Dating Stories

Unless it's pertinent to the story, I'm not really a fan of dating in stories.  Not dating as in going out on a date but dating as in placing it in specific years. 

I suppose more of this takes place in science fiction than any other genre really.  I speak often about my love for the film Blade Runner.  My only real issue with it is the date in the film is 2019.  Of course, the film is so wonderful, I overlook it.  I've always been this way, so when I'm writing (again, unless it's important to the story), I don't use specific dates.  I'm up to my knees in my sci-fi novel right now (Loving it btw) and I won't be dating it.  I'd rather it seem futuristic yet now simultaneously and in years down the line I'd like it to feel the same. 

I know there is a lot of sci-fi that uses years (ala 2001: A Space Odyssey) and, as time passes, one of the first things that is brought up - almost before the story's merits - is all the things that story "predicted".  Avatar is dated in 2154 I believe and you can bet your bottom dollar that when the time rolls around people are going to be looking at the film and the state of humanity and technology.  I'll say one of the smartest things that Star Wars did, is it didn't date a thing.

I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing; I'm simply stating it's not something I care for.  The year in my book is not pertinent in any way to the story.  I'm not making predictions; I'm a writer telling a story.  The technology and futuristic situations tells you it's definitely off a ways but the situation is written as if it's going on now; you're right there with them.  I hope you all do and will get what I'm saying.

In horror, you can date it in old gothic times, the 70s, and so forth, and it will change your story.  But, again, if it's not something that really means anything to the story or the style of the story I don't think it matters.  In the horror work I've done, I haven't dated any of it.  The style and situations, along with the surroundings and such, will give the reader their own image.  I feel the same for just about any genre.

Also, you can discuss world events and even styles of cars and clothing, etc. and it will give the reader the idea of what your time period is without having to pinpoint it to a direct date.  If you're talking about things that haven't happened, along with things that haven't been seen, it's a safe bet to say it's set in the future.

But, as I said, if it's important to the story, then go for it.  If you're telling a futuristic story that you plan on dating, it's wonderful to use historical dates and events leading up to that date; building and setting the picture.  Beyond that, I'm just not a fan.  As a reader myself, I don't care what year it takes place in, I care about the story and the characters.  Unless - you use your dating almost as a character in the story itself; just as a vehicle or a surrounding can be its own character. 

Food for thought.  Time to get back to work.  I turned in the first 10 pages to my publisher.  This book is only getting richer and richer.  I hope your all's work is going well! 

When Submitting

I don't know about you all but my work is constantly interrupted.  I get in rhythms and flows with my writing.  Currently I'm trying to find time to work on my sci-fi novel.  It's coming along great by the way.  When my streak, stride, or flow is broken and I'm not in that same headspace, I don't want to walk away so I end up taking the time to send off submissions.  This week I've been alternating my days, leapfrogging them between sending off my horror anthology "Sharp Items & Bad Intentions" and a screenplay of mine. 

When submitting, I'm not going to lie, I don't exactly stick to a standard way of doing things and have been a bit haphazard about going about it in the past.  I've cleaned up my methods these days but still, when I submit things, I email everybody and their brother.  I send out as much as I can to anybody I can.  Some might say this is sloppy and stupid but that same "method" if one could call it that, got me published and set me up for future projects.  The things Supposed Crimes and I are coming up with are fantastic and I wouldn't have come up with said projects without them, a publisher I found by throwing my poetry book at EVERYONE I could find.

A lot of people say "Get an agent" and, sadly, it's easier said than done.  When sending screenplays out to countless agencies, almost every one of them has sent back that they don't take unsolicited material.  It's a bit mind boggling to me, as if it's a big circle of agents sending things around and not letting anyone else in.  And now I sound like a bitter child, "They won't let me play with them" but in all honesty, it feels this way a lot.  So while people say "Just find an agent, let them do it" it strikes me funny and let's me know that they haven't gone through this process of writing and submitting. 

I've gotten emails back that are simply "Please take me off your mailing list" and of course the "We're not taking submissions right now".  It's going to happen.  As I've stated before, being rejected doesn't suck so much as being ignored.  The only thing about the submitting process is it's so tedious.  My mind says "I should be writing right now" while at the same time reminding me "This is part of the job, part of the process."

I just spoke to a friend of mine last night about the feeling of being a toxic writer.  The toxicity is something I often feel in the submitting process.  I send out so much and when I get emails like "Ugh, don't email me" I feel like "Oh shit, it's already happened.  I'm toxic.  Nobody wants to work with me."  My friend had told me I'm not toxic and it's just always a rough start.  But it IS a hard feeling to shake when nobody wants to give you the time of day.  I know I'm just being silly as my career is in its infancy and other writers were once ignored as well and had feelings of doubt.

It used to be more grueling for me than it is today.  I used to dread the process with feelings of "What if they don't like me?  What if I'm no good?  Should I keep going?"  I think being published and having other works on the horizon has helped.  Also, I've learned so much more from when I was originally submitting work.  I think back on things I used to send out and think 'How did I think that would sell?  Was that even complete?'  I still email everybody and their brother but I have more substantial product behind it that I'm more sure of.  I don't want to ever stop learning.  And until the day I have a manager or agent I'm going to keep writing and sending. 

These days I do pay a little more attention to what publishers are looking for, rather than sending something anyway knowing and not caring what they want or represent.  I've been submitting my horror anthology and when before I would've sent it to EVERY publisher still in business, now I actually look at what they do and what they want/don't want.  A certain stubbornness will only take you so far.  Writing is one of the only things I've ever felt I was good at and I, like many writers before and after me, believed my shit to be great from the jump only to realize it was far from it and that just because I'd want to read something that doesn't mean every (or any) publisher would want to put it out. 

I do suggest alternating time and the leapfrogging method though.  Choosing days for working and submitting.  If you have multiple projects to send - pick different days.  As I said, I'm doing a day of sending a book, a day of sending a script.  Some days you want to set aside purely for work.  Now, on these submission days, it's good to fit in work if you can but don't force it.  The break from your work on such submission days will be good for when you return to it.  All things I've found out by doing so.  As my wife states, I'm hard headed and tend to learn my own way.

It's kind of a strange profession we choose to be in, isn't it?  We write because we want to and have to.  Then we send it out to people in hopes that they believe in it as we do, almost like door-to-door salesmen pitching our dreams.  We get the door slammed in our faces plenty.  We get some who like our product but are in no position to purchase at this time.  We get some who see us from the window and won't come near the door.  But we keep on and even though the submitting process is imperative in the beginning phase of a career; hoping, praying, knowing that someday we'll be known enough someday that we'll be heard without having to beg.

Time

Before I dig back into everything I have to do today, which is a lot by the way, I wanted to ramble about my experience with Time in writing.

I'm one of those types that, when I'm finished with a project, it's out of my head and done.  It's no longer weighing on me as it once was.  I hold so many ideas at any given time that they all tend to cause headaches.  The more I write and get out, the more they ease up.  Odd condition to have but there are worse things in life so I'm in no way complaining.  If I spend what I consider to be a ridiculous amount of time on something, I get sick of seeing it.  No matter how much I love it, no matter how much I believe in it, no matter much I feel for it - I absolutely, positively get sick of looking at it. 

The horror anthology I co-wrote with my wife was one I was solely working on above everything else and it was draining.  I was having issues with writing it anyway but seeing it day in and day out was making it worse.  It's been this way with so much of what I do.  I finished my solo horror anthology "Sharp Items & Bad Intentions" and had to read through it all and honestly didn't want to.  I don't know how many of you are like this. 

