshSoAy6GxztyISN9ehFiPIyA2Dr04CXpFhe7qpQgV5sKsIpP2I6W_uN9a39KR7VNz90_1t_R4/w320-h320/20230909_101144.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>It's wild and just my weird-speed.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9iq03NhwdyC4eWDjxzFsHKO8r-0KUT6MBhS9QL41Aue0uOOwcCqorsHiwssmk2F-IyrD8SuUL6xjvBPqIL39Ev04tERvJFyrucyIypBsvBR33iz_Fs5KDOs3ravSGETiIoufcOk2kmxNIdPMmHLInPA_Jv2lmDX4KQ4wMPBcb8mNj7RqKPC5fX_8nqk/s3344/IMG_20230818_174218_550.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2931" data-original-width="3344" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9iq03NhwdyC4eWDjxzFsHKO8r-0KUT6MBhS9QL41Aue0uOOwcCqorsHiwssmk2F-IyrD8SuUL6xjvBPqIL39Ev04tERvJFyrucyIypBsvBR33iz_Fs5KDOs3ravSGETiIoufcOk2kmxNIdPMmHLInPA_Jv2lmDX4KQ4wMPBcb8mNj7RqKPC5fX_8nqk/w241-h211/IMG_20230818_174218_550.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>Still trying to catch back up, from doing stuff around the house, the yard, and just getting it together for autumn. My writers' group need to meet to critique our stories in person (we have already done so in Track Changes for each piece, but meeting in person truly brings out the flashes of insight, in my experience). </div><div><br /></div><div>I am still finishing drafting a horror short story about Jehovah's Witnesses confronting their greatest fears (hint: it's based on an urban myth from the 1980's about the perils of JW's who either read the comic or watched the syndicated Saturday-morning cartoons about little blue guys and gals). The needle on the story is veering toward the novella territory of 7,500 to 17,500 words. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95BIXMGo98Wr1O6Mz8y0xnzP-dBdTlVsA8NTMityDEecokVOq5GHg3eviQDmtOqX9tfLGrikZoLs9smr5uyJqdI3-C9ISCBWUQFi20YvUGcK9iWWnQ_x_sd7ai7OIkJlrLGXFT2PvZL14uVSqdqbdxz7Fz7z_15dgJses4GnIcaIEDUVyYMdixc5zaG0/s3456/IMG_20230812_163816_631.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2868" data-original-width="3456" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95BIXMGo98Wr1O6Mz8y0xnzP-dBdTlVsA8NTMityDEecokVOq5GHg3eviQDmtOqX9tfLGrikZoLs9smr5uyJqdI3-C9ISCBWUQFi20YvUGcK9iWWnQ_x_sd7ai7OIkJlrLGXFT2PvZL14uVSqdqbdxz7Fz7z_15dgJses4GnIcaIEDUVyYMdixc5zaG0/w236-h196/IMG_20230812_163816_631.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><div>As well, after weeks of delays, compounded because of my grief, I finally turned in my review of Daniel Allen Cox's <i>I Felt the End Before It Came: Memoirs of a Queer Ex-Jehovah's Witness) </i>with my editor at prestigious queer online literary magazine. Stay tuned for a publication date and further details.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYE8DSpqCX0Kw2F3-3J4xiHtqEJo0IbOUkGVyQdxpvc-rOVLoUZ9eGiOKDzbPiLCyClAnUvlkNlHq2fWEXduBIaGuRtHEVgY_FdMzAdNSawN8CqQ_E6CH2Zd5iiqjEYOie-ETJ0pM2SUcWXOKD4ADF7BqwFyUF4t-l74ymX9RBxgyKRp6Ls9gXGFOgsw/s2246/IMG_20230513_125158_762.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="1971" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYE8DSpqCX0Kw2F3-3J4xiHtqEJo0IbOUkGVyQdxpvc-rOVLoUZ9eGiOKDzbPiLCyClAnUvlkNlHq2fWEXduBIaGuRtHEVgY_FdMzAdNSawN8CqQ_E6CH2Zd5iiqjEYOie-ETJ0pM2SUcWXOKD4ADF7BqwFyUF4t-l74ymX9RBxgyKRp6Ls9gXGFOgsw/w216-h246/IMG_20230513_125158_762.jpg" width="216" /></a></div></span></span><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now with September here, I am turning to introspection and hopefully inspiration. I will need to be patient with myself as I make up for lost time, but I am also kind of excited about the prospects of my writing projects. Autumn, particularly October, was always Ray Bradbury's favourite time of year, as well as Jack Kerouac's whatever his flaws. It's also mine. I'm trying to see the things that matter more, and treasure them, while also understanding that I'm as flawed and imperfect as anyone else and being better aware of my effect on others.</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">So in addition to back-to-school miscellany, I need to get gunning on a secret project for a local and wonderful press; assembling my second short-story collection and lastly, second-novel revisions.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Welcome, September. Let's try to get along, shall we?</span></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-30300115851005162452023-09-05T07:56:00.004-07:002023-09-06T17:12:40.074-07:00Story in Fear Itself collection dedicated to mentor<p><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Cz4WuccncgiR_xnJqis992kEns7J7sU78wCIPJsKRBwafg6jo2Ds2GGaT6_JERqo2iVMwaGpIjWOLpLgNfM8YCgG9fOmMzr61EzMyMiEhjl_MkF4nwM919Efdx8Usfg_Qr3ckLnj0P43qQh0FszdyvWlJwnkkUFDXUylPrz1s31i9pYWN4cNmKzOVK4/s960/311022760_974912966607657_5807687873635143763_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Cz4WuccncgiR_xnJqis992kEns7J7sU78wCIPJsKRBwafg6jo2Ds2GGaT6_JERqo2iVMwaGpIjWOLpLgNfM8YCgG9fOmMzr61EzMyMiEhjl_MkF4nwM919Efdx8Usfg_Qr3ckLnj0P43qQh0FszdyvWlJwnkkUFDXUylPrz1s31i9pYWN4cNmKzOVK4/w222-h334/311022760_974912966607657_5807687873635143763_n.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt;">The big wheel turns this past weekend. September third marks the anniversary of the passing of Hugh DeCourcy, my beloved friend, mentor and kindred spirit back in '96.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AiF9Cnv4VF4YQBZ7Dw2u1ASg7DLyzTyu16ZhcSyoeFuME8pnsRxVcJ9S-9ocsIMZt4zH2dwrgGgsGo7eoYaQwtHQx9nDh3yy5IJddbmyC0550ns_Jk4GVk4WfpPHmL8o70K520PxRFHNbrOzRs17f0AAatHV-ViFZBfj_JAbCKT4Mtq3dcX-ouk2lv4/w282-h358/20221230_155433.jpg" width="282" /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background: white; color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes,
if you're lucky, restless and growing up in a small city, you can meet someone
who changes the course of your life and leaves a mark on you in a positive way.
