I'm going to take a break from my babbling today to simply share with you some of the artwork of the fantastic Steve Ditko. Steve Ditko is a remarkable man and I strongly recommend watching the documentary Jonathon Ross made about him. It's on youtube and part one is below:
That's just part one. I won't link the rest as I'm sure you can find them for yourselves if you're interested. In short, nobody draws drama like Ditko. He created Spider-man along with Stan Lee. He created the look not only of the costume and characters but also the drama and dynamic which led to its success. Below I'm going to link some covers and just a few panels I managed to find online from the remarkable Steve Ditko.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I was a damn awkward kid. Looking back, I'm starting to see how I didn't really interact with anyone socially for a long time. Except for my brother and sister, I only went to the bare minimum for pre primary and school. By the time I got into Year One of primary school, half the kids had already been enrolled in various sporting events and whatnot. Also I'd been to a different pre primary and so they all knew each other rather well. '
I've always been a loner in that sense. To this day I actually need a lot of time to myself to think and create. Back in those days I used to run around the backyard, pretending to be a Ninja Turtle or whatnot or I was inside playing with my toys.
I spent Year One at Creaney Primary School. We'd just moved to Perth from Kalgoorlie after a brief stint in Busselton, of which I barely remember. Everything was new and I was excited to go. Of course that was before I saw that everybody already had their friends and groups. Isn't it absurd that I was already out of the mix on the first god damn day of year 1? Amazing. Of course this was the year I kept pissing my pants and the teacher beat me up on my birthday.
The following year I went to a different school. It was a fresh start although it didn't take me long to fowl things up there too. Luckily I didn't piss my pants anymore, just my bed. My sister still did at this point though and the smell when visitors came was always blamed on me. Made it difficult for me to explain when I grew up.
But aside from that, I was already bad at sports and socially inept. In Year two, pretty much everybody knew each other already. But the annoying thing is that the kids were a lot nicer to me in my new school. I kind of ruined things for myself by just being so god damn retarded. I remember being amazed at how bad I was at sport. Most of the kids went to after school sporting classes and had been doing so for two years already. I could;'t run very fast, had no interest in football and couldn't throw or catch to save my life. Nothing's changed there.
I had a very friendly teacher for my second year of school. Mrs. Kalyzinski. I may be spelling that incorrectly, I'm not sure. As all adults at the time, she seemed to be a towering giant, but a friendly and patient one. Of course she hadn't experienced the awe inspiring power to annoy of which I have been gifted.
The memory that stands out the most is when I forgot to bring my pencil case to school one day. It was early in the morning and we'd started the day with some reading and whatnot. I remember sitting at my desk quietly trying not to be noticed. When it came to do some actual work however, everybody else opened up their desk drawers, or trays as we called them, pulled out their pencil cases and started writing away.
So here's me, sitting in the middle of the class. Everybody has pens and pencils out and worksheets in front of them. I'm sitting there desperately trying to appear as though I was working too. I did this by sitting there awkwardly. A brilliant plan but sadly it didn't last long.
When the teacher found me sitting at my desk with an empty worksheet and a guilty look on my face I can only assume her first reaction was confusion as to why I hand't spoken up in the first place. You have to understand that I'd already been beaten up by my previous teacher the year before and so I was terrified of doing anything wrong.
"Daniel, why aren't you working?' she asks me in her kind, sing song voice which so many women acquire when working with very young children.
'I.. uh.. I.. er.. Don't have my pencil case,' I mumbled. I used to mumble a lot. It came with being shy. I still do it today now and then. I jumble my words occasionally when I'm not concentrating.
'Why don't you have your pencil case?' she asks me. By this point half the class has stopped working. They've all turned around and started to look at me. Their eyes are fixed at my direction. Suddenly I realise that everybody in the room is paying attention to me. Everybody. They're all staring right at me and waiting for an answer. I'm terrified. I'm terrified that I'm going to look like an idiot because I forgot to pack my pencil case. Why didn't I put it in my bag in the morning? I was too distracted by Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Curse you Donatello for being so entertaining!