Time is an interesting thing when it comes to one's art.  We spend so much time creating something and when it comes out, it's exciting, but at the same time there's a feeling of "finally...let's move on".  Again, that's no matter how much I love something.  I can honestly say I haven't gotten that way with Tourniquet as I love Dennis' art.  Now, HE may get sick of looking at the same pages day in, day out of drawing them, as I do with writing things but I can't get sick of his art.  But for me, the longer I take on something, the more I get bored with it, sick of it, whatever.  My mom or wife will read it and love it and say "I loved the twist, didn't see it coming."  I say "Thanks, glad you liked it" but part of me thinks "How did you not see that coming?"  - Because I've been staring at it for so long.  Because I'm with the process since before it even actually starts, I don't get to see it as such.  Oddly, the feeling or sensation hasn't ever detoured me.  I love to create, even if I hit that short gap of "Ugh, can't this write the rest of itself?  I wanna do the next thing."  BUT I know it's helping.  It's like working out, the more you do it (writing, in this case) the more you'll get from it.

But then there's the other side of time with writing: taking a step back and then returning.  I've written things and not looked at them for long periods of time, sometime years.  In that gap, I've learned more and when I've returned to it I'd seen where I had went wrong with it.  Taking a step back has helped me out a lot.  As I've said before about my screenwriting, I wrote a lot, formatted them wrong, and in the break between writing them and going back to look at them, I'd learned so much more about the craft from notes from my friend Jeff and watching Max Landis' YouTube channel.  One of these scripts I'd sent to Jeff and wanted his notes on it.  I don't think he ever got to that particular screenplay and am glad for it.  After sending it to him, I looked at it for the first time in awhile and was INSTANTLY spotting its faults.

I've gone back to stories I was previously stumped on and, giving it another look after the time gap, I was like "Oh, obviously this is what has to happen."  Now, of course, there are those projects I dig up from the vault and look at and think, "What in the hell was I saying with this?"

As I said, it's interesting what time will do.  Writing Last Rites of the Capacitance isn't draining at all and I'm not sick of looking at it.  The initial draft was sent in around 4-5 months ago and the rewrites are reformatting it so it's almost an entirely different book.  It drives me bananas at times but that's because I want it to be something special and different but, like I said, I'm taking it in ten page strides.  I'm learning how to manage time for certain projects as not every one of them is equal; not in terms of quality but just in terms of my physical reaction to them and one might be more taxing than another. 

Dennis and I are both busy with various other projects that we don't get to devote all of our time to Tourniquet, just like the other project I'm co-writing with a friend, so it doesn't really ever get tedious.  There's plenty of time in between working on it. 

In between taking a step back and returning, you could learn more and that could very well improve the story or formatting.  Now, I understand also that sometimes you need to be in a certain frame of mind for a certain story and a break might very well sever that connection but, again, it doesn't work the same for every project; not for me anyway. 

Regardless of whether taking a break helps or sticking with something, charging through, grows tiresome, it's all helpful.  It's all part of the steps I've talked about before wanting my writing to be.  It might get tedious, mainly towards the end of a project, but it's always going to help.  I, like all of you, have dream projects that I'm excited to get to, but I know that if I'd rush things just to get to them, they wouldn't become what I want them to so I'm going to take the time to learn on my way there. 

Time, like art, is always different for us all.  Thanks for letting me rant and ramble and sorry if it seems a bit scatterbrained.

The Weekend

Recently I had been having a bit of a Multiple Sclerosis flare-up.  These were little things that I normally deal with but it had hit a point where they wouldn't stop.  These issues weren't just popping up as they were before but here all day, everyday, and not leaving me alone.  I finally called my doctor and told him I couldn't do it anymore and it wasn't stopping.  They set me up with a three day steroid treatment.  They went well, I suppose.  Now I have to wait a few days before calling them back to let them know how I'm feeling. 

The way my weekends normally work is I don't get to actually work-work; not much writing gets done.  And it's not because of mass quantities of fun.  We don't tend to have much fun in this house as our weekends are full of chores and errands.  If I sit down to write, I'm usually interrupted.  This weekend was a bit different.  I actually got to work on my book.  As I've said before about how I'm going about "Last Rites of the Capacitance".  I'd already rewritten the first ten pages but was wanting to really dig into them before moving on to the next ten.  This weekend I got to do so.  It felt so good to work on the weekend; I hate when I DON'T get to write.  I could actually feel the book getting better at my fingertips the deeper I dug and the more they became enriched.  I believe once I'm done enriching and fleshing out these pages, I'll probably break for a moment to send things off or even start on the Tourniquet book.  I don't really like to work on only ONE thing at a time.  It's always felt better for me to have at least two pots on the stove at any given time.  Any time I have worked on solely one thing it's been frustrating.  If I hit a snag, it's almost like there's nowhere to turn and if I force myself through that particular snag I don't feel it's genuine.  Sure, it's good to push yourself past a feeling of procrastination but, for me, if I'm barging through a snag it's probably not going to end up what I want it to be.  As if I'm just writing to get past it and not for the good of the story. 

While I was planning to get to Dennis Magnant and I's Tourniquet adaptation of our comic book sometime this summer (I believe I was thinking later-later this summer), it hit me yesterday that I'd like to get started sooner than I had originally expected.  I let him know last night.  It'll probably get started this week at some point and, as I've said before on here, I'll be keeping you up to date on the process.

Goodbyes - A short comic book script

So recently my wife and I went to a bar out in the middle of nowhere for a birthday party of one of her coworker's relatives.  Her coworker's son's girlfriend told me she read my book and enjoyed it; I was flattered.  The coworker's mom asked me what I wrote and then asked if I'd ever write a romance novel.  It took me back to when I was a little boy writing violent monster stories to which My mom would ask me why I can't just write a nice love story.  As a young boy, my mind wasn't processing this at all and I looked at her like she was crazy. 

Years later I would end up writing this 8 page comic short, a romance of sorts, in "Goodbyes".  As it is very wordy, the visuals seen in my head for this is very simple art but most of the pages being filled with lettering, both dialogue balloons and thought clouds.  In the very beginning of my wife and I's relationship, I worked all the time and there was an unspoken tension.  She's not exactly the most affectionate or outgoing with her feelings so I wrote this, imagining a "maybe" situation.  She read it and cried, agreeing with its accuracy.

Still, I never had it in my mind to write a romance book; it's never been an interest of mine.  Years later I'd end up writing "Dream of Me", another kind of romance story.  So as the woman at the bar asked if I'd ever write a romance novel, my wife was behind me saying "Ugh, no, he writes really dark stuff."  My wife hates romance stuff.  However, I'm learning as a writer to never say never.  I don't know, a romance novel of sorts might come to me and compel me enough to sit down and put in the work.  I've already written a short comic book script and a short story, both roughly in the genre, so I can't really write off the idea.

Regardless, here's "Goodbyes", a comic book short that had come to me years ago and it's been sitting amongst my other comic scripts.  One of the things I've always loved about comic books is it's a medium that truly can defy rules and you can do anything with them; so I've always liked experimenting with storytelling in them.  The only problem with that, is it's hard to find artists who feel like joining the experiment a lot of times, but I keep writing them because they interest me and I figured some day when I'm more financially comfortable, I can actually hire artists to get my comics made.  I hope you enjoy this short. 


Goodbyes

By Christopher Michael Carter

Page 1
Panel 1: Two people, a couple. The man, Michael, white and the woman, Denise, black. Michael’s sitting on the edge of the bed while Denise is still covered up (while sitting up) in bed. She’s smoking. He’s in the middle of getting dressed.
      Denise: Where are you going?
      Michael: I told you I gotta work this weekend.
      Denise (thought): Why is he leaving me like this?
Panel 2: He’s looking to his side, over his shoulder. She’s still in the background.
      Michael: I gotta go in, babe.
      Denise: Yeah…
      Denise (thought): …Right. Why does it seem so easy for him to leave?
Panel 3: His hand on her cheek.
      Michael: What’s wrong, babe?
      Denise: Nothing. I’m fine.
      Denise (thought): I’m so lonely and you’re leaving me.