Hugh was that someone for me. He introduced me to the works of H.P. Lovecraft
and showed me that I could pursue my passion no matter what anyone else
thought. Hugh taught me that you can be a hobby guitarist, a keen chess player,
an amateur painter, a cross-country runner, a close observer, and a writer of
infinite passion and curiosity.</span> God damn, but he was great.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I have mentioned him previously around this time of year.
This September, though, I can proudly say how <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I have done right by him as a he features as a character in my
short-story collection </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fear Itself</i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> in the story “A Canadian Ghost In London” on page 169</span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #26282a; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.
The story concerns Sara Jasmine, a Canadian ex-pat spending evenings at the
Astoria Nightclub in London, England in 1998, who becomes convinced that the
ghost of her friend Hugh is pursuing her. The piece is rich with British references
and reminiscences and moments, these flies in amber. </span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 16px;">I hope readers enjoy it.</span><span style="color: #26282a; font-size: 16px;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #26282a; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I know Hugh
would be happy with it. T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">his one's for you, Hugh.</span></span></p></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-25262291566275255062023-09-04T19:21:00.001-07:002023-09-22T17:41:20.050-07:00Suzette Mayr 's masterful The Sleeping Car Porter<p>More Covid-recovery reading. Finally got to Suzette Mayr 's masterful <i>The Sleeping Car Porter</i>. It is about a queer black porter, Baxter, who aspires to be a dentist, working on a train cross-crossing Canada in 1929. </p><p>This thing has so much going for it. There is her characterization reminiscent of Michael V. Smith 's closeted protagonist Earnest in the startling novel <i>Cumberland</i>; social commentary about racism and classism; allusions to exacting customer service; details about a ridiculous working climate; hallucinatory sleep deprivation description and concise landscape description. </p><p>Aspiring writers take note-there"s much to learn, here. Mayr's descriptions of an ensemble cast would, in a less mature writer's hands, descend into caricature or pigeon-holing instead of layered complexity. </p><p>All this, steeped in an increasingly powerful magical realism. Please note, Elliott Dunstan, if you read this. </p><p>And my appreciation for this hypnotic and beguiling novel has no connection whatsoever to the fact I wrote <i>Town & Train</i>, a small-town Canadiana horror novel about ... a phantom steam engine. </p><p>All aboard!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSz4dOe1FBxDoWQWJ6GF9XLC8FRyuFsqoxBDgd3dtlzGMxVDa7WoY6JjbynZwbhVv5gW7JdbnUTyW6RdjKGDscuzPhceDsx27wDV3QyXZjfc9Lu-Ta3ko-0stCx7IwGQYt0CVBuLgNya_RdoEF9lFymS0bs_33lN60zKkEeS_pP7tD9UJs8zXb540exg0/s2874/IMG_20230827_143704_634.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2874" data-original-width="2874" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSz4dOe1FBxDoWQWJ6GF9XLC8FRyuFsqoxBDgd3dtlzGMxVDa7WoY6JjbynZwbhVv5gW7JdbnUTyW6RdjKGDscuzPhceDsx27wDV3QyXZjfc9Lu-Ta3ko-0stCx7IwGQYt0CVBuLgNya_RdoEF9lFymS0bs_33lN60zKkEeS_pP7tD9UJs8zXb540exg0/w339-h339/IMG_20230827_143704_634.jpg" width="339" /></a></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-25456053417903091392023-08-28T19:33:00.012-07:002023-08-28T20:10:32.919-07:00My Best Friend's Exorcism: Review notes from a recent case of Covid<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEDZpOVxJHlr9--kKe5Ctx6d1X2mXrQwAQHO7-ZqwnCQ9HSyoN_ONJ9Dx66i87GzP4ALqwEZttFj1ZP9A1pGnP_Gf-QHwUQ8ATsd-mWYv4zgVaXsDULRiZn05wDBTlGQtEus79KEVl4WMuHaAfztNvZ73Jw8IJIEmYyB_6dWtXnM9c0dFTRXjUcnHfqs/s2994/IMG_20230814_163420_936.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2994" data-original-width="2994" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEDZpOVxJHlr9--kKe5Ctx6d1X2mXrQwAQHO7-ZqwnCQ9HSyoN_ONJ9Dx66i87GzP4ALqwEZttFj1ZP9A1pGnP_Gf-QHwUQ8ATsd-mWYv4zgVaXsDULRiZn05wDBTlGQtEus79KEVl4WMuHaAfztNvZ73Jw8IJIEmYyB_6dWtXnM9c0dFTRXjUcnHfqs/w400-h400/IMG_20230814_163420_936.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>Blogging from notes scribbled during our latest bout with Covid, acquired on a return trip with a two-hour delay at our layover at Toronto's Pearson International Airport. First up-my (non-spoilery) thoughts on Grady Hendrix's novel <i>My Best Friend's Exorcism</i>, both the novel and the film adaptation.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><br /></span></span></div>In my house, two weeks back, we were sick as dogs. with headcold symptoms (headache, fever at times, sinus infections, aching joints, exhaustion, hot and cold flashes and loss of focus at times). </span></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>During my non-sleeping, bed-bound and deck moments, just to soak up Vitamim D and get some fresh air and space in self-isolation, I finished Grady Hen</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">drix's </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>My Best Friend's Exorcism</i></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">. It's nostalgia-drenched (set in 1988), but pleasantly so. Grady's book has great summer horror-flick feel to it, with tons of heart, not to mention that the novel is plain fun.</span><p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>Thank you kindly, Cole Lavergne, for recommending this yarn a ways back.</span>
<br /><br /><span>I feel an affinity for Hendrix's blend of horror, pithiness, humor and literary sensibilities. In my first novel </span><span><i>Town & Train</i></span><span> and my new short-story collection </span><span><i>Fear Itself</i></span><span>, there are often equal amounts humanity, horror ... and humor.</span>
<br /><br /><span><i>My Best Friend's Exorcism</i></span><span> was also charming, as well as amusing. But I was so charmed that I almost didn't notice that Hendrix never explained the how? of the possession. Hendrix found a superb eerie setting in the blockhouse where Abby wanders, looking for Gretchen during an excellent failed-LSD-trip scene. But how the demon possessed Gretchen is never quite explained, nor where. I re-read sections, seeking answers to the where and how queries. Gretchen does explain that a man was waiting for her in the woods, "bigger than a person should be." And there is a sort of sentient darkness in the blockhouse that Hendrix does not elaborate further on. I think that Hendrix missed an opportunity in exploring the history/mystery of the blockhouse, beyond allusions that dark rituals occurred there.</span>