Oh God. I started to panic. I knew I could't admit to forgetting it. Everybody will think I'm some kind of idiot. A loser. What kind of moronic can't even remember to bring his pencil case to school? And the teacher might get mad. I'd seen what happens when teachers get mad. I'd felt it. I didn't want that. I couldn't endure that again. Not with this teacher who had seemed so nice to me thus far. No, there was only one choice.
I had to lie.
Of course! I'd tell a lie. I'd give them a clever, well thought out and reasonable excuse as to why I didn't have my pencil case. Then nobody would laugh. Everybody would understand. Why didn't I think of this before? It seemed so obvious. Yes, this was definitely what I had to do. But everybody was looking right at me and they were still waiting for an answer. I had to think fast. Think brain, think.
'It was stolen,' I muttered.
'It was stolen?' asked the teacher. She cocked her head to one sideband her tone of voice was skeptical. Damn, my brilliant plan wasn't working.
'I'm pretty sure I saw some robbers come in the middle of the night. They must have taken it.' I said each word with conviction. The class started to giggle. But it was too late. I'd spun the lie. I could either admit that I'd forgotten it and endure that agony plus the additional embarrassment of lying or I could stick to my guns. I'd made up my story on the spot and god damn it, I was going to stand by it with conviction.
'Now Daniel,' said Mrs. Kalyzinski, 'Why would robbers want to steal your pencil case?'
'Maybe they need to write out cheques and things?' I said as if this reason was rather obvious. The class started to chuckle some more. I could see the faces around me, an ocean of grins and giggles. But I'd gone too far. I couldn't back out of the lie now. I had to go with it.
'Daniel, that's not true now is it?' the teacher said.
'No, it's true. I was lying in bed and I saw him come in and he went around the house and I'm sure he took it.'
'A robber isn't going to just steal your pencil case, Daniel.'
'He didn't just take my pencil case. Of course not,' I replied. My well thought out plan was beginning to unravel and I could tell. This brilliant plan of mine had become the Titanic and I was the captain, going down with the ship.
Any normal child would have budged on this. They'd have given up and admitted that they had lied and yes the pencil case was at home. But I was so resilient on this matter, despite the chorus of laughter that had erupted around me, that the teacher simply had to intervene.
'OK then Daniel. So if we ask your sister if this is true then she'll say yes?' My older sister, Kathleen, was at the same school. She was in Year Five.
'Yes,' I said, nervously. 'She'll tell you the same thing.'
Of course the teacher actually did it. She actually went over to my sisters classroom, pulled her out of class and brought her down to mine. She came into my classroom and saw me standing in the front of the class. I looked at her with desperation. What must she have thought was going on?
'Kathleen, I brought you here because Daniel is telling me that the reason he doesn't have his pencil case today is because you were robbed last night. Is that true?'
I silently pleaded with my older sister. The entire classroom seemed to hang on the moment. Everybody was silent and waiting for the response. In one single stroke I had been revealed as the absolute fool that I was. But was there a chance? Would she take pity on my desperation and save me from this despair?
'No,' Kathleen said.
I never lived that down. Why on Earth didn't I just admit to forgetting to pack my pencil case? I'd told a lie and stood by it. In doing so I'd become the mockery of everybody I knew.
1. I'm bald at 27 and have been for many years already.
2. Unless you are a vapid person I can probably make you laugh.
3. In year 8 cooking class I accidentally set a recipe on fire and in the process amazed and confused my teacher at my sheer incompetence.
4. I used to be deathly afraid of heights and I can remember the exact moment it stopped.
5. I can't swim and have little desire to learn.
6. I don't drive and little desire to learn. Will probably have to someday, though.
7. I love walking. I mean I really, really love to walk.
8. I'm usually in a hurry. I can't stand pottering around. Let's move, lets go, let's live!
9. Despite the above, I really don't have much of a life. Having worked the graveyard shift for three years isn't even the cause, it was just a useful excuse.