Page 2
Panel 1: Michael’s brushing his teeth in the mirror.
      Michael (thought): A smarter man would call in and spend the evening with the woman he loves, but I’m up for a promotion and taking tonight off could affect that. Money over love, I know, I know, but that’s not the case…
Panel 2: Close up of his eyes looking down.
Panel 3: A picture of an engagement ring unfolded in his hand.
      Michael (thought): …Not the case at all.
Panel 4: Michael with both hands pressing a towel to his face. His eyes are visible.
      Michael (thought): If she only knew.

Page 3
Panel 1: He’s back in the room. She’s now sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s standing.
      Denise: When will I see you again?
      Michael: I don’t know. Soon.
      Denise (thought): Don’t do me any favors…
Panel 2: Her hand getting a cigarette.
Panel 3: The end of her cigarette igniting.
Panel 4: His hand’s on her leg. She’s blowing smoke to the side.
      Michael: I’m not going anywhere, babe. Don’t worry.
      Denise: Ugh, I’m not worried. I don’t even think that until YOU bring that crap up.
      Denise (thought): He’s right. I’m frightened he’ll never walk back in through the door again.

Page 4
Panel 1: His hands grabbing his wallet and keys off the dresser.
      Denise: Why do YOU have to go in? They didn’t have anyone else?
      Michael: They needed someone in my position.
Panel 2: He’s putting his jacket on.
      Michael (thought): I hate leaving her.
      Michael: It’s just a couple of nights.
      Denise: Yeah and then you go back to your place instead of with me.
Panel 3: They’re in profile. His hands lifting her chin up.
      Michael: It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be back before you know it.
      Michael (thought): I wish you knew how much I love you.
Panel 4: They kiss.
      Michael (thought): The kiss is cold. Her lips even know you’re a fool for leaving.

Page 5
Panel 1: The same kiss, probably a different angle.
      Denise (thought): Don’t really kiss him. Don’t give in.
Panel 2: Them just looking at each other.
      Denise & Michael together: What are you thinking?
Panel 3: They smirk and have a small chuckle.
      Denise: You first.
      Michael: Just how beautiful you are.
      Michael (thought): And how bad I miss you already.
      Denise: Whatever!
      Denise (thought): I hope he always finds me beautiful.
Panel 4: She’s touching his beard. Running her fingers down his chin.
      Michael: You?
      Denise (thought): That you’re a jerk.
      Denise: Just tired. Gonna jump in the shower and get to bed early.

Page 6
Panel 1: He’s kissing her forehead.
      Michael: Get your rest, sweetie.
      Michael (thought): I love you more than you know. I hope you never get bored with me.
      Denise: Have a good night at work.
      Denise (thought): Please don’t get tired of me. I love you so much.
Panel 2: A real kiss.
Panel 3: He’s holding her. Her head on his chest. We see her face but not all of it.
      Denise: You better get going. You don’t want to be late.
      Denise (thought): Stop pushing him away.
      Michael: Yeah…

Page 7
Panel 1: Their hands held.
      Denise: I’ll walk you out.
Panel 2: His hand on the door knob.
Panel 3: She’s got her arms around him and her head is on his back.
      Michael: It wasn’t always be like this you know.
      Denise: Yeah…
      Denise (thought): Doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.
      Michael (thought): I’m trying not to seem weak or clingy. She holds my heart, my thoughts, my everything, and she hasn’t a clue.

Page 8
Panel 1: He’s outside the door, she’s still inside.
      Michael: I love you.
      Michael (thought): This is killing me.
      Denise: Love you.
      Denise (thought): Jerk.
Panel 2: Her standing with her arms crossed and an angry face.
Panel 3: The door shut.
Panel 4: Denise looking sad, her hand on the glass door.
      Denise (thought): I miss you…

Do it for you

I wanted to post one more time before I got back to work (while watching Aliens no less, haven't watched it in some time). 

I had mentioned before about wanting to make a silent film when I was asked "Why?  Why would you want to do that?  Who cares?"

The same thing applies across the art board.  I come up with stuff all the time; most I haven't gotten to yet such as photography projects and more.  One of the things I hate is when I come up with something and say "I want to do THIS" and someone says "Why?  Who cares?  What's the point?  Who is it geared towards?  What's your market?  What age group is this for?  This won't make money, why would you do it?"  - I've heard all of these.

Now, I understand that, let's say, Backers of a project would want to know these things but when you're talking to random people and you tell them some kind of oddball thing you want to put together and they ask those, it's a bit irritating.  I've submitted stories and gone by guidelines but I've always written them the way I wanted and about what I wanted.  Not because I thought it would be a seller but because that's the way I saw it.  I can't think of any idea of mine that I've thought of because there's a market for it or it could fill my pockets.  I write stuff because I have an idea of something I'd like to see or read.

So...

Why?  Because that's what I want to do.  It's an idea that's nagging at me and nobody else is going to do it the way I want to do it.

Who cares?  Me, the person doing the work regardless.  People want to question why you want to do something but no matter what your intentions, they're not doing the work, you are.

What's the point?  To see it done.  To do it.  To mark it off the long list that's in my head.  Writers and artists of all kinds have a bucket list of sorts in their heads and it continues to grow.  It may not be the normal "Skydiving, bullriding, etc etc" Bucket list, but it's there.


Who is it geared towards?  ME and people LIKE me.  You'll constantly hear people say "Nobody will like this" and "Yeah, YOU like it and that's it".  Believe me, if you like it you can bet your bottom dollar that someone else will as well.


What's your market?  Those who want it, will find it.  I can't tell you how many times I've gone on searches for works that I was looking for in a "I'm looking for something like this" type of search.


What age group is this for?  If they can read and like this kind of stuff, then everyone.  I know that's one of the keys of marketing but I'll be honest, I hate that.  If a little kid or an elderly person (and all in between) is even slightly interested in something then it should be for them and their age group.


This won't make money, why would you do it?  See all of the above.  If I based my projects all on money, I wouldn't be working on any of it.  Most of my stuff is "too weird" or "too different".  I've always been told that.  "Eh, it's too weird to go anywhere."  That doesn't change my mind on wanting to do it.  As I've said in the past: you do it, it exists regardless.  I want my art, no matter what medium, to exist.  I am a broke ass struggling writer and, while some would argue that I should start trying to go for more things that would get me money, I love what I do and I'm excited that the world will finally be seeing it. --  I recently was on Facebook and asked an artist friend of mine when she would release a book of her prints as I can't afford an actual piece and her and I live in different countries so I can't go to a gallery/exhibit.  She misunderstood me completely saying something to that of "Why, because YOU got a book out?"  I eventually explained it to her.  But it's funny that she took it as me bragging about my little poetry book.  I am proud of it but if she only knew how little I'm making from it.  It's not like the book made me famous or rich, but it got something off my bucket list and got my foot in the door.  The only people to buy it are best friends and family to show their support.  I knew from the jump that I wouldn't be making much, if anything, at all from the book but it didn't matter to me; Gun Control for Polar Bears exists.

Poetry Side note:  The world used to care much more about poetry; it used to be a bigger piece in the literary puzzle.  These days it's more of a niche thing; often a specialty or 'novelty' item.  When my book didn't sell well, I won't lie, I was bummed but then thought about all of that and came to terms with it. 

I've talked on here before about a lot of comic book artists I've seen who talk more about money than art; more about royalties than growth or process.  To me their love lies more with money than art and they just happen to be using something their good at to get it.  There's people like that all over the place; they're good at it and work it but they don't Love it like others may.  While some people start something in hopes of getting rich, famous, or what have you, just remember how powerful each word in "*I* *WANT* *TO* *DO* *THIS*" can be.  You want something bad enough and it becomes something you Have to do.  There are worse things to be addicted to than creating.  You're not saying "I want money", you're saying "I want to do This".  Not everyone wants the same thing, some want the money and don't care about This, but you do; it's yours.