<br /><br /><span>But other than that-what a superb novel. I was about the protagonists' ages in '88. There's a reason my </span><span><i>Train </i></span><span>book occurs in '90 (when I was seventeen).</span>
<br /><br /><span>Have you seen the film of </span><span><i>MBFE</i></span><span>? Ironically, in the adaptation on Prime, they expand on the blockhouse mythos, arguably improving this element of the novel, making it a derelict old house with a history.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>Unfortunately for us readers, the screenplay stripmines much of the charm, tension, as well as set-up/build-up/payoff of the novel that Hendrix gleefully excels at, replacing this instead with a plot-by-numbers script that stumbles along with the bluntness of a two-by-four. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>Gone is Abby's Mickey Mouse ringtone, for example, or her tough-as-nails-shift-working mom or her down-on-his-luck dad, and all the great class warfare commentary about Abby's working-class family and the wealthy families of friend Margaret and, of course, Gretchen, whose parents admit they hoped the girls' friendship would raise Abby up. The luxurious homes remain set pieces only. There's some fine casting in the roles of Abby and Gretchen, but, alas, I still find myself unable to finish the flick in one sitting.</span></span><!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/clipdata/clipdata_bodytext_230828_222102_107.sdocx--></div></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-35061531401415935112023-07-17T08:18:00.004-07:002023-07-27T14:17:28.751-07:00 Smash-hit Fear Itself collection book launch <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeP3y1BjCDQ6GVJ1RuHKCwGXBrLo1VtY8XL7Is8JgqbdK1v3wAA9FoiNeiLsOTpGe4bbCYwTVGoBp3m_XhVqOLXSWJQId-JFU-BnZ_S0NQULdPJqGIy2JnDURwexayCzsKSCNfL3zjhidgu_hEPqOWURXSJAIVU-DxXASuPsvEcUCY_2Hcz0gZRj3G5tI/s3364/20230625_115321.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3364" data-original-width="3234" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeP3y1BjCDQ6GVJ1RuHKCwGXBrLo1VtY8XL7Is8JgqbdK1v3wAA9FoiNeiLsOTpGe4bbCYwTVGoBp3m_XhVqOLXSWJQId-JFU-BnZ_S0NQULdPJqGIy2JnDURwexayCzsKSCNfL3zjhidgu_hEPqOWURXSJAIVU-DxXASuPsvEcUCY_2Hcz0gZRj3G5tI/w226-h236/20230625_115321.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Had a smash-hit launch on June 28 for my </span><span class="xv78j7m" spellcheck="false" style="font-family: georgia;">Lethe Press</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> short-story collection <i>Fear Itself</i> at </span><span class="xv78j7m" spellcheck="false" style="font-family: georgia;">Perfect Books in Ottawa</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Professor Sean Moreland was, as usual, a gracious, thoughtful host who asked incisive questions in the Q&A. My pal </span><span class="xv78j7m" spellcheck="false" style="font-family: georgia;">Sean McKibbon</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> did a stellar job as Carl in our reading of "Carl and Monty's Prairie Wager". </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thank you, Perfect Books manager Michael and other staff for making it all happen. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Turnout was phenomenal, including, astonishingly, the original members of my Little Workshop of Horrors writers' group and many friends I hadn't seen in a dog's age and even work colleagues. I was often moved very close to tears at seeing everyone. I also got to answer a question about my sister <span class="xv78j7m" spellcheck="false">Kim Moran MacIntosh</span>, whom we lost November 17, 2021 and to whom <i>Fear Itself </i>is dedicated.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1myVT7gLaLerv_au-DxMD73cazc5g3g8dNS0Ic6fp8c24KtmUHhk8UX9NMHyBOXl8GbdqLVMV67KEZGSX5FTiVqYtbyQL7FSA3Jw-YQOymnV5DTNIiUMCga0amwt-U2hrkVWDbNvk85XXJgou7KMg877_FgZEkBRYoX__ZywUbNCnOtTkg-PF2aKKFI/s1600/image0000001.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1myVT7gLaLerv_au-DxMD73cazc5g3g8dNS0Ic6fp8c24KtmUHhk8UX9NMHyBOXl8GbdqLVMV67KEZGSX5FTiVqYtbyQL7FSA3Jw-YQOymnV5DTNIiUMCga0amwt-U2hrkVWDbNvk85XXJgou7KMg877_FgZEkBRYoX__ZywUbNCnOtTkg-PF2aKKFI/w314-h238/image0000001.jpg" width="314" /></a>I discussed grief, loss and ghosts in my work; my mentor and friend Hugh DeCourcy; my influences of Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, and Clive Barker; notable queer spec-fic writers (Amber Dawn's <i>Sodom Road Exit</i> got a shout-out); the crucial role of queer protagonists baked into my work; the prevalence of Canadian wilderness in my work (the subconscious is the darndest thing ....); the impact of Peter Atkins and Glen Hirshberg on my vocation.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div>Been a long, hard road to get the book out, and way too much loss, so I am feeling very grateful for the support from everyone. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thank you so, so much.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVgbEd-OhR3rVSkoKRIuEezAhT-5QA-FyxXV70Wzr_MX_gbjZ-r4QK2twQHVqvasLj1k1yGjxZADlgV-OnzD7YKoVd7Xu8joX_6Tw9eqNF-Z4xS3LuOffPxM22249iLaDQZAfPMZ6QYlnNfN7w1ME5DDzCn58cJamIPIFVxhiMq1sSbhIV9AuRXDl29M/s3520/IMG_5580.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="3520" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVgbEd-OhR3rVSkoKRIuEezAhT-5QA-FyxXV70Wzr_MX_gbjZ-r4QK2twQHVqvasLj1k1yGjxZADlgV-OnzD7YKoVd7Xu8joX_6Tw9eqNF-Z4xS3LuOffPxM22249iLaDQZAfPMZ6QYlnNfN7w1ME5DDzCn58cJamIPIFVxhiMq1sSbhIV9AuRXDl29M/w348-h196/IMG_5580.JPG" width="348" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcrJeOhteeENpVdzvLxyyTFfSUbppH0q0kapnX_RNYk0U2rw97nAThZ-6RGWv2kd0TN8btLTts9rCIWGaMEX8ZFE6kcOT-n8iBrnoWZ7bR4EE2YgidKuY9tiOIdigwQmLgnM-Wpm9PMbVM1W-VBDniq5ASuygj5tv-gra5VztH2deb3KaesXaPQ4yVvs/s1600/IMG_20230629_101932.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcrJeOhteeENpVdzvLxyyTFfSUbppH0q0kapnX_RNYk0U2rw97nAThZ-6RGWv2kd0TN8btLTts9rCIWGaMEX8ZFE6kcOT-n8iBrnoWZ7bR4EE2YgidKuY9tiOIdigwQmLgnM-Wpm9PMbVM1W-VBDniq5ASuygj5tv-gra5VztH2deb3KaesXaPQ4yVvs/w203-h271/IMG_20230629_101932.jpg" width="203" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOD7kcYGAKFEDt3dFBlMGIh-7eHC1orh3ueCA8k1Mx6_Ahiwi5URkbFP93RdR0jC8uRX_ElU5gDbxNDvzByY_oqhZ3rgteFt5glqBFc7LKs9FgxTihSgJoai3a4W4mAE1jZEpobGUXukiLeXPjqiKN78RZV-rMx1NTADkCsQfA_e1oTXm9EA9-btzaVSc/s4032/IMG_5590.