10. I genuinely don't think I'm much of a human or a man. I'm sort of just here.
11. The last few years I've been making steps to try and become human.
12. I had my first kiss when I was nineteen.
13. I own two remote controlled Daleks and they're huge. But I only bought one of them for myself. The other was a gift.
14. When I had hair it was terrible. Like a mixture between Inspector Gadget, Basil Fawlty and Einstein.
15. I've dreamed of escaping Perth for as long as I can remember.
16. When I used to pay with my toys I created huge ongoing plot lines and mimicked television shows and movies. I'd hum theme songs, incidental music and get down on the ground and in awkward positions with my face and squint or wink in order to replicate camera shots.
17. When I was fifteen I wrote an entire radioplay over one weekend because a girl I liked said she'd act in one.
18. When I was nine I used to wake up at four thirty in the morning to secretly watch Dr.Who. I'd sneak out to the games room, turn on the tv with the volume turned way down and put my face right next to the screen so I could just hear what was going on. It's one of the happiest memories I have.
19. I was born in Kalgoorlie and lived there until I was about 4 or 5.
20. After that I lived in Busselton for six months or so. Not too long.
21. When I was six years old and in year one I used to get nervous and piss myself all the damn time. I did it once and stayed in my seat until everyone had left for recess. When the teacher found out why I wasn't moving she proceeded to beat me up. During the beating she actually said "For God's sake Daniel it's your birthday."
22. I assume everybody who meets me probably despises me. If I get lucky I might get enough time to make them laugh in which case they tolerate me.
23. One day when I was six I was home with just my mum, who was in another room. I was in my bedroom and wanted to see if I would fit inside one of my drawers in my chest of drawers. I climbed inside and only just managed to fit. At that precise moment my mum came into my room and saw the drawer hanging open. So she closed it shut.
24. I don't remember much about Kalgoorlie, except escaping out of my crib each morning and going to the toilet. We had an outhouse, a toilet outside the main house. So going at night was slightly terrifying.
25. My favourite colour is Purple.
26. I don't drink all that often. Usually socially. Though I enjoy it.
27. When I was fifteen and I started to lose the plot I started throwing up nearly everything I ate. This went on for months.
28. I started gaining weight in late 2001 and I've gone up and down ever since.
29. In 2009 I lost 40kg and was about 10kg away from my dream weight.
30. Last year I gained half of it back. I'm going to lose it again and reach my dream weight.
31. I can be pretty fucking uptight about things but make an active effort to challenge myself on it.
32. I love Spider-man. A lot. But my favourite issues are the early days especially Steve Ditko.
33. I'm one of the most uncoordinated people you will ever meet. You will be astounded.
34. I don't dance. I just.. don't. Over ten years I've danced maybe five times and I was horribly drunk for all of them.
35. When I become hugely overtired I start seeing Gargoyles in the corner of my eye, everywhere. Usually when it's dark.
36. I was pretty much hated for my entire Primary School years.
37. I've known my oldest and best friend for twenty years. We had a few patches where we went our separate ways but we're still friends to this day.
38. I used to be unbearably gullible. I'm still fairly so.
39. Maybe because of 38, but I genuinely believe in the potential for people to be decent.
40. In 2002, at one of my lowest points ever, my mum bought a puppy. Her name is Leah and she probably saved my life.
41. I elicit two reactions from people. Awe and disgust. Either people tell me I am intelligent and amazing and wonder why the hell I am where I am now, (job etc) or they absolutely despise me. There's rarely a middle ground.
42. I lose touch with people all the time. Sometimes I like it that way but other times I wish I didn't. I'm terrible at staying in touch. The internet is the best way to keep me involved in your life.
43. When I was sixteen I had an internet romance with a girl in the US. It was completely ridiculous but I would have married her in an instant.