So with all my rambling, I'm just saying "Do it for you."  I understand if you're taking a job, hired on for something, helping someone out, or any of their variants, but if you're coming up with something that you're interested in, just keep in mind that YOU'RE interested in it and that's why you start it in the first place.  Do it for YOU and whatever comes will come.  I'm going to keep doing the same and I hope to check out all of your stuff someday as well.  I want to see your passion projects and labors of love just as I want you to see mine. 

The ever-changing process

Every time I sit down to write something the process is different.  I guess you could say that it's different upon what's being written as opposed to the current situation at the time.  I used to start off ONLY writing with pencil and paper but I've slowed down on that once my hands started giving me trouble (when you have MS, your body doesn't always do what you want it to do).  So I end up doing a lot more typing now, it seems less stressful on my fingers/hands.  I still text things to myself; I have a couple of stories still in progress via text.  I'll text large portions of it to myself before I cut & paste them to emails (to myself) and then flesh them out on the computer (well, now the laptop).  Not all the stories are like that, BUT if I start them off in such fashion then I'll continue for that specific story.  I wrote "Dream of Me" in texts to myself and I have a few others as well.  The pieces you've seen of mine, posted by my good friends over at 52 Weeks of Horror were done the same.  I wrote them to myself with nowhere to put them and I sent them to my friends who were gracious enough to post them for their 140 Story series.  I hope to do more for/with them in the future.

The poetry in Gun Control for Polar Bears wasn't written with the idea of a book; they were just little pieces that kept coming to me over the years and so I felt compelled to write them down.  When I did my solo horror anthology, they were all rewritten from screenplays I'd previously written.  When my wife and I began to co-write our horror anthology, it started as a mix of a few screenplays I had previously written based on stories by both of us, and a story or so we'd started prior.  After starting we started writing a few new ones to add to it.  We wanted ten stories so it would often start with "We need another story, what if...?"  And then a little nugget of an idea would become a story.  When my friend and I's project came about, it started about as natural, if not more so, than ever.  However when it really got started, we started to brainstorm on how it would actually work and then through natural conversation it started coming together and we just let it flow.  Each screenplay I've written, each comic book script I've written all come from a singular idea and then I start to work and sometimes they'd change midcourse.  Sometimes one would start off another and then change.  When Dennis & I met, we instantly started to work on what would become Tourniquet.  Right off the bat it was "What do you like?"  "Monsters.  You?"  "Same."  And then based off of our love of monsters it just started rolling and the book continued to change while we were creating it.  Side note - while other co-writings started WITH friends, Dennis and I started with work and then we became good friends.  Nowadays our conversations are about our personal lives more so than strictly brainstorming/creating a world and then at the end of the conversation comes "What if they do this...?"  Art's interesting that way.

Every story starts differently and usually it will stay with the method it started in, usually.  I'm so used to the cycle of "writing, sending, writing, sending" hearing "no, no, no, yes, no, yes but, no, no" that I'm hit with something new while writing my first sci-fi project.  When I wrote the initial draft of "Last Rites of the Capacitance" it was a mere 75 pages and it was all meant to be one style/format.  I sent it in and I got it back with notes on it, which I've spoken about before.  So now I'm going through the rewrite process; one I'm not used to.  Again, I'm used to writing and sending and not so much of having to go back over or through.  I love learning and growing.  I want to do so with each project.  I never want to hit a point where I feel I "know it all" or I get stuck in my own routine.  I enjoy the ever changing process.  The notes helped me realize some of the things I'd done wrong such as glossing/passing over something interesting and rambling nonsensically about things that don't matter. 

I talked to a good friend of mine yesterday and we were asking each other how are days were and such and I had told her that I'm doing rewrites on this book and it's driving me bananas.  I laughed and said I never really needed to put this much effort into what I do.  She asked if it felt wrong.  I never thought about it, never been asked that about anything I've worked on.  I told her it didn't feel wrong, it was just new to me.  It's a feeling of "Oh this is what real writers do" so I'm having to put on my big boy writer pants and get down into it.  I actually love the notes and I love where this book is going.  I can already tell, kind of like at the beginning of a work out or something, that it will be good for me.

Instead of doing a whole pass through it making changes, which will be significant, I'm tackling it piece at a time; 10 pages +/- 1).  After I rewrite the first ten pages (which just got done yesterday), I'm going to go back and flesh out those ten pages to enrich them the best I can.  And then I will continue from there.  Despite agreeing with the notes, when I looked at the book as a whole and thinking of what needed to be done, I froze looking at it excited but with a thought of "How in the hell am I going to do this?  How am I going to make this outline (essentially) into a great book?"  And, like I said about the process that constantly changes, that's what I had decided to do - break it up and just attack it bit by bit. 

I'm looking at each project as a step towards something bigger; not to mean current or near-future projects don't really matter, just meaning I want to grow with each one.  Of course, I think that's what everybody wants when they create, so what I'm saying is nothing new. 

Bad Wiring - comic book short script

I felt like posting this short comic script.  It's sci-fi-ish and is only 8 pages.  The idea had come to me awhile back and when I wrote it, it fit better as a short than trying to pad it into something bigger.  As I've stated before, sometimes the story tells you its length regardless of you being the writer. 

BAD WIRING
Written by Christopher Michael Carter

Page 1

Panel 1: Full page – tons of people in the streets in suits with briefcases passing each other. Everyone has a TV for a head. Old school box TVs with rabbit antennas.
      People in passing: Good morning.

Page 2
Panel 1: A man sits at a local outside café.  Just like the other people seen, he's well dressed with a TV for a head.
      Man: Good day. Espresso please.
      Barista: Espresso coming up.
Panel 2: The main guy turned around.
      SFX: BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
      Random screaming: HELP! He’s gone crazy!
Panel 3: Random people getting gunned down.
Panel 4: The maniac wielding a pistol.
      Maniac: AH!

Page 3
Panel 1 (top half): Maniac running around shooting people.
Panel 2 (bottom half): The barista with his towel over his shoulder.
      Barista: Ah, damn. Looks like we’ll have to call service.

Page 4
Panel 1: A woman screaming bloody murder.
      Woman: HELP US!
Panel 2: Same pic only there’s a bullet hole in her screen.
Panel 3: Maniac with his smoking gun.
Panel 4: A spotlight shining down on him.
      Cable Co (above): You there! Stop and drop!

Page 5
Panel 1: A spaceship-like hovercraft with ‘Cable Co.’ on the side. It’s got speakers and lights on it.
      Cable Co: We repeat: stop & drop!
Panel 2: Maniac shooting up at them.
      Maniac: Never!
Panel 3: The Cable Co. hovercraft now sporting guns.
Panel 4: The man getting his espresso.
      Man (watching the ruckus): My, my.
      Barista: Here’s your espresso.

Page 6
Panel 1: The hovercraft.
      Cable Co: Open fire.
Panel 2: Close up of their guns firing.
Panel 3:Overhead view of the killer getting shot by the Cable Co.
Panel 4: Closer view – ground level shot of hum, being torn apart by gunfire. His TV shattering like his victims’.

Page 7
Panel 1: Full page. The hovercraft in the foreground looking down on all the wreckage. Bodies everywhere and the spotlight still on the target.
      Cable Co: A clean up crew will be out shortly. Everyone go on about your day.

Page 8
Panel 1: Everyone going on with their day. Commuting like nothing happened.
Panel 2: The maniac crumbled on the ground.
Panel 3: The main guy at the counter with his espresso in hand (held up like he’s about to drink it).
      Man: Chap had some bad wiring, I’d say.

The End.

Late to the party

We've all been there; where you come up with an idea, don't do anything with it, and then sometime later you see someone else do nearly the same thing.  I've been late to the party a lot due to procrastination, laziness, and sometimes just not having the funds.