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOD7kcYGAKFEDt3dFBlMGIh-7eHC1orh3ueCA8k1Mx6_Ahiwi5URkbFP93RdR0jC8uRX_ElU5gDbxNDvzByY_oqhZ3rgteFt5glqBFc7LKs9FgxTihSgJoai3a4W4mAE1jZEpobGUXukiLeXPjqiKN78RZV-rMx1NTADkCsQfA_e1oTXm9EA9-btzaVSc/w203-h269/IMG_5590.jpg" width="203" /></a></div></div><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-26804645541476444392023-06-23T17:12:00.010-07:002023-06-23T17:49:50.004-07:00Fear Itself Ottawa Launch June 28<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNwRytoIQbm4EVh2RdPlvTSicTWF5VOOyUJfmG-F9X2HuHkliA4p4KOZuBszsA6WdhPplyjG4fVL3O-qgBya7A3mFGgM45tcRA0rA0U-DRDMXDAyx2YkFSI3wOSa8IUMFJFiedAaSE4-U986qBs_VADi1HUXJOB6xGPV9gSuwJPxeXzHr3peBVsLfSfM/s680/Perfect%20Books%20June%202023%20events.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="680" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNwRytoIQbm4EVh2RdPlvTSicTWF5VOOyUJfmG-F9X2HuHkliA4p4KOZuBszsA6WdhPplyjG4fVL3O-qgBya7A3mFGgM45tcRA0rA0U-DRDMXDAyx2YkFSI3wOSa8IUMFJFiedAaSE4-U986qBs_VADi1HUXJOB6xGPV9gSuwJPxeXzHr3peBVsLfSfM/s320/Perfect%20Books%20June%202023%20events.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">’</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">m very excited to launch my Lethe Press collection <i>Fear Itself </i>at Ottawa’s <a href="http://perfectbooks.ca/wp/">Perfect Books</a> on Wed., June 28.</span><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Doors open, 6:00 p.m. <br />Reading and Q&A, 6:30-8:00 p.m. <br />Host: Dr. Sean Moreland.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Special guest: Sean McKibbon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Perfect Books. 258A Elgin St.<br />More accessibility via walkway from Somerset St.<br />Free.<br /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Delighted to announce my host for the launch is none other than Dr. Moreland, aka Sean Moreland, my fellow co-founder of the Little Workshop of Horrors writers’ group, which we began back in fall 2012. In fact, most of the stories in <i>Fear Itself</i> Mr. Moreland saw in their nascent (or “drafty”, as we called them) form. I’m thrilled to reconnect with them after such a long absence of not connecting face-to-face. How I’ve missed them, and their perspectives. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Fear Itself </i>is a special blend of mainly horror, with a soupçon of fantasy and sci-fi with ten stories in all, which <i><a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/9781590217436">Publishers Weekly</a> </i>calls “unsettling”. But find out for yourself, fair reader.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Here’s Dr. Moreland’s bio.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sean Moreland teaches at the University of Ottawa. Their essays, primarily focused on Gothic, horror and weird fiction in its literary, cinematic, and sequential art guises, have most recently appeared in <i>Horror Literature Through History</i> and <i>The Oxford Handbook of Edgar Allan Poe. </i>They recently edited <i>The Lovecraftian Poe: Essays on Influence, Reception, Interpretation and Transformation</i> (Rowman & Littlefield, 2017) and <i>New Directions in Supernatural Horror: The Critical Legacy of H.P. Lovecraft </i>(<i>P</i>algrave, 2018). They are working on a monograph tentatively titled <i>Repulsive Influences: 350 Years of Cosmic Horro</i>r and occasionally blog about weirdness at <i>Postscripts to Darkness.</i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26Eylrm4Qe6QlqNoY7SXEPPGRbIB7WdiN-seqGw7FRFyYlqd1qbf09uch5XM89awqTR2t16CzEZuZawNxdg45D6HajO49X2zSLeXFqWeocIG-d3-cKPA5TNRtRTFX6VNSOvbao5ifVh_aD-Wn-mYz6xqdorRV4W0GOcEgz5Yj7Rqb5MQwK5wPSh1wVW0/s890/FB_IMG_1680996470650.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="890" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26Eylrm4Qe6QlqNoY7SXEPPGRbIB7WdiN-seqGw7FRFyYlqd1qbf09uch5XM89awqTR2t16CzEZuZawNxdg45D6HajO49X2zSLeXFqWeocIG-d3-cKPA5TNRtRTFX6VNSOvbao5ifVh_aD-Wn-mYz6xqdorRV4W0GOcEgz5Yj7Rqb5MQwK5wPSh1wVW0/w400-h285/FB_IMG_1680996470650.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-26324030204140595312023-04-07T10:53:00.008-07:002023-04-08T07:39:47.079-07:00My Fear Itself collection on Audible<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FjBwrgewjsg3oHhhLIn--MefCbnfdLSOy2rSBlWFi81vunrlhq45ahVuOqzYIiGk9ofwqbzNvztzpJPicCQIj4OpQl9R1Du1i84-buXbHRiOofir-MX3lU0XEb636ohpJD_DT16imNuM8CVX-3X2NxHqmGwAkeS06jzEdoEH2eEVnvpO2vDybSEx/s2400/Screenshot_20230407_113455_Facebook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FjBwrgewjsg3oHhhLIn--MefCbnfdLSOy2rSBlWFi81vunrlhq45ahVuOqzYIiGk9ofwqbzNvztzpJPicCQIj4OpQl9R1Du1i84-buXbHRiOofir-MX3lU0XEb636ohpJD_DT16imNuM8CVX-3X2NxHqmGwAkeS06jzEdoEH2eEVnvpO2vDybSEx/s320/Screenshot_20230407_113455_Facebook.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br />Thrilled to say <i>Fear Itself,</i> my debut collection from Lethe Press, is now available on Audible! Another first for me, as mentioned at Saints & Sinners LGBTQ Literary Festival.<p></p><p><i>Fear Itself</i> is a special blend of mainly horror, with a soupçon of fantasy and sci-fi with ten stories in all, which Publishers Weekly calls "unsettling".</p><p>Many thanks to publisher Steve Berman for making it happen. </p><p>Please check it out if LGBTQIA+, character-driven spec-fic with a literary bent is your thing. </p><p>Working with narrator, industrious voice actor Gavin J. Annette was a blast. Message him on Insta and Facebook for promo codes.</p><p>"The 10 unsettling tales of Moran’s debut collection ably live up to the title ... Incorporating cosmic horror, Indigenous legend, and B-movie monsters, there’s something here to please any horror fan."</p><p>-<i>Publishers Weekly</i></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-12528135274396743632023-04-03T10:34:00.009-07:002023-04-03T10:36:59.014-07:00Quick Film review of Violent Night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FgRb_x41mNalT6MEwzyv83_OfF3CqzfwMup8vcbbRuN5slwzq-2AUdIFrMHQ_ihVdAprvaro7Xs_YHyL3oeQWGFaLdn9df-Chk0qHP6Lf0lI6tJIpIj4ef7l7OyOVPfEPOtUk4Em0h3LNoYrtkoBwtLB5wUGTJGOqsvHJW97hSySzq1Gzwk6rwS3/s1250/MV5BYzg2NWNhOWItYjA3Yi00MzhhLTg4ZmItYzM3ZTIwN2U0ZGQ5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMzEyMDQzNzY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FgRb_x41mNalT6MEwzyv83_OfF3CqzfwMup8vcbbRuN5slwzq-2AUdIFrMHQ_ihVdAprvaro7Xs_YHyL3oeQWGFaLdn9df-Chk0qHP6Lf0lI6tJIpIj4ef7l7OyOVPfEPOtUk4Em0h3LNoYrtkoBwtLB5wUGTJGOqsvHJW97hSySzq1Gzwk6rwS3/s320/MV5BYzg2NWNhOWItYjA3Yi00MzhhLTg4ZmItYzM3ZTIwN2U0ZGQ5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMzEyMDQzNzY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />Viddied the at-best questionable Christmas flick, Violent Night. <p></p><p>Watching it, I was thinking a) it's been a while since I've seen a slasher Santa flick (somehow, it7 remains a hard subgenre to succeed in) and b) dang! This movie is far more freaking fun than it deserves to (or should) be, subverting Christmas staples and X-Mas film tropes, not to mention action-movie cliches. For good messure, it also maligns the very malignable (Editor's note: Is that even a word?) Hallmark X-Mas flicks. </p><p>Spoiler: David Harbour's Santa Claus. John Leguizamo's the principle antagonist, looking older (Ed. note: Aren't we all?), but delivering beautifully</p><p>Utterly a pleasure, sans guilt.