44. I have known true love, briefly. I have loved somebody absolutely and they loved me, and for a time we were able to be together. I can die happy knowing I've felt and shared what many spend a lifetime searching for.
45. My Phys Ed teacher from Primary School once described me as the following as we climbed down a rock face on camp: "Daniel you have the dexterity of a pregnant hippopotamus with its arms and legs tied together." He's dead now.
46. In my teenage years I had an absolutely terrible case of acne that absolutely obliterated my face and also covered my chest and back.
47. As a result of the above I still won't take off my shirt in public. Which guys can totally do. Mind you I'm fat now so I really shouldn't.
48. I'm very pale and have always been so. Partly my Irish and Scottish blood but also just because I was never a sporty, outdoorsy kid. Girls in Primary School used to call me "Ghost."
49. I once made an internet friend from Perth when I was eighteen. We spoke on the phone and arranged for a date. I waited for her at Perth train station for two hours, because I was like that. I saw some people laughing at me during this time and I'm pretty sure the whole thing was a joke.
50. I'm reasonably tall. About 6'2.
51. My favourite musicians are Morrissey/The Smiths, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Bob Dylan.
52. I can not stand apathy. It's the most unattractive feature in anyone, ever.
53. One day I decided I couldn't stand the indignity of Phys Ed in high school and so I refused to do it. I was put in detention during the Phys Ed period. I had to sit in a room where the windowed were painted to keep the sunlight out and was allowed to sit quietly and write whatever I wanted. I was in heaven. After a few weeks of me enjoying this they pulled me out of all of my classes. My dad ended up getting involved and I was put back into my classes. What happened after is too much to say here.
54. Very few women get my attention. Even just physically, it's not too many. But in a sense of- I find this person actually interesting and would like to get to know them better or date- VERY rare.
55. I'm pretty sure a lot of people think I'm gay. (I'm not.) I don't really care.
56. I keep getting randomly verbally abused in the street. Once a group of drunks started making fun of my Spend Less $20 sneakers, when I ran into work at 2am to fix something. Another time, in Melbourne, a group of guys called out to me on the street making fun of my bald spot. Weird, man.
57. I've never asked a girl out on a date. Ever. It usually just comes together from chatting online or something.
58. I've only really been asked out once, at work, years ago. At the time I thought it would never happen.
59. I've been writing a fantasy novel for about ten years now.
60. I've only been out of the country once last year to visit the USA.
61. My family never traveled anywhere. No money. In fact we never did any family bonding type exercises other than when we moved house.
62. I used to be afraid of dogs until my mum bought a gigantic and utterly harmless German Shepherd in 1995.
63. I've had a ton of pets over the years, mostly cats and dogs. But birds, fish and other such things too. I'm an animal person.
64. I wish I could work in comedy. It's so much fun.
65. When I was very little I had an ALF plush toy which I took with me EVERYWHERE.
66. I wet the bed until I was 11 and pleaded for help with this for two years prior at least. Finally I saw a doctor who helped me.
67. I went caving on camp in year 7 and it was one of the best experiences of my life.
68. As a teenager I was obsessed with British TV. I still love it but am not quite so obsessed.
69. My favourite authors are Neil Gaiman, Douglas Adams and Jonathan Swift
70. I said they should cast Tobey Maguire for Spider-man the day I saw Pleasantville and was delighted when he was cast months later.
71. When I was twelve years old I went to see Pocahontas sat the cinema by myself. I just love animation damn it. I didn't tell a god damn soul though, at that age it would have been suicide.
72. Like every child I went through a phase of stealing. I stole stationary and moved up to pornography. The guilt overwhelmed me so much that I didn't go into that newsagency for eight years.