Just 4 (of many) times this happened for me were:

A looong time ago I had an idea for a story or movie about the son of the devil not wanting to take over, but just wanting to be a normal kid.  I called it "The Misadventures of Little Damian".  A couple of years afterwards came a movie called "Little Nicky" with a very similar idea.  Funny flick, great actors.  Of course, it was well different from what I had in mind but the core story was there.  I was bummed but of there was no way I'd be able to do anything on that scale; it would probably have been a little comic book.

Later I had an idea for a movie I wanted to do; again, writing books was never part of the plan, it came later.  I wanted to do a more exploratory film called "Neon Eons" and it would show the Earth from creation to destruction.  Of course, I never fleshed it out as I knew I'd never have the funds to do what was in my head.  I went to see the move "The Tree of Life", a film that I adore, and it showed so much of what I was wanting to do with Neon Eons, often times right down to the exact visual.  I wasn't bummed about this; not only did I love the film, BUT seeing it on the screen, I just kept thinking "IT WORKS!" 

A long time ago I read a Richard Matheson short story called "Witch War".  I was stunned.  I fell in love with this story hard.  Instantly, it inspired stories within me.  I wrote out titles and ideas for roughly 16 stories [I still have them and have not yet written them].  All of these stories are strange (of course) and have a more fantasy twist to them, though I've actually yet to write a fantasy story.  One of which involved kids and an odd abundance of worms showing up everywhere.  I kept thinking of the spiders on the walls and ceilings in "Something Wicked This Way Comes".  It was thought of with kids in mind and it was to be called "WORMS!"  Well...just the other night my wife and I watched a good deal of an old horror film called "Squirm" which is about worms becoming incredibly active and carnivorous after a lightning storm.  Mine didn't really have to do with man-eating worms but it was more about them being everywhere and freaking the kids out.  I'll just say that this movie is Awful, just terrible.  And there were scenes of the worms going up the walls just as I had envisioned and everyone was freaking out; not children, but adults.  It wasn't remotely terrifying.  I told my wife about the old story idea while she raised an eyebrow.  I said upon seeing "Squirm", "I'm scratching that story off the list. That's just awful."  Sometimes missing the boat isn't so bad lol.

I grew up with my father showing me old silent films.  I love them.  There are some wonderful pieces of art in the silent film era.  For years I've had the bee in my bonnet to make some.  A friend and I were trying to think of film projects before and I told him, "I think we should make a silent film.  I want to make one."  I told him and the ex I was with at the time and both said they didn't think it would do well.  That there wasn't a market for silent film anymore.  Both asking "Why would you want to make one anyway?  Who cares about silent film?"  I felt frustrated and defeated and I let it go, though the idea to do one has never left me.  Awhile after this, there was a film that came out called "The Artist"; a silent film.  It did well, swept up awards and all that jazz.  I pointed it out, calling up my friend asking if he'd seen the buzz about this film.  Of course, it was the format that I was discussing and not the story, but it's the point of it all; the principal.

On the hunt

I finished reading the co-written weird ass anthology last night.  We'll be doing the final edit soon.  Hopefully we can come together on what it needs.  While I love most of it, there are still some things I'm not too thrilled with, yet those are the things she loves, so you can see the issue.  There are a few stories within that I could see taking out and fleshing out into their own thing but that won't happen, sadly.

I'm back to working on the sci-fi book which I'm ecstatic about.  The rewriting and reformatting of the book is taking time and is getting headache-inducing; in a good way, not a "OMG why isn't this done yet" kinda way.  You guys know what I'm talking about.

Amidst those things I'm currently on the hunt for a publisher who will take my horror anthology "Sharp Items & Bad Intentions".  Some writers probably love this process; I, for one, hate it with a passion.  It's not the rejections that are bothersome but the time it takes to contact them all and send the work out.  When the poetry book was published, I had this understanding at first that it would mainly be an e-book.  I was okay with that but was thrilled when I got my physical copies in the mail and the bulk of which sold were actually paperback, much to mine and my publisher's surprise.  The bulk of the horror publishers I'm finding do e-book only.  I love e-books but I think seeing my first book in paperback has me regressing a bit.  So it looks like when this book comes out, it will more than likely be electronically only, depending on who takes it of course.

A lot of things on the way.

High Tide's A Comin' - Short Story

This was an idea I had about 15 years ago.  Always remembered it but never did anything with and I knew it'd probably be more for a short story than anything else.  When my wife and I were working on our anthology, I thought it would be a good one to include as the anthology is more 'wtf' and full of weirdness more so than straight horror.  I wrote it, she read it and rejected it from the book stating "it's not dark enough".  So I figured I'd put it on here.  As I've stated before, Most of the work put on here is old but this one was written just a month ago.  Now, I've posted two things about writing and now this short story so with this posted, I'll be getting back to work. 

*Among working on the rewrites to the sci-fi book and editing an anthology I'll be sending out another horror anthology for hopeful publication as well as screenplays in hopes to sell.

Here's "High Tide's A Comin'" - I hope you enjoy.

High Tide’s A Comin’

David, Rebecca, and their young girls are off to see David’s father for the day, not something they normally do. Rebecca smiles while her husband drives, not exactly thrilled.
“This is nice. We never do this. We should do it more.” She says.
“Well let’s not push it.” He chuckles.
“What’s the deal with you and your father anyway? You’ve always dodged the question. What’s is it?” His wife remains as curious as she’s always been about the subject. He looks back to their little girls who are currently preoccupied and not paying attention.
“Growing up, my father was a really bad alcoholic. He used to beat my mother and me on a nightly basis. Every time he swore to get clean, he’d turn right back to the bottle. I’ve never been able to trust anything he says. When my mother died, it was under such mysterious circumstances that many of us in the family believed the old man to have killed her.” David says in all seriousness. She stares at him, taking all this in.
“I don’t know. I don’t believe he would’ve killed her, regardless of how awful he could get.” Rebecca tells him.
“Yeah, well...” He leaves it at that and continues to drive.

It’s a nice day today. The sun is shining and there’s not a cloud to be found in such vacant skies. The neighborhood is primarily elderly. A house with vanilla paneling stands tall complete with wind chimes hanging above the porch which holds a bench. A dark blue minivan pulls up in front of this house and parks. David gets out of the driver’s side while his wife steps out of the passenger side. Upon getting out, David stands still looking at the house.
“Well we made it. I think the old man will be happy to see the girls.” He says.

“C’mon, guys.” Rebecca says to their two small children after sliding open the side door. The two are toddler twin girls.
“You wanna get the girls and I’ll go ahead and get the stuff?” Her husband asks her. She begins rounding up their toddlers while David moves towards the back of the van. The backdoor opens and is lifted up revealing the space to contain not luggage or toys for the children to play with while visiting their grandfather, but a pile of empty milk jugs, water bottles, and various other plastic containers; all kept in large trash bags. He sighs looking at the bagged recycling.
“Why does your dad always want this stuff anyway?” His wife asks. He shakes his head.
“I don’t know, honey. He’s old. Maybe recycling has become his retirement hobby. Some people collect stamps, some do bridge tournaments; he collects...garbage I guess.” David shrugs and grabs the bags.

“Why did daddy bring trash?” One of the girls, Molly, snickers to her mother.
“It’s for your grandfather.” Rebecca tells the girl.
“Grandpa likes trash?” Kaylee, the other twin giggles.
“Apparently so. Your daddy’s like Santa Claus bringing presents.” Rebecca jokes and laughs with the girls.
“Ha ha ha girls.” He mocks their laughter. “Your grandpa wants old bottles and jugs. He’s a kooky old man.” David grabs the bags and shuts the trunk as he laughs with his girls. 

The family of four walk up to the house they’re parked in front of; Rebecca with a girl’s hand in each of hers and David with three full large garbage bags. On the porch, David sets the bags down and rings the doorbell. Not long after the door is opened by a short, portly man with gray hair and a white beard.
“Hey, you made it!” The man says.
“Hey, old man.” David greets him.
“Hey, young man.” He replies before squatting down with open arms. “Hey girls!”
“Grandpa!” They yell in unison running the two feet to hug him.
“Grandpa, are you really a kooky old man?” Molly asks. His eyes peered up to his son, who scrunches his face, before looking back to the girls.
“I’m the kookiest!” He hollers slightly before tickling the girls into a laughing fit. Rebbecca shoots David a look before they all head inside.