</p><p dir="ltr"></p><p dir="ltr"><b>Trigger warnings</b><br />The violence has violent tendencies, reaching splatter/slasher levels, although somewhat cartoony and it is played for laughs (i.e. The Evil Dead, I'm lookingatchoo) and accompanied by a rousing holiday soundtrack.<br />Nothing about the holiday is sacred in this flick. Every toy included in the movie either breaks, twists or subverts.<br />Bryan Adams' "Christmas Time" features in a scene that epitomizes, if not the spirit of Christmas, then the spirit of Violent Night.</p><p dir="ltr">Would watch again. But nobody's perfect.</p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-47018434662222898522023-03-13T07:24:00.010-07:002023-03-13T07:48:56.598-07:00Chaudiere Books Interviews Yours Truly<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So if you
are curious about how I got into writing (an early affliction) and influences
and my ties to Ottawa’s CanLit and reading-series community, my pal
poet/publisher/editor/writer/event organizer rob mclennan posted a <a href="http://chaudierebooks.blogspot.com/2023/03/six-questions-interview-167-james-k.html">Six Questions Interview: Chaudiere Books</a> with me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was a long time coming. Early on in the pandemic, I wasn’t in the right headspace to do the interview, plagued by lack of focus and self-doubt and capricious mood shifts. But things shifted. I moved through many troubled times, including loss. These past three years, I moved from federal-government contract work to editing for </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="xt0psk2" style="display: inline;">Steve Berman</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"> of </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="xt0psk2" style="display: inline;">Lethe Press</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and, eventually, landed a day job I love involving books. I continually revised my second horror novel. Spurred on by interest from Steve, ultimately, I revised my spec-fic short-story collection, Fear Itself, now out from Lethe. </span></span></p>
<div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It’s been a long road, but I kept going. I was ready for the interview. I owe a thanks to rob for this piece. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And, I am grateful to Steve, hailing from the thriving metropolis of Greenfield, Massachusetts, for his interest.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://chaudierebooks.blogspot.com/2023/03/six-questions-interview-167-james-k.html"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Six Questions Interview: Chaudiere Books</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEClnk4sTfOHbP6s_vCkYCjc-tOzfL_hfuiq8jAIqNi5fwyt1D6bolwIwk7w5ArDOVo2PdCsbi3zfOJ-btGYzYA6Fu4Hfg2R9-_w4s7opFkdE3QJ1xOE9Hqkzjf-GnGDa3EoaDmGpPQaH-4H0o0iATA4o6-Q7mbdZQA6TeNg_C-81-ImYoHsl0N5Vm/s1034/JamesKMoranpicwithtrees.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1034" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEClnk4sTfOHbP6s_vCkYCjc-tOzfL_hfuiq8jAIqNi5fwyt1D6bolwIwk7w5ArDOVo2PdCsbi3zfOJ-btGYzYA6Fu4Hfg2R9-_w4s7opFkdE3QJ1xOE9Hqkzjf-GnGDa3EoaDmGpPQaH-4H0o0iATA4o6-Q7mbdZQA6TeNg_C-81-ImYoHsl0N5Vm/w200-h200/JamesKMoranpicwithtrees.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-42937051295254105832023-01-30T17:07:00.001-08:002023-01-30T17:07:13.608-08:00Fear Itself Ebook for only 99 cents<p dir="ltr"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8kA1dBuO86BLn7S6ge_kaH6fuYqEDPC0O_uVPLzMNyj-sbUJFXnwIuM0Cw3ZXZKFQWKP5d085BAxK0LftkDwQVwHTPV873kewDEtlM4Bd4DYf3s-TRXL0QWbWpEcySR7Bx4Wbx1hzWtTFYPqjEQnOqKS8XRtptqG5zfba-QNZElocT2oXmpBUdRS/s1713/Fear%20Itself%20un-cropped.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1713" data-original-width="1398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8kA1dBuO86BLn7S6ge_kaH6fuYqEDPC0O_uVPLzMNyj-sbUJFXnwIuM0Cw3ZXZKFQWKP5d085BAxK0LftkDwQVwHTPV873kewDEtlM4Bd4DYf3s-TRXL0QWbWpEcySR7Bx4Wbx1hzWtTFYPqjEQnOqKS8XRtptqG5zfba-QNZElocT2oXmpBUdRS/s320/Fear%20Itself%20un-cropped.jpeg" width="261" /></a></div><br />Shameless sales pitch:<br /><i>
Fear Itself </i>for only 99 cents! The first 99 people using coupon code CJ75N can get my debut horror, sci-fi and fantasy collection from Lethe Press for a great price. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1279646<p></p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-68555609099572198162022-12-20T07:11:00.009-08:002022-12-20T18:54:07.867-08:00My short-story collection Fear itself is out, at last!<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Psst! I'm beyond excited to announce that my short-story collection<i> Fear itself</i> is out, at last! You can find it available on amazon and from ordering through indie bookstores and on the Lethe Press
website. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;">Fear Itself</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;"> is
a special blend of mainly horror, with a soupçon of fantasy and sci-fi. It includes
nine stories in all, a ghost novelette, and story notes. Many of the stories are near and dear to me, written over the years, with some, such as the novelette, "A Canadian Ghost in London", first drafted whilst I lived in London, England back in 1998.</span></span></p><p><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I am grateful to the fine work of U.S. publisher Lethe Press, which really is veteran accomplished writer and editor Steve Berman.</span></span></p><p><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I have included some story descriptions on my blog somewhat recently, but this more-than-generous advance review from <i>Publishers Weekly </i>does a great job of describing it.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #171219;">“The
ten unsettling tales of Moran’s debut collection ably live up to the title,
featuring monsters that will haunt nightmares. </span><span style="color: #171219;">In “Glimpses Through the Trees,” a creature visible only out of the
corner of one’s eye chases a couple as they desperately drive away. Terrifying