73. My family is overly secretive and it's warped us.
74. I've worked the graveyard shift, five days a week at a fast food place for three years as manager.
75. I want to live in Chicago. I'd take New York in a flash but Chicago is number one.
76. For my birthday in 1993 we went and saw Jurassic Park at the brand new cinema complex nearby. Awesome.
77. I only ever had one birthday party, ever. I was in year two of primary school.
78. The Burnett side of my family came to Australia as convicts.
79. When I was 14 I joined a Doctor Who fan club. They were mostly fat, old people who could;t be bothered doing much at all. I wanted to make fan videos or audio dramas and the like. I kept going however, because they had an extensive video collection. I went through and borrowed every story I hadn't seen and then never came back.
80. The movie "American Beauty," changed my life. I still love that director and Thora Birch is damn sexy.But she's better in Ghost World.
81. I wish I could write with the intelligence of Douglas Adams, the subtle complexity of Daniel Clowes and the wit of P.G. Wodehouse.
82. I saw Invader Zim the day it premiered in Australia and I've been obsessed ever since.
83. I had a drought of nine years or so where I didn't write much and certainly didn't finish anything. I broke it when I forced myself to go down to Albany for a week.
84. I am always writing, just not writing down. My head is always full of ideas and although I may seem to have little work on my fantasy novel in the last ten years if I were to sit you down and describe it to you it would probably take hours.
85. I love Stephen Fry.
86. I am constantly listening to The Ricky Gervais show, both the podcasts and the XFM episodes. Karl Pilkington always manages to cheer me up.
87. When I was a toddler I was chased by a "willie willie," in the backyard of our Kalgoorlie home. A "willie willie," is like a tiny, mini tornado that sometimes whip up out of nowhere. It ran to the door as it advanced and screamed for help in absolute terror.
88. I have some really amazing friends and they are all a great deal smarter and more talented than I will ever be.
89. I couldn't tie my shoelaces until I was 10 or 11. I had velcro, so why bother?
90. I use twitter an awful lot and I've found some amazing people on there.
91. I'm a mac guy but I've used Windows a lot. I have a macbook, an imac, several ipods and an iphone.
92. I used to make amateur redisplays. Mostly Doctor Who ones. They were a lot of fun to do, especially the sound editing. I wish I had the musical or mathematical ability to pursue it as a career.
93. I have committed adultery. I don't regret it.
94. I'm am atheist.
95. I have five wisdom teeth which all need to come out. The fifth one is underneath one of the others.
96. I have a weird cartilage thing in my knee which juts out a little bit. It came about because I grew so rapidly as a teenager but I'm told it's harmless. But my knees do hurt if I can't stretch my legs out for just a second or two every few minutes.
97. I'm one of the least violent people you will ever meet. I've never been in a fight. Never punched anyone, except in jest. None of that stuff. The most violent thing I ever did was punch a hole through my door in 2004 and believe me, that took an awful lot. Sometimes this lack of energy, violence, masculinity makes me feel piddly and helpless. It's why I have a soft spot for Ang Lee's 2003 movie "Hulk." The main character, Bruce is emotionally crippled and completely unable to express himself or behave like a normal human. The radiation exposure reacts with his boxed in mental state causing a violent release: aka Hulk. The scenes where Hulk runs free are absolutely beautiful and move me every time.
98. In 2009 I became something of a gym junkie. I'm missing it a lot right now. I want to get back to it. It was a good feeling to feel as though I was becoming fit, strong, skinny and maybe even attractive.
99. I quit high school twice and while I needed to do those things at the time I do regret that I was in such a mental state at the time.
100. I believe in love, beauty, art and hope. I know that kind of thing sounds cheesy but I don't use those words lightly.
I've known a few writers in my time. I've always considered myself to be one. Actually, that's kind of the shorthand way of looking at it. I consider myself first and foremost to be a storyteller. Ever since I was a kid I used to make up these sprawling, complicated plots and adventures. For me, that's what playing was all about. It was a chance to sit down and create my own world, my own drama and the like. However, on my 26 years upon the world I have known people who I would not hesitate to call "writers."
