Losing friends and walking onward

Sometimes life can bring you pain because of those you love, and in unexpected ways, but there's no better way to live than with an open heart and compassion.

I've lost two friends this year, but purely in the sense that we're no longer in contact.

The first just moved to Kingston to be closer to their parents, and he and I had gotten close, after an initial instant connection.

The other is a friend from years ago, with whom I reconciled last summer under an August full moon, by the post-midnight river. If that sounds fanciful or farcical, it's because it's a real moment, and my own, or maybe our own, at the time. We talked about grievances and transgressions from over 16 years ago, and made amends. Because of the death of a mutual friend last year, we renewed our acquaintance. But I would be fooling myself if I said that embracing them at our friend's funeral didn't refire our long-dormant feelings of mutual attraction. I won't go into detail, but I will say that we're not in touch anymore because we know where it could lead. Admittedly, I also wouldn't leave unopened any missives from them, or comments from them, or a blog link, if sent. I'd owe them that much.

But it's hard to move on, with the living death of parted friendships and companionship. I'm trying my best to work through it, as though through a fog, toward some sort of clarity.

Crack of light through the fissures

I found this crack of light coming through the fissures. Using a crowbar, I leveraged my way into the wall of darkness, and pulled with everything I had. There, amid the crumble and rumble and debris raining down, I found the light alright. 

I was writing again. Without any idea exactly where I was headed.

The thing is, I have characters who want their storiens told. Maybe I'm headed toward Joshua's pencil drawings, or reclusive John Daniels' treatise on the merits of painting as therapy and transformation, or Bruck, unsure what to do with his love, or Sara, ruminating and not wanting to negotiate with phantasms, or Sergeant Ritchie O'Donnell, running his LGBTQ+ counselling group, but unable to be honest with himself about his own ex walking out after 15 years. And what about John Newman? What is he going to when he meets his old enemy from adolescence? 

I was writing toward something, anyways. Which is better than aimlessly sitting by the side of the road, watching the night sky, counting stars and wondering when my second novel rewrite would call to me again, or me ot it.

But that's poetic bullshit; I knew where I was headed. I was writing and rewriting and editing, hard, toward that light.

Thanks for listening or, rather, reading, whether you consider yourself boring or old, or not, which you are certainly not, ideal reader.

 "One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."

—Jack Kerouac 

Taking a Sabbatical

I will be taking a break from doing, well, whatever I do on this blog (reviews, comic-book coverage, observations, mainly) until my troubles recede.

Nothing earth-shattering - just writing, job, job-search, life, etc, etc., - have all come crashing in all on sides for me. I need to regroup, or whatever the hell they call it nowadays when you step back and re-evaluate everything.

Had a long, dark night of the soul this week (literally and figuratively) and have come through with many observations that I must unpack or make conclusions about.

Leading up to this night of examination on Wednesday, I was already very dubious and doubtful about the prospect of rewriting my second novel to my satisfaction, either by my overly optimistic deadline of late June, or at all, for that matter.

It's hard to articulate my feelings because they are oblique, but mainly I'm discouraged with my writing and with several aspects of life right now (finding work outside of the retail work I have now, for example) and can't quite see my way through them (To use another example, short-story markets remain blocked up to me, for whatever reason, and I have a stack of short pieces sitting in my hard drive with no feasible markets for them; so going on or giving up remains a question). There seems to be plentiful other writing going out there and the market is pretty crowded right now as it is.

There's light somewhere in all this, I know, but I just don't feel the same way about my writing or whether my new book will help add any joy or escape or richness to anyone's lives (i..e.: if the novel  is indeed completed into a second draft form someday).

And, in the grand scheme of things, what are my troubles compared to others' troubles? This too I am considering as I decide what to do (or not to do) next.

I will check in here from time to time, but have no clear idea of when. Keep reading and dreaming in the meantime.

Comic-Book Scribe Alex de Campi Nominated for Four Eisners in 2019

Luscious trade cover by Alejandra Gutiérrez.

Alex de Campi, I am very pleased to say, having followed her work for some time, has been nominated for four Eisner Awards in 2019. 

de Campi is nominated for Best Graphic Album–New: Bad Girls, Best Anthology: Twisted Romance, and for Best Writer and Best Letterer.

Some critics liken Alex de Campi to a new Alan Moore, but to understand that comparison, readers must understand that, like Moore, de Campi can dance from genre to genre (grindhouse, film noir, horror, action, superhero, sci-fi, fantasy, drama/lit) with aplomb and consistent attention to character development.

Twisted Romance, for example, features a stunning cross-section of surprising and non-traditional stories about love, featuring queer space captains, asexual movie stars, women of sexy size and even a possible throuple (a relationship involving three people dating). It's a stunning mix of art and writing featuring an array of talents. Twisted Romance is a beautiful and delightful and rare comic-book creature.

See de Campi's Mayday for a white-hot, cold-war spy thriller (with a kick-ass Spotify soundtrack, to boot). Semiautomagic, her Dark Horse Presents collaboration with master artist Jerry Ordway, holds a special place in my twisted heart for its depictions of occult investigator Alice Creed, and phantasmagoric imagery from Ordway.