whispers come from a couple’s baby monitor as they adjust to new parenthood in
“Monitored.” Technology again serves as a vehicle for fright in “Burned,” in
which an entity murders through digital video. Some of the stories are less
immediately scary, including “Carl and Monty’s Prairie Wager,” a voicey take on
a classic zombie story, and “Living Under the Conditions,” which presents a not
quite apocalyptic scenario in which gravity and time fluctuate wildly. The
collection ends on a high note, with the moving ghost story “A Canadian Ghost
in London,” which explores love, loss, grief, and letting go. Incorporating
cosmic horror, Indigenous legend, and B-movie monsters, there’s something here
to please any horror fan. </span><span style="color: #171219;">Incorporating cosmic horror,
Indigenous legend, and B-movie monsters, there’s something here to please any
horror fan</span>.”<br />—<i>Publishers Weekly</i></span></p><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Can't afford it? Suggest your local library purchase it so you can borrow it.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Want to review it? Let me or my publisher know, depending which side of the Canada/U.S. border you're on.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3PGsMEb">https://amzn.to/3PGsMEb</a> (amazon.ca)<br /><a href="https://amzn.to/3v1wJtV">https://amzn.to/3v1wJtV</a> (amazon.com)<br /><a href="https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/Fear_Itself.html#/">https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/Fear_Itself.html#/</a> (Lethe site)</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_GsulniPMr-0pp2TjTU0c2KmFtmvFrkvpxa9OjNwggKdtxVkRRqCPGiUyeYcjSjQrpIRM9cRHQvFX8oPG6rywiM6VmtTn_SpUbbtfZCLwT4tcqB1SnYu1ckly27vafHWNwbb5Iv2AlkylGI8DrWrnUCgr1zMzxeBDNj5McN8CEoLrv18bXuLuIyx/s960/311022760_974912966607657_5807687873635143763_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_GsulniPMr-0pp2TjTU0c2KmFtmvFrkvpxa9OjNwggKdtxVkRRqCPGiUyeYcjSjQrpIRM9cRHQvFX8oPG6rywiM6VmtTn_SpUbbtfZCLwT4tcqB1SnYu1ckly27vafHWNwbb5Iv2AlkylGI8DrWrnUCgr1zMzxeBDNj5McN8CEoLrv18bXuLuIyx/s16000/311022760_974912966607657_5807687873635143763_n.jpg" /></span></a></div></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-29544211501435407422022-11-12T19:25:00.003-08:002022-11-12T19:27:58.756-08:00Happy Hallowe'en<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well ... got so busy, that I didn't post this Hallowe'en post recently. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy Hallowe'en (All Hallows' Eve) and Samhain, all (pronounced "Sow-wen"). Some believe the veil betweenI didn't post this Halllowe the living and the dead is thinning. I'm anxious and in possession of various desires and energies-some practical, some not. Here are some of Ray Bradbury's autumn-empty trees to contemplate from a recent hike.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UlCVEknm0rKlJRf_HmhsaVGZ1puyQwyg6I8-iyc8yl3R7lq67QBnv0S4S7yaUjoXITqmId_MCSrIlFoV1QuULtARDmkeunKYEqHSbVGbOKEoWDpusW_etmZ89UbUnE8S7JxQoSsKxMRTSiPmTeIMMKo8fUD0DGJT9fCktWasCcqksYJC9HtrAo5C/s3468/20221030_150110.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="3040" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UlCVEknm0rKlJRf_HmhsaVGZ1puyQwyg6I8-iyc8yl3R7lq67QBnv0S4S7yaUjoXITqmId_MCSrIlFoV1QuULtARDmkeunKYEqHSbVGbOKEoWDpusW_etmZ89UbUnE8S7JxQoSsKxMRTSiPmTeIMMKo8fUD0DGJT9fCktWasCcqksYJC9HtrAo5C/w351-h400/20221030_150110.jpg" width="351" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><p></p></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-72753358798694767362022-10-29T09:18:00.001-07:002022-10-29T09:18:57.632-07:00Halloween reading and viewing recommendations<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Having a very busy fall, so I am reposting the following.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>For me, inspiration runs to a fever pitch even as the leaves turn, fall, and the, heady wine-like smell seems to pervade the world. I used to always pen a Halloween story, from grade six or so onward, up through university, and afterward. It is no coincidence that my first novel,</span><span> </span><i>Town & Train</i><span>, was literary horror. So, I am always seeking out Halloween viewing and reading. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Over the years, on this blog, I have made the strong case for Hallowe'en films and comics and books. You can find links to all of these posts below: </span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><div><span>- </span>From 2019: <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2019/09/baseball-style-review-glen-hirshbergs.html">Baseball-style Review: Glen Hirshberg’s The Ones Who Are Waving: Tales of the Strange, Sad and Wondrous</a></div><div>- From 2017: <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2017/10/halloween-reads-semiautomagic-and.html">Halloween Reads: Alex de Campi's and Jerry Ordway's Semiautomagic, de Campi's Grindhouse</a></div><div>- From 2016: <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2016/10/best-halloween-movie-picks_48.html">Best Halloween Movie Picks</a></div>- From 2015: <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2015/10/scary-halloween-reading.html">Scary Halloween reading</a>, <span><span><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2015/10/lisa-morton-halloween-aficianado.html" style="background-color: white;">Lisa Morton, Halloween aficionado extraordinaire</a> <br /><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></span></span><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2015/10/anyone-up-for-good-scary-halloween-read.html"><i>Town & Train</i>: A Good, Spooky Halloween Read</a><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2015/10/astonishing-and-creepy-review-of-it.html">It Follows is Astonishing and Creepy: A Film Review</a></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><span><span style="background-color: white;">- From 2014: </span></span></span><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2014/10/last-minute-all-hallows-eve-reading.html">Last-minute All Hallows' Eve reading</a><br /><span>- From 2013: </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2013/10/halloweenish-viewing-for-five-year-olds.html">Halloweenish Viewing for Five-year-olds</a><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2014/01/best-and-worst-of-2013-part-1.html"> </a></span><span style="background-color: transparent;"><a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2014/01/best-and-worst-of-2013-part-1.html">Best (Read) in 2013: Peter Atkins' Rumours of the Marvellous</a></span></span></span></span></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-30632061552982993952022-10-29T09:13:00.004-07:002022-10-29T09:13:33.193-07:00Two more days til' Halloween: My October reading and viewing<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Two more days 'til Hallowe'en, Hallowe'en, Hallowe'en ....</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">It being so close to October 31, I thought I would share my good and</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;"> interesting October journey.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background: white;">Let's talk October reads first. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background: white;">Just finished Renn Graham and Jeannette Arroyo's <i>Blackwater</i>. Originally a web