I suppose the first and most important quality of these people is that they read an awful lot. If I'm being honest with you I have to say that I am honestly not very well read. A few books stand out in those very formative years, such as "The Computer Nut," and a whole bunch of "Choose Your Own Adventures," but otherwise my reading material usually consisted of the target "Doctor Who," novelisations. Even these I didn't read all too often. The truth is that I probably read far more comics in my childhood than books and found the lettering to be the most difficult part to grasp. I probably learned a lot of my reading skills from those early days of reading the "Flash Gordon," collection my mum gave me for Christmas in 1991, or the "Spider-man," comics I blogged about previously. By looking at the pictures I was able to figure out what was going on and even translate some of the words I didn't understand. So these people are very well read and continue to do so. Even in my teenage years I barely read all that much. Most of the books I started were forced onto me. I somehow ended up in the English Literature class. I suppose my work was just about good enough to warrant it. I do remember sitting in the English classes in years 8 and 9 and bin thoroughly bored. The assignments I used to shine at usually involved writing a short story or even better, a script.
Those teenage years were again dominated by "Doctor Who," novels, this time the BBC novels for young adults which finally brought the 8th Doctor to life, along with all the past incarnations. So I ended up in English Lit from year 10 onwards. I was forced to read some interesting books. I probably enjoyed the discussions more than anything else. Well, to an extent. The class was mostly full of know it all, overly feminist busybodies that dominated the discussions. The teacher was a young(ish) single woman and didn't really filter this crap out as much as she ought to, in my opinion. These were the kind of people who called themselves feminists simply because they liked to be argumentative about anything and everything, but would still whore themselves up and chase after guys hopelessly. The kind of people who are so obsessed with this wonderful new toy, this new idea they'd been given of empowerment that they had actually failed to understand what any of it really meant or was trying to achieve. It angered me then and it annoys me now. I remember I disturbed many in the classroom when I said that feminism should be about true equality and therefore I wouldn't hesitate to beat up a woman if she attacked me. Equality goes both ways, not just with the aspects you think are beneficial. Otherwise you end up with positive discrimination which is not equality. Anyway, I'm rambling. So that was the class. I had a few friends who sat near me, both of whom are much brighter than I'll ever be and one who was probably more of a mathematical brain than an english one.
The thing with me is that I take a very long time to learn. What I mean is that I listen quite attentively but the information doesn't seem to fully process for a grew teal of time. I remember having to write essays for this class. I was an angry fellow at the time, something of a communist and whatnot and I remember turning an essay for "Pride and Prejudice," into a rambling attack on social class. It was the most absurd and forced tangent and I laughed a good deal when I stumbled upon the paper years later. It was obvious I didn't want to discuss what the teacher had outlined at all and had simply written something else. But the funny thing is that everything the teacher said and taught me did sink in, it just took me a year or two to fully understand it. I had to learn to be so detached and analytical.
So anyway, as you can see I was not a big reader. I'm still not, I suppose, although I am trying to change it. I've probably read more books in the last two years than the last six or seven combined. After high school I did have a phase of reading a lot of classic literature. In fact I stayed the hell away from most contemporary work until quite recently. I found modern writing to be cheap and mostly vapid but the classics had endured for a reason. But all the same I was not a big reader. So where did I pick up my storytelling abilities? Film and TV is probably the answer. I've watched a lot of TV. When I was a kid I used to do two things. I'd play for hours, either outside or with my toys, or I'd watch TV, which was usually cartoons. But when I was a kid and not a teenager I'd watch almost anything that could hold my attention. I've seen entire runs of countless sitcoms, simply because they'd air them every day after school. I used to wake up early on Saturday mornings to watch as many cartoons as I could. I loved movies, too, although my parents were very overprotective about censoring what I could watch. It's funny that sometimes they'd let me watch an M movie with a sex scene or some brief nudity, but they'd make me leave the room when those scenes came up. It taught me to be ashamed of sexuality, something I still carry with me to this day. But aside from that I was a leech for these things.