Molly & Kaylee get set up with cartoons in the living room with their mother while David walks through the old man’s house. They get just before the basement door when the old man stops.
“You can set ‘em there. I’ll take ‘em down later.” David’s father fans his hand motioning to the bags. His son, continually irritated with his father’s seemingly erratic behavior, sets them down.
“Pop, you’ve been doing this more and more over the years. What gives? What are you doing with all these?” David tries not to sound annoyed but can’t help it. His father, Jacob by birth though he’s usually known as Pop or the Old Man, shakes his head with a sigh.
“Son...high tide’s a comin’.” Jacob tells his grown son rather dryly.
“...What does that mean, dad? Okay? ‘High tide’s a comin’?” He asks slightly mocking his father. “I don’t get it. High tide’s coming, so what; you’re stocking up for doomsday? Just gonna fill all these with water when the world goes to dust and ash? Is that what all this shit is supposed to be?”
“Language!” Rebecca hollers from the living room getting his attention. “Children.” She points out. He nods before turning back to the old man who puts his hand on David’s shoulder.
“I-I can’t talk about it, son. All I can say is that it’s best to be prepared for the end of times.”
“Pop, I love you but you really sound like an old religious nut sometimes.” David shakes his head.

The Old Man comes back into the living room to greet his family. “Well, kids, I hope you like pizza! I ordered some just a while ago and it should be here any moment.” He tells them.
“YAY! PIZZA!” The kids yell in unison. Rebecca laughs along with Jacob while David watches from the doorway. The pizza is delivered and they spend their family time together happily.

It’s later back at home, the kids are tucked in bed while their parents are about to do the same. With both of them in their pajamas Rebecca sits in bed reading a book while David fluffs his pillow.
“I just don’t get it. He’s always been a bit of a loon but becoming this doomsday prepper is just nuts. He was talking about preparing for the end of days and that he can’t tell me what all the bottles and jugs are for.” David throws the covers back on his side while his wife listens to him. He gets in bed and continues, “I think I’m going to have to look into putting him in a home or something.” Rebecca closes her book and looks disproving.
“You want to put your father in a home because he collects recycling and talks about inevitable death? Do you know how many people would be put away for those reasons?” Rebecca says with her brow furrowed. David sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Honey, you don’t get it. This isn’t my father; not the man I grew up with.” He tries to reason.
“David, people change. Maybe he had some epiphany about his life or this is a late-life crisis; have you ever thought of that? I mean, look, he’s still fully capable of living on his own. He seems to have all of his faculties. We all have our quirks.” She replies with her own reason.
Frustrated, his head falls back. “I get that. Quirks are quirks. But this whole ‘the end is nigh’ crap is just ridiculous. I never knew my father to be religious at all. I never heard him talk about God. We never said grace before eating or went to church. I just don’t know where all this is coming from.” He shrugs in a defeatist manner.

“Your father’s fine, babe. He’s just old. I’m sure he didn’t think he’d ever be like this. I’m sure someday we’ll look back and feel the same about us when we’re his age.” She says nonchalantly. He thinks to himself quietly before leaning over and kissing her.
“You’re probably right. I’m probably just over exaggerating. I love you. Goodnight.”
“Everything’s fine. I love you too. Goodnight.” She says. Rebecca picks her book back up to get some reading in as he turns off his bedside lamp and turns over to go to sleep. Despite her logical reasoning he still can’t get it out of his head and continues to think about it constantly until finally falling asleep from mental exhaustion.

In his slumber, David dreams. He wakes up to a staggeringly loud BOOM. Rebecca isn’t beside him in bed and after realizing this he hears her calling from the other room, “David!”
He jumps out of bed and rushes to the other room to find Rebecca in the girls’ room. The windows have been blown out and dust and dirt fills the air. Their daughters are crying while their mother tries to comfort them.
“It’s gonna be okay, girls. It’s gonna be okay.” She looks up at her husband. “David, we have to do something.” In shock, it takes him a moment to respond.
“What in the hell is going on out there!?” He yells.
“I don’t know, but everything’s gone!” Rebecca yells while cradling the children.
“What!?” He runs through the house and outside to find what can only be described as the apocalypse. The once peaceful, beautiful neighborhood resembles the old west on a bad day. Houses and vehicles alike are destroyed and everything appears dead and dried up. The world through his eyes is covered in dirt, dust, ash, and sand. Rebecca continues to yell for him inside the house but she’s subconsciously tuned out by the sight of doomsday. 
“Hello!?” He yells to no reply. David runs back in the house. “Babe it’s completely dead outside.” He says hurriedly and exasperated entering the girls’ room. He finds his wife worried and irritated as both children are coughing up dirt and dust from their lungs. 
“They’ve breathed in too much! They need water!” Rebecca yells still patting them on their backs. David hurries into the kitchen, grabs a glass, and puts it under the faucet. He turns it on but there’s no water. The sound of the pipes clanging are loud before dirt spurts out into the cup. He shuts the faucet off and runs to the bathroom. The same happens with the sink and tub. Quickly thinking, he rushes to the toilet and removes the tank’s lid and it’s bone dry.
“Damn it!” David runs back to the room to inform his wife, “There’s no water!”
“Of course there’s no water, David!” She yells back in frustration. A heavy, blunt knock at the door is heard and an already exasperated David runs to answer it. His father stands before him, covered in dust with a jug of water in each hand. Dirt and dust shake off the old man with every breath he takes. David’s mind races rapidly. 
“Dad!?” He asks looking this crusty, dirt covered man up and down. Jacob steps forward. 
“Son, I told you the end was coming. Now it’s here and it’s best to be prepared.” His father states. David sees beyond the old man that the world outside is merely a skeleton of its former self; dried up and useless. The dream fades and a more normal sleep continues.

David was pleased to find his morning quite normal when he woke up. Now he’s at work and it feels good to finally get his mind off of his kooky father who’s turned over a new leaf in life. At this point David would much rather get calls from angry customers in his job as tech support for a security system company than even think about the fact that his father would be better suited in a padded room. The girls are in school and Rebecca is at home. He keeps thinking about what she was saying last night and hoping she’s right. David takes call after call with an unnaturally positive demeanor. With his wife’s voice echoing in his head as assurance and the constant distraction that is his job he doesn’t think about embarrassing family drama. A coworker comes up to him, “David, Mr. Hester wants to see you in his office.” Usually when the boss calls you into his office there’s a moment of dread but for David today it’s more of ‘Bring it on’. “Alright.” He happily gets out of his office chair and strolls into the office where his boss, Mr. Hester sits. “Hey, you wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, David, I’ve gotten a couple of phone calls today from your father. Apparently it’s urgent and he needs you to get a hold him ASAP. I’ve given him your extension but he said he couldn’t get it to go through. Now, listen, I understand family strife but this is the workplace and we can’t be having a lot of this.” Mr. Hester tells his employee sternly. David groans and nods.
“Yes sir. Won’t happen again.” David exits the office and heads back to his desk.

He sits down, grabbing his phone with his good mood deflated, angrily dialing each number.
“Yeah, dad, my boss said you’ve been calling?” David doesn’t hide his irritation.
“Son, I need to see you. Can you come after work?” Jacob sounds shaken and nervous.
David takes a deep breath but also thinks about the severity heard in the old man’s voice.
“Yeah, I can be there after I get off.” He says with an eye roll and an exasperated exhale.
“Great. Thank you, son. I love you.” He says in a rushed panic before hanging up. He sighs, hanging up the phone, and his day has gone back to normal; a workday peppered with drama.