comic, it is a YA queer romance horror, sort of a mash-up of <i>Stranger Things</i>
(though not retro), <i>Heartstopper </i>and <i>Teen Wolf</i> with alternating art styles!</span>
<span style="background: white;">Crushing on supporting goth character Marcia, a
slightly under-realized young black woman of size. Perhaps another story with
more of her, and protags, jock Tony Price and German kid, Eli Hirsch? There's
room for all that, and I'd read it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">Also Adam Cesare's <i>Clown In A Cornfield</i>, which marries old-and-new-school
slashers, moving at a good clip. As it is YA horror (which I only discovered after reading the novel), Cesare is often borderline
satirical in depicting townies, and any grown-ups, who are alternately inept or
menacing for the most part. But this view of townies grows more sympathetic as
protagonist Quinn widens her view of Small Town, Missouri. She and h</span>er dad Dr. Glenn Maybrook <span style="background: white;">have
a shared requisite tragic backstory. Their sudden relocation from Philadelphia
to Kettle Springs allows for new-school/old-school, big-city/small-town
comparisons and juxtapositions, granting Cesare the ability to tell the story
like an old-school slasher in a contemporary setting. Jock Cole Hill, </span>her romantic interest, also grapples with grief, but his story of loss is shown instead of told. It is a curious choice,
considering that whole Cole character is a means to digging into the town's
quandaries and past. Quinn, on the other hand, remains the main character and should have agency or at least a background deserving of
equal attention.<br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">In some ways, <i>Clown</i> is a variation on the <i>Scream</i>
franchise themes, but with compelling characters, action and small-town spicing,
courtesy of Kettle Springs, Missouri. Only recently did I learn it is YA. With
its level of gore and dismemberment, though, it is a closer descendant of
the Netflix <i>Fear Street</i> trilogy than <i>Stranger Things</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">For a good laugh, I am slowly working through Grady Hendrix
and Will Erickson's riotously funny <i>Paperbacks From Hell:</i></span><i><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #4d5156; line-height: 115%;"> The Twisted History
of '70s and '80s Horror Fiction</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #4d5156; line-height: 115%;">. It remains a</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #1d2228; line-height: 115%;"> mood up-lifter of
the most ridiculous sort.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #1d2228; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;">I realized I
never saw all of John Carpenter’s 1981 effort, <i>The Fog</i>, and rented it. It
remains immersive 1980's horror, with tough-sensitive guy Tom Atkins, Curtis
shimmering as free-wheeling hitchhiker Elizabeth Solley.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #0f1419; line-height: 115%;">Loved Janet Leigh, saucy 1978 <i>Halloween</i> alumni Nancy
Kyes, cool lighthouse deejay Adrienne Barbeau. All that said, some shots, in
fact many, and the music remind me of <i>Halloween</i>. In fact, director Carpenter
is really cribbing himself for much of the tense scenes, when he isn’t busy
showing the beautiful seaside before the fog rolls in in and the fog machine
really starts gunning in-town. The '76 Ford LTD Country Squire is also a close
cousin to Michael Myers' ride, the '78 Ford LTD Station Wagon in <i>Halloween</i>.</span>
Perhaps Carpenter got a deal on these station wagons, or simply owned one?<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Also viddied queer director James
Whale’s <i>The Invisible Man</i> (1933); <i>The Old Dark House</i> (1932, also
a Whale film). The first is mercilessly dark and twisted, and campy and the
second, well, the second is the same, sans a Universal Studios monster. In House,
Whale also nods, winks and leers at the queer viewer, passing off strikes as
balls, or queer jokes as straight clap-trap, and they’re a joy to detect, each
and every one of them.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #1d2228; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As
well, I quite enjoyed Tom Seeley and Michael Moreci's <i>Revealer</i>, pairing
a stripper and religious zealot in Chicago during the rapture. This impressive
cosmic-horror endeavour works hard, delivering a great story and performances
despite Covid shooting limitations.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #1d2228; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="background: white;">Watched Dave Grohl's <i>Studio 666</i>, a predictable but
loving tribute to horror cinema. Like seeing Kiss in the classic 1979
rock-cheese feature <i>Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park</i>, </span>one must appreciate the rock band the Foo Fighters hamming up every scene
to a rather kick-ass soundtrack and crop of cameos including ... Lionel Ritchie?</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Blade</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> from 1988 still remains kinetic. Wesley Snipes kicks
fanged-fiend butt, but with some power-level discrepancies and Stephen Dorff
remains a fine Jack Nicholsonesque antagonist. Kris Kristofferson as cranky old
Whistler is still as endearingly irascible as ever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">George A. Romero's 1968 <i>Night of
the Living Dead</i> still wields power over the viewer, as does John Landis’
1981 <i>An American Werewolf in London</i>, although I still maintain it
suffers from a simplistic and fatalistic third act. While <i>Night</i>’s ending
is a kick to the stomach, <i>American Werewolf</i>’s remains abrupt and unsympathetic
to the point of sarcasm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The last two are revisits. Still
hankering to revisit <i>It Follows</i>, one of my all-time contemporary favourites.