But I wasn't well read and I'm probably still not. So I have these friends who I think are funny, clever and terribly smart writers and they're awfully well read. These are the kinds of people who were reading from those early ages and knew all along that they wanted to be a writer, write books or somesuch. These are the kinds of people who can pick up a piece of contemporary fiction and become excited by a plot about people's lives. Now, don't get me wrong. I have learned to see the value in these kinds of low key, character based works. And the value is indeed very high. But this did not come naturally to me and I probably still don't see many of those books as "entertainment." And sometimes when I read I do feel like entertainment. But I'm glad to have gone through the process of being able to digest these works, probably thanks to some of those Lit classes, because I feel as though they've opened up a wide world which I may have taken far longer to fully appreciate. And these writers I know or have met, are able to write this type of thing.
They can write stories about people. Real people. Ok not literally real as in non fiction. I mean real in the sense that they are set in the real world and they have actual problems, romance, drama and the like. These writers are able to craft beautiful, enticing and yes, entertaining stories about.. people. These really are the best books. And the damn thing is that I honestly doubt whether I'll ever be able to write something like that. God knows I want to. I'd give anything to be able to sit down and write a story about Australian life. A story that is interesting and exciting, that people can relate to and ends up being deeply meaningful. But I'm terrified that I'm just not cast in that clay.
Sometimes when I talk to these people, these real writers, they come to ask me what kind of thing I write about. I always find this scenario deeply embarrassing because I think I pretty much write trash. Or that's how I feel when I have to justify it to them. Science fiction. Fantasy. That sort of thing. But the damn thing is that although I act all humble and kind of embarrassed in those scenarios, as soon as I get home I become excited again. Passionate, even. I have so much faith in these genres and their ability to create, what I consider to be amazing works of art. See, I like to make things up. The problem with me sitting down to write about real life is that A: I'm a hermit and probably the most inhuman creature you'll ever meet, so how the hell can I write about real life? and B: Too much is set in stone.
When I write I can't resist the urge to go completely wild. My novel is about a world where every living thing is made of metal for gods sake! But does this really make me a less valid writer? Does this mean I am doomed to write what will essentially be classed as pulp fiction? Surely this was more often the case years ago, but times have changed. Even comics and the like have started to grow up. The comic series "Sandman," or "Watchmen," are examples of how the industry has started to become a respectable art form. Ok so you might not like either of those two comics, but that isn't the point. Those two are worthy of standing next to any work of literature and I dare anyone to challenge me on this.
I feel like maybe there's a kind of snobbery going on here. The same way I sometimes encounter adults, usually men, who scoff and frown when I mention I happen to like animation. They say that stuff is just "for kids." Pardon me, but it seems incredibly arrogant, ignorant and also insecure to write off an entire fucking art form, just because you're trying so unbearably hard to look like "a real man." Or maybe it's true? Maybe these things are supposed to be cheap entertainment, mostly for kids. Maybe I'm not a "real man," and I need to grow the fuck up. Maybe I'm just trying to justify my own inadequacies as a writer? I don't know. I suppose time will tell.
But it annoys me when people write off entire genres like that. Yes, there's some shit out there in the Sci Fi and Fantasy genre. Yes, most of it is probably shit. But guess what? That's the case with any god damn genre. Publishers are trying to make money, after all. This isn't a problem confined to Sci Fi and Fantasy, or even Horror. But it's the kind of notion that is easier to brand, or write off. Like I said earlier, times have changed. Surely as a society we've all grown up enough to realise that it's possible to make any of these genres into works of beauty.
As it happens I do mostly write science fiction. And I'll even admit that most of what I write is cheap entertainment which I happen to enjoy writing. But not all of it, not always. And I've got to tell you that I genuinely believe with all of my heart that I believe in the possibility of these genres. I'm writing a fantasy novel and have been for ten years. I always have to explain to people that fantasy isn't necessarily about swords and wizards. Don't get me wrong, I respect Tolkein and C.S. Lewis, but the genre is so much bigger than that. To me, fantasy simply means that anything can happen. I believe the world I've created is simply astonishing and truly memorable. I also know that the characters I've written have come to life in the most amazing ways. I believe in the power of art in any form to shock, amaze and inspire. To influence our emotions and make us question our lives. I've experienced art which has changed my entire life, more than once. I also believe my book has the potential to do this to other people.. even though it's fantasy.