David calls Rebecca to let him know he’ll be a little late but spares her the details as to why; what little details he knows. The day passes with his smile while helping people long gone as he awaits, or dreads, going to his father’s after clocking out. It’s time. He groans and grumbles and hits the road in hopes to be back sooner rather than later.

The minivan pulls up in front of Jacob’s house. He takes a deep breath before getting out. His blood pressure’s rising on the way up to the door. David already knows he’s going to leave even more irritated than he came. He knocks on the door but there’s no answer. He knocks again but this time his frustration gives way to fear thinking about how the old man sounded on the phone. David tries the door and it’s locked but he remembers he has a key. After looking through his key ring, he finds it and unlocks the door. He enters the house slowly.
“Pop?” He asks the open house. No reply is given. David walks through a little further and continues to call for his father. “Dad, where are you?” A distant voice answers.
“I’m down here, son! In the basement!” The old man yells so his son can hear him. David sighs and heads on down to the basement.

“I don’t think you’ve ever let me down here.” He says upon walking down the stairs. David stops at the bottom, the basement floor, in shock and awe of what he sees. Wall to wall, the basement is completely filled with a variety of empty plastics; jugs, bottles, etc. 
“I’m back here!” His father calls from around the corner of plastic barrels. David can’t stop looking at it all. He moves slowly to where Jacob’s voice came from and finds him with large spools of rope. David’s bewildered to say the least.
“Dad, wh-what is all this? This is ridiculous.” He says motioning around him.
“Sit down. Sit down. I need to talk to you.” His father says having him sit down on one of the spools. The old man looks around nodding. “This is years and years of work.”
“I see that, I do, but what is it all for?” David’s irritation is apparent.
“Son, you know I’ve never been a spiritual man.” David rolls his eyes and nods agreeing. “But years ago something happened. At first I thought it was a vision or an epiphany or whatever you want to call it but the truth is the Lord came to me.”
“Oh boy...” David sighs. Jacob holds his hand out to stop him.
“Don’t do that, David. Okay? Don’t do that. God came to me. He spoke to me. He told me to be prepared, for one day high tides will come. He told me that he chose me. I asked if there would be others and he didn’t answer. He told me not to tell anyone else but your my son, your family is my family, and I’m trying to protect you all. I want you to be prepared.” His father finished, worried inside of what the Lord would think of him breaking the rule he’d given this man. David’s not buying any of this. He looks annoyed and nods to the old man.

“That is such a crock of shit, dad. Are you drinking again? Is this just some drunk delusion of yours?” He asks while the old man shakes his head.
“No. I’m sober. I promise. I’m telling you this because I love you.” Tears fill Jacob’s eyes.
“And did God tell you when this was to take place?” David’s tone is clearly condescending.
“He didn’t give me a date. All he told me was that it was coming.” He explained with urgency.
“Pop, I don’t even know what to say to all this. It’s ludicrous. I’m going home and tomorrow we’re checking you in somewhere where we can get you some help.” The old man’s son says turning to leave. Jacob stands up and rushes to the young man.
“Son, please, for your family’s sake, take precaution.” He pleads. David looks at him in all seriousness before putting his hand on his father’s shoulder and shakes his head.
“Old man, you are really losing it. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll get you some help.” David walks upstairs wide-eyed about what he’s just heard and what he’s seeing around him leaving his father to sit back down on the large spool. He looks up with tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Lord. I just had to warn him.” His voice begins to break. “He’s my son. I’m sorry.”  

David comes home to his family already sitting down to eat. He’s clearly agitated.
“Hey, honey, is everything okay?” Rebecca asks.
“The old man has gone completely nuts. He’s just-he’s lost it. That’s all I can say. His mind is just gone. Tomorrow I’m getting him a doctor.” David says sharply in his frustration.
The kids look at each other before looking back at their mad daddy.
“Is grandpa gonna be okay?” A child asks innocently.
“He’s gonna be fine, sweetie.” Rebecca says before shooting her husband a look and whispering, “Say something.” David leaves the angry son behind and goes into “Dad mode”.
“Grandpa’s going to be alright. He just needs some help.” David swallows hard and sighs. “We’re his family so we’re going to help him.”

Dinner’s done. The girls are in bed asleep. This is all still weighing heavy on David’s mind but he’s pushing it off the best he can. He and Rebecca are ready for bed. They lean over to kiss.
“I love you. Goodnight.” David says halfheartedly with his mind obviously elsewhere.
“Goodnight. I love you too. It’s all going to be okay, babe. We’ll get him help. Don’t worry.” She turns over pulling the blanket up over her.
“Yeah...” He says dryly turning off his light. Darkness and slumber take up residence in their home. Everyone sleeps and dreams of various situations just too strange for reality. Despite the obvious metaphoric elephant in the room with their lives as of late, this night is peaceful.

Outside the wind is picking up. Not the sharp whips of cold air one would expect in the middle of the night but full, warm gusts coming in waves. The ground quakes. The family’s house begins to tremble. At first it’s so subtle like sleeping during a thunderstorm but the quakes begin to come on stronger. Rebecca wakes up first slapping and nudging her husband.
“David, what is that?” She asks in a frightened whisper.
“What in the hell...?” He wakes, looking around at his shaking house. 
“The girls!” They both state in unison before jumping out of bed. They rush to their children’s room where knickknacks are falling off their dressers.
“Daddy! Mommy!” The kids shout. “What’s going on! We’re scared!”
“It’s a storm. It’s just a bad storm.” Rebecca tries to comfort her children like most parents do; with lies. David’s still waking up but joins his wife in comforting the scared kids.

“Okay, stay away from the windows.” David says pulling his family to the center of the room. He runs through the house and slings open the front door to see what’s going on. He steps out of their home and feels the warm wind, the trembling ground, and, “Oh...my...God...” David stops in his tracks, paralyzed with fear, as he sees in the middle of suburbia, across the street and behind his neighbor’s house, a tidal wave. It’s vicious, looking like a cobra poised to strike. His head scans side to side on his block to see the amount of large waves growing and getting higher. The sounds of mass destruction and the cries of families are carried through the wind and all too loud in David’s ears. The water’s rising and David shakes. He turns around and shuts the door running back through the house.

“REBECCAAAA!” He yells with all his might as he tries to make it to his family. The wave HITS. The windows, along with the front door, are obliterated and the house fills with water in the blink of an eye. David’s pushed past the kids’ room but he’s trying to swim back to them.
“No! NOOOO!” He swings his arms as hard as he can trying to swim against the current but the water’s pushing back with more might than a mere man could ever muster.

“REBECCA!” He screams. David’s pulled under the surface but keeps fighting his way back up. “REBECCA, I’M COMING!” He calls to her while coughing up the water so forcefully pushed down his throat. The house fills and he’s up to the ceiling, running out of airspace. Rebecca’s husband takes a deep breath and goes under. Using the doors and doorways in the hallway, he attempts to pull himself against the current to make it to his family. The water thrashes with Godlike force. Almost there... He pulls himself around the corner to find his girls, his family, his reasons for being, floating lifeless and being pulled around by the brute force of the current. David screams every bit of air out as bubbles; each one containing a tiny scream. The man shoots up to the top in an exasperated fight for air. In between gasps he yells out in pain for his family. He inhales, exhales, repeats. He swallows hard and coughs even harder. David takes a deep breath and drops under. Fighting through such a strong current, he makes his way to his wife and children; all dead and treated like ragdolls by the water that’s filled the house. He collects his family and tries to go through the window but the force of the waves push them back in. He holds them close and kicks his legs for dear life, bringing them to the surface. He looks the three of them over with the biggest marriage of fear and pain crawling across his very soul; they’re all dead. His face distorts as he bawls, “No... No...” His head shakes, refusing to believe it but isn’t paying attention to the water level, which is rising and there’s nowhere else for him to go and no more air for him to take in. David holds his wife and children, mourning them as the flooding covers them all and the man joins his family in death.