My case for <i>It Follows </i>is <a href="https://jameskmoran.blogspot.com/2015/10/astonishing-and-creepy-review-of-it.html?zx=d635a08d94120bdd">here</a> in previous blog post.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Also watching Shudder’s <i>Queer For
Fear. </i>The documentary series traces the lineage of queer or LGBTQ1+
influence on horror and gothic literature and cinema from its earliest days,
from Mary Shelley penning<i> A Modern Prometheus</i> and kickstarting the gothic
and horror genre and onward. While it features an uneven third episode, <i>Queer
</i>is at its best when focusing on a particular actor, a film or film series (Anthony
Perkins in <i>Psycho</i>, Alfred Hitchcock’s portrayal of gay men) or a particular
genre trend (the endless list of exploitative lesbian vampire films in the 1970’s)
or juxtaposing overtly campy or sexual sound bites into the thesis breakdown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In between all that, trying to finish a review of
a sci-fi collection for U.S. magazine and trying to revise an autumnal story
about a traveling roadshow of horror writers who are down on their luck, and turning
to dark means in their desperation. </span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-26026348557889013222022-10-07T10:16:00.003-07:002022-10-07T10:22:00.537-07:00Description of Fear Itself short-story collection<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: georgia; line-height: 115%;">Lots of
people (okay, a few) ask what <i>Fear Itself</i>, my debut </span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="a1n8e-1-0"><span data-text="true">Lethe Press</span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: georgia; line-height: 115%;"></span><span data-offset-key="a1n8e-2-0" style="font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"> collection, coming Dec. 5, is about. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-offset-key="a1n8e-2-0" style="font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">Here's what my ten stories are </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;">about. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">"Canadian author James K. Moran's
debut collection of dark fiction offers fantasy, sci-fi and horror shot through
with hope and friendship. </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 115%;">Inside, readers will
discover sea serpents among the roiling waters of the St. Lawrence River under
a dilapidated international bridge; a misguided bi mage negotiating with a demon
he accidentally summoned into his dorm; a baby monitor issuing the voice of an
intradimensional dark god; a couple in Picton County fleeing an ancient entity they
cannot see directly that demands a blood sacrifice; queer ghosts haunting a British
nightclub; two salty old ranch hands outside Lethbridge, Alberta, betting on
who is a better shot in what may be the apocalypse; a shape-changing huckster seducing apathetic
suburbanites; a gay rare-collectibles hunter hunted by a being moving between
the Internet, film and fact; a cat-fished giant marauding the backroads of
Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry counties; a gay wine shop manager discovering
more than a dusty Moscato lurking in the musty basement; and a pterodactyl
loose downtown."</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: black; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%;">Now with a new cover!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #0f1419; font-size: medium;">Cover and interior design by Ryan Vance.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #0f1419;">Pre-orderable at </span><span style="color: #1d9bf0; line-height: 115%;">https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/Fear_Itself.html#/</span></span><span style="color: #1d9bf0;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDyKnLPcQIaD9GBCHuJTPqsk3ztMBwe2P8TmNYJzgch9VuL7nbWBb_28c99HrcaVxW7OK72T_uflb_xB30WjL0EOaH2WcreTwsBgFQl6R_qZhw5GYkwqmYhhF_FzwZeyUxpjvu5HQFJP7YmFaG3TgMBVnpKg_bTCJhqRQyIg3H1Mdo0BicCpSVcDQ/s1755/FearItselnewcover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1755" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDyKnLPcQIaD9GBCHuJTPqsk3ztMBwe2P8TmNYJzgch9VuL7nbWBb_28c99HrcaVxW7OK72T_uflb_xB30WjL0EOaH2WcreTwsBgFQl6R_qZhw5GYkwqmYhhF_FzwZeyUxpjvu5HQFJP7YmFaG3TgMBVnpKg_bTCJhqRQyIg3H1Mdo0BicCpSVcDQ/w427-h640/FearItselnewcover.jpg" width="427" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-78225447092496791102022-09-30T12:00:00.006-07:002022-09-30T12:04:58.710-07:00Fear Itself collection dedication to my sister <p><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>I </span><span>am distracted and pensive and sad today. It is my sister Kim's birthday. She would have been fifty-five.</span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>This is the weekend, a year ago, when everything changed and we could see time running out on her five-year, stage-four lung cancer prognosis. Me and my family raced home to take care of her and help out my overwhelmed brother-in-law. It soon become a dark time and darker still, but I will always be grateful I could be there for her with my other sister, the health-care pro in her element, my brother-in-law, my nieces, and my parents as well.</span>
<br /><br /><span>Kim always believed in my writing, even a giant-bug-themed story I penned in high school. I set the piece at local Camp Kagama. As my protagonist tries to evacuate the camp because of the insectile invasion, another character makes an offhanded reference to my sister, the staff nurse, making out with a cute camp counselor.</span>
<br /><br /><span>(My writing has improved markedly since.)</span>
<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>I am dedicating my short-story collection, </span><span><i>Fear Itself</i></span></span><span><span style="font-family: georgia;">, coming out November 15, to Kim.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: 16px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7dGSbnwO7sXz4paOa79hM51WwlsDv6dL2d0JA3iet1uco03-RO2Giun3JMe-NugpWDHkFtlKj6OfiFgVWBKHlQx1wIjxjgrUR2nIHibe_Ar2m9QVS-o5jzSW--hPzLjVnc_8Suw9t8_JLwKznAOq8F-_m1QHQHwfefV3Jic6sGSnfyCiOkj8kPcvx/s4624/20220920_191827.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7dGSbnwO7sXz4paOa79hM51WwlsDv6dL2d0JA3iet1uco03-RO2Giun3JMe-NugpWDHkFtlKj6OfiFgVWBKHlQx1wIjxjgrUR2nIHibe_Ar2m9QVS-o5jzSW--hPzLjVnc_8Suw9t8_JLwKznAOq8F-_m1QHQHwfefV3Jic6sGSnfyCiOkj8kPcvx/w400-h300/20220920_191827.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div></span><!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/clipdata/clipdata_bodytext_220930_145352_778.sdocx-->James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794285965198366426.post-48025291769844793492022-08-10T17:38:00.008-07:002022-08-17T07:35:19.617-07:00I'm Back, Baby: Short-story collection, Fear Itself, coming this fall!<p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have another book coming out.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-offset-key="4aru5-0-0" style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span data-text="true">It has been a long road, but I am beyond <span style="color: #0f1419;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">excited to announce my first short-story collection <i>Fear Itself</i> is at last coming from Lethe Press</span></span></span></span><span data-offset-key="4aru5-2-0" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: georgia; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"> this fall. It's a special blend of mainly horror, with a soupçon of fantasy and sci-fi. <i>Fear Itself</i> includes nine stories in all, a ghost novelette, and story notes. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Many
pieces have a clear local setting and feature LGBTQ1+ protagonists. While they
generally do not meet tragic, pulpy ends, my characters do not make it out unscathed,
either. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">I will be talking or, rather more accurately, teasing out fun facts about the stories in future posts, and describing some of the road that led to the book's publication, but for now, here's </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">a quick little teaser about one story in the collection. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In “Crag Face”, recently
divorced Ray Morley is driving the back roads of Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry
to Cornwall for a funeral. His deceased friend always believed in his writing,
despite never publishing his novel these past few decades. But Ray is waylaid by
a sexually-frustrated (and cat-fished) creature of fantasy who has stumbled
into our world from a portal in the Back Forty. And it is looking for
satisfaction, one way or another.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><i style="color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fear Itself</i><span style="color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is available</span> for pre-ordering </span><a href="https://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p635/Fear_Itself.html#/" style="font-family: georgia;">here</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> on the Lethe Press website.</span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXI-CmM-Uav01JgNhnBvf9NGn_gwXWEJ03wtPaUTkebY44be1s2kaxVztJh-icvaF4wRr3foKxDOjdYJq3c2vBUdytXMtMeAo4DhCmcpI6VH3jt0SsHwSkDZcmbzucus1MZJ77UCc9fi84N4zl-6iPRZTaE1nBsUNtXAUOREZ7RRNMaSeIXN6GEaBP/s2048/Fear%20Itself.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1368" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXI-CmM-Uav01JgNhnBvf9NGn_gwXWEJ03wtPaUTkebY44be1s2kaxVztJh-icvaF4wRr3foKxDOjdYJq3c2vBUdytXMtMeAo4DhCmcpI6VH3jt0SsHwSkDZcmbzucus1MZJ77UCc9fi84N4zl-6iPRZTaE1nBsUNtXAUOREZ7RRNMaSeIXN6GEaBP/w429-h640/Fear%20Itself.png" width="429" /></a></div>James K. Moranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01500525776370994617noreply@blogger.com0