But I still feel like I'm not a real writer. The stigma does stick but it's not something I have any control over, not really. I know what inflames me. And believe me when I work on something I obsess over it more than I can possibly describe. Perhaps I'm just doomed to write crap. I guess time will tell.
It's late. Or early. The difference is philosophical, probably. The evening began many hours before at Scott's house. So many of these nights started out in that place. We've been drinking. Maybe it was the night we watched Sooty and Fraggle Rock, whilst drinking wine and eating crackers with cheese. Or maybe it was the time somebody set fire to a wooden chipmunk on the front lawn. Actually no, it wasn't that night. That night was a big party. House was full of people.
I'm sitting in a car. The car is full of drunks. The driver is not drunk. I do not remember who the driver was. They are no longer a person merely a function, within the pocket of this memory. They have no face, just the back of their head and the ability to drive. The chipmunk on the lawn wasn't tonight. The car is full of people, but not that many people. Most of us had been drinking. I'd been drinking. Maybe it was the night Scott got me to try Killkenny. There's a photo out there somewhere of me wearing Mickey Mouse ears and posing with the can. I look absurd. Absurd and fat. But then I usually do. Before then I was absurd and gangly. Before that I was just a little shit. But that was then and this is now. Now is a car on the side of the road. We've stopped next to a field. I think I know where this place is. I have a vague sense of the direction we've been driving. I grew up around here, or close enough. I never wandered down this way all that much, but I knew about it. A field. We've arrived. We're meant to be here.
I'm having a conversation with Scott. I'm braying and neighing like a horse now and then because that's the kind of thing I tend to do. My horse neigh is loud and convincing. It's also fun. I'm talking to Scott but facing the car window. The field stretches out before me, the edges lit by the streetlamp but the rest fading into darkness. Lemons. We're here for lemons. Somebody wanted lemons for a drink. Or a recipe. Why do we always seem to cook when drunk? Actually it's Scott who usually cooks when drunk. He does it with the determination and obsessiveness of an OCD patient. It's in stark contrast to his wild character. As though he bottles all his little worries and uptight tendencies into this one avenue. But no, the reason for the lemons evades me. Only that the field was supposed to have them and we had arrived. I'm talking to Scott and turn to face him in mid sentence. Somebody else is sitting next to me. They look at me, slightly confused.
I scream like a little girl and wonder why Scott had transformed into this other person.
The car door opens. Scott is standing outside the car and has opened it for me.
"I WANT TO RUN FREE LIKE THE WIND," I cry out. I try to leap out of the car but sort of tumble onto the pavement instead. I think I'd been crying out for my freedom for the last ten minutes. Scott has a huge grin on his face.
"Here you go. Run and be free." He seems to take great joy and pride in this statement as he sweeps his arm towards the field. I get off the ground, nearly falling over twice in the process and begin to gallop.
Not run. Gallop. Like a horse. I am a drunk horse on a quest for lemons and freedom. I gallop up and down the field, neighing and braying and making such noise. The others scatter. There's a tree somewhere. Lemons are collected, as I gallop. After a while I decide that galloping has tired me out and so I lie down. I decide to be efficient about this and let myself just collapse. I seem to do that when drinking a lot. Let my legs give way and come tumbling down like some kind of rag doll.
There is no information on the rest of the night. Except for pulling over a few blocks away from Scott's house on the way home. I tumble out of the car and onto somebody's front garden and throw up. I hate it. It's best to let the vomit flow and eject the badness. But I fight it every time. My body gags and tries to puke but I always pull it back as much as I can. Soon I was back in the car, glad not to have vomited in the car but also feeling sorry for doing it in that persons garden.
