I used to be an avid comic book reader.  For decades—yes, decades—comics were among my favorite forms of escapist entertainment.  I didn’t just buy them, either…I made them.  An avid reader from a very young age, it was perhaps only natural that I would eventually dabble in writing, and in the second grade I began doing precisely that.  I realized that I could combine my writing with my drawing (a talent that my friends and family had, to that point, encouraged far more and far louder than they had my dalliances with the written word), the two hobbies becoming one:  the creation of comics. 

I, like many comics fans, had metamorphosed from “mere” consumer to would-be creator.  Armed with a pencil and a head full of strange and unearthly adventure scenarios, I resolved to make comics that were…well, the kind of comics I liked reading, whatever that meant (it varied depending on the year and my overall temperament, which was admittedly mercurial).  Unlike most such industry hopefuls, though, I actually pulled it off.

For a little while.

After a couple of years doing the self-publishing thing—and rounding out my portfolio with minor gigs writing this and drawing that—I co-founded a comic book company.  I discovered, however, that even as the company was growing, its output and sales increasing steadily and to some small measure of industry acclaim, my passion for the medium was diminishing.  While a handful of comics continued to enthrall and entertain me, few could match the same rush I felt after reading a good book (a “real book,” if you must) or taking in a well-crafted film.  The four-color bombast of the comic book was, to my mind, being eclipsed by a string of Summer blockbusters, CGI technology having finally come far enough that the onscreen mayhem of  King Kong or Spider-Man 2 could equal the frenetic energy of the printed comic book page.  

Tired and disenchanted, I left the comic book biz.  The company I co-founded (Ape Entertainment…buy their stuff!) has flourished since my departure, but I have left comics behind almost entirely.  With the exception of bookshelf-quality collected editions of certain titles—some old (E.C. Segar’s original Popeye comic strips), some new (Buffy:  Season Eight)—I read very few comics now.  The unending stream of comic book movies flowing out of Hollywood, though…that I enjoy.  I think of myself as a former comic book junkie, with films like Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk being the cinematic equivalent of a trip to the methadone clinic. 

And director Christopher Nolan’s latest Batman film, The Dark Knight? 

Brilliant, thought-provoking, and proof-positive that, in the hands of the right creators, there is still some life in those tired old superheroic archetypes after all.  If only the comics were half this good…  

In recent weeks I’ve made some tentative steps back into the world of comics, undertaking the art and writing chores on a new serialized webcomic (the debut of which will be postponed until the first story arc is complete, just to make sure I still have what it takes to see this through).  That, however, is another post entirely.   The point of this one, beyond giving season to my rambling reminiscences on all matters four-color?

Go see The Dark Knight.

Here you will find an as-yet-unfinished song, the next bit of sonic nonsense with which I intend to violate your delicate ears.  I don't know why I felt the need to post it before the vocals were laid down; I guess I thought somebody might find it interesting to compare the two versions once they're both up.

I'm at a creative fever-pitch lately.  Music, art...I'm going wild.  I think it's because I recently realized there are only six more weeks until school starts up again.  The clock is ticking!