For the uninitiated, the Eisner, in the comic-book industry, is often equated with the Academy Award in the film industry.

Stylish cover by Victor Santos.

Alex de Campi's First Volume of No Mercy Sings

This first volume of the aptly named No Mercy series  sings, with lush art by Carla Speed McNeil and the usual top-notch script by prolific comic-book scribe Alex de Campi. It's about a busload of insular and self-absorbed Princeton University hopefuls who have to learn to survive after a horrific bus accident. They get more sympathetic as things get bleaker. de Campi's admitted grindhouse-film influence is here for those who appreciate it, but also her admirable technique of always putting her characters through the wringer. No Mercy is harrowing and beautiful all at once. A trans protagonist features, once again showing that de Campi is out in front of everything, developing asexual characters and various queer characters alike in her other works. 

No Mercy, Image Comics, ran for 14 issues.

Gorgeous cover by Carla Speed McNeil.

Are you a poet with an unpublished poem?

Are you a poet with an unpublished poem that deserves to be out in the world? You’re in luck, then! It’s last call to entry Arc’s Poem of the Year Contest. Deadline’s tomorrow (Fri. Feb. 15). Possibility of cash prize, publication, payment. Deets are here- https://bit.ly/2nWdGyNAre you a poet with a poem that deserves to be out in the world? If you enter Arc Poetry Magazine’s Poem of the Year Contest, I could be reading YOUR poem in a different country. 

Last call to enter!
Deadline tomorrow (Fri., Feb. 15).
Possibility of cash prize, publication, payment. 

Deets are here - https://bit.ly/2nW

dGyN

Shadow Puppet by Jeffrey Round: A Review

Gay Toronto private investigator and perennially single dad Dan Sharp is at again, digging around, solving mysteries among the very Canadian locale of Toronto in early winter.

In Shadow Puppet, the seventh Dan Sharp mystery, Toronto writer Jeffrey Round turns a fine, almost perfect book with a minimalist finale. There are funny moments, dramatic turns, heartfelt found-family subplots, and creepy scenes as Sharp hunts down what he suspects is a potential serial killer at large in Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. It’s a story that could be ripped from the headlines regarding actual events in Toronto’s Gay Village, yet as Round indicates in the preface, he penned the tale before the revelations came out about a real-life serial killer preying on the community. (See this piece in Vanity Fair about accused serial killer Bruce McArthur.)

Dan Sharp is hired to track down a missing young man who is part of Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. He inadvertently stumbles on a possible link between other missing young gay Muslim men in the community and navigates nightclubs, creepy characters, and even a perilous dating scene.

Published by Dundurn Press, 2019.

The novel is sprinkled with several horror allusions that I appreciated. These include the creepy old basement and the ancient furnace at the Viking apartment building setting, the latter of which reminded me of the furnace in Stephen King's The Shining ("It creeps," the caretaker said in the opening scene of that novel.). Thankfully, though, the furnace does not blow up and destroy part of the Viking and the serial killer therein. (I was prepared to feel cheated if this Deus Ex Machina occurred and was very relieved with it didn't). I like how Round deals in horror tropes but works them in so that they are part of the texture of the story and simply the scarier aspects of Sharp's job. 

The pop culture references, dashed throughout, work nicely to add levity to Sharp’s bleak investigation, which occurs in an early Canadian winter. My absolute favourite was a comparison of a leather-man character to The Incredible Hulk. 

However, I was mildly disappointed that the story did not feature a character with the last name Moran, as Tony Moran did in The God Game, the previous Dan Sharp novel in the series. Thus, I did not see my surname throughout a Dan Sharp novel a second time. 

The date scenes that Sharp endures/experiences are painfully accurate. His exchange with a fanatical/paranoid/egotistical body-builder is a particularly humorous scene that had me laughing aloud as I read it in bed. A scene where the P.I. makes inquiries at the Mr. Toronto Leather competition was also a particular delight where contestants and audience members alike lavish him with far too much unwanted attention in the spotlight. Admittedly, this scene was particularly enjoyable for me, as I have written many news stories about Ottawa’s Mr. Ottawa Leather competition for Capital Xtra, xtra.ca (I used to call it the leather beat. Get it....?). It’s a ridiculously funny scene, but believable and demonstrative of how Dan has an appealing look to even the leather crowd. 

The epilogue is a kick to the heart, but I won’t spoil it.

While Shadow Puppets is the seventh Dan Sharp mystery, it occurs between The Jade Butterfly and After the Horses, the third and fourth Sharp novels. The only flaw in the book I see is that a reader familiar with the Sharp mystery series will know that Dan will likely make it out unscathed. On that note, Round’s foreword, explaining this in-between continuity to readers, remains a wise editorial choice.

For the next editions of the books, perhaps Dundurn Press should number them in chronological. As well, Dundurn should eventually market all the Sharp books in a set. That would be an undeniably sexy gift set.

(Both of my suggestions, I’m guessing, may already be in the works.)