The case is the same for most, if not all families. The world is flooded. Most of the world is miles beneath what is now the surface. Bodies float about with their previous possessions. Sea-life casually strolls through neighborhoods. Commerce no longer exists. Politics no longer exist. The ways and rules that have been established by man for so long no longer exist. The night was long and the flooding was harsh but now the sun shines over the calm waters of the world. On these waters is a large raft made up of a ridiculous amount of empty plastic containers tied together with rope and captained by the Old Man. Jacob looks out into the new world with tears of loss in his eyes and nods. He’s lost everything and everyone he loved but keeps in mind that he’s not alone.

“Lord, I don’t know why you chose me...but I have faith that you know what you’re doing.” And so the old man sets sail on the new seas of the Earth to see if anyone else got the Lord’s Warning.

Writin' & Ramblin'

Hi guys, I talk about writing on here a lot.  I know there are probably many of you thinking "Who the F!@# are you to even talk about it?"  That may be true; I'm not a known writer much at all and I certainly don't hold any fame or influence to speak of.  I'm one of those guys who's written a ton and only a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the world has really seen One thing.  When I look up interviews with writers I've actually heard the words "Writing is the hard part, getting it published is easy."  For me, it's quite the opposite; writing is the only thing I've ever really been decent at, getting people to look at it is a whole other story. 

When I talk about writing on here (I dare not call them Tips as I don't believe I'm in any position to give them) it's mainly because I don't really get to talk about creating (process or other) in my personal life.  I'll talk about how writing certain stories changed my outlook on craft and process or about how writing certain genres or even mediums will affect the way I work on others, and I can feel my wife, friends, family, or dog getting bored, no matter my level of excitement. 

The only time I've felt I've needed to take a break from writing is when I was completing multiple books (various drafts) at once.  I was burnt and just wanted to sit back and watch the dumbest movies imaginable.  Every time I've stated "I've just got done doing all THIS and I'm gonna take a week off" my best friend and my wife will both ask me different times "You think you can do that?"  And I'm not sure if I've ever been able to do it.  Like many of you, I can't STOP.  I'll be burnt out and walk away from any computer, laptop, paper & pencil, only to find myself texting myself ideas and random story pieces.  It's a strange feeling when you grow up Wanting to create and you get to a point where you Have you create.  I feel I'm at my best, personally, when I'm doing so and when I'm not creating something, I feel bad because I know I Should be.  Some of you have to feel the same; I hope anyway.

Getting work out and seen is the hardest part for me.  I've spoken about rejection on here before (the post "Rejection", original title, I know), and how the most irritating thing to me is not hearing "No" but being completely passed over altogether.  I'd rather someone read my work and tell me they hate it than to ignore it in its entirety. 

It's a sad feeling when you're practically begging people, "Just READ IIIIIT!"  But there's always a creative solution to a problem.  Self publishing, blogs, etc, etc.  For a long time dealing with publisher issues my friends would tell me that I should self publish but I wasn't ready yet.  Once I was published, I felt like I could very well do self publishing.  I don't know why, but that was my thought process.  It was a foot in the door, that book, now I press forward with future projects. 

I was writing scripts for the longest time before realizing they weren't formatted correctly for shit.  Along with film scripts I was writing comic book scripts.  I knew that comic companies weren't interested in lone scripts from unknown writers without art or an artist attached but I was encouraged "So, just write and send anyway, you never know."  And I did so.  I've had a lot of artists like scripts of mine and want to work on it only to back out sometime into it.  Incidentally, this was the same issue I was having with publishers before; they'd like a project and want to move forward only to change their minds part way in.  I know that's the nature of the game but it's no less aggravating.

I've mentioned comic book publishers who claim they want something new and exciting only to tell me they want something similar to what's already famous.  Other publishing companies do the same thing.  I've seen publishers say they want something new and different.  I love reading screenplays, plays, and various projects in script format and would love to see them on shelves more and more widely available in print.  I'd sent out scripts only to hear "I like the story, we just don't do scripts of any kind."  If they're so closed off to certain things like that, it doesn't really appear that they're looking for something "new" and "different", not to me anyway.  If I had a publishing company, which in all honesty isn't a goal of mine, I wouldn't put so many barriers on writing. 

But, again, there's always a creative solution to a problem.  Along with various short stories and other writings that don't currently have a home, I've started posted comic scripts on here.  If anyone is interested about doing artwork for them and getting them going, I'm sure they'll contact me; until then I'm just going to keep posting them on here.  I've currently got one comic book in development and that came from a chance online meeting of Dennis Magnant and myself.  He wasn't too interested in going with an pre-existing idea (i.e. one of my scripts) and so we built something new from the ground up together in Tourniquet.  I haven't found another artist for any other project really.  When you're an unknown writer trying to get a comic book going, it can be pretty hard to find an artist.  Most I've found want to get paid up front and actually talk more about money than they do the project or art in general.  Actually, on the Facebook group where Dennis and I met, I mainly SEE artists talking about money and critiquing others' work but none of their own projects/work.  It's sad when money is more interesting to an artist than creation. 

Growing up, I was always writing but could very rarely ever actually finish a short story.  I'd get part way into it and get dissuaded, thinking it would be another story in my notebook.  After awhile I was writing primarily script related things.  It wasn't until I was writing screenplays and putting waaaay too much description and novel-like prose pieces that I thought "This is very book-like...I wonder if I could go back and do something like that."  I went back to some old unfinished short stories and finished them.  I was feeling pretty good about it and kept writing them.  My mom kept telling me for years "I know you want to do comics and screenplays but you really should write a book."  I had no interest.  Now, I'm finding myself with a stack of books to write.  It's funny how life works.

Though my publisher, Supposed Crimes, passed on my horror book, I'm still writing a sci-fi book for them and have one to come after it.  I have more sci-fi in mind but if they take them or not, I'll have to wait and see.

The problem with writing so much at the same time is when they're all finished then I have to find homes for them all.  It's probably counterproductive in many ways but working on many things at once is how I've usually worked; if I get stuck on one, I just move over to the next.  It'd be nice to have an assistant to do all the sending out so I can just keep working but I can't afford that and I'm nowhere close to that.  It's part of the package but it feels like it gets in the way, having to stop working to send all the other stuff out.

I've talked before about issues such as writer's block.  I know people who it's hit and I've never gotten it.  Because I'm at home all the time, I just get interrupted like crazy with honey-do lists, along with doctor's appointments and any other normal responsibilities.  Other than interruptions, my main issue lies within myself as all of the various projects bump into each other trying to get to the front.  I have so much I want to do, so much I'm currently doing, and I only have two hands and one brain; the woes of being human I suppose.  A recurring problem of mine is, on several projects anyway, I either have a story and no format, or a format and no story.  Such as, I really want to make some silent films and then I'm hit with "Okay, what's it going to be about?"  And then I'll have a story that could go in any direction medium-wise and I'm hit with "What do I do with this story?  Where does it go?"

I do love how each project comes differently.  A tiny idea will hit and would make a great short story.  A big idea will hit and would make a great comic or film.  But they all come at different times, in different ways.  Some start as a joke and then I end up putting serious thought into them and they grow into something else.  Some start as something big and end up smaller, while some start small and end up bigger.  I love how some ideas start as one but then it doesn't feel right so instead of editing and throwing away, you split them into two.  I'm an idea packrat and rarely throw stories away, usually the pieces that don't fit just end up in others or spawning its own thing.  I never know when a story will hit and usually the story itself will predict in what format it'll end up.  A lot of times something will hit me and I'll be so excited about it but I know that I'm nowhere near writing it at that time BUT I always think/know that what I'm currently working on will help me grow by the time I get to that bigger idea.  It's all steps and with each step I want to get closer to what I'm trying to get to. 

I told my wife about a sci-fi book that I'm excited to get to someday and she told me I need to get on it quick before someone else does it.  But I know through what all I'm doing between now and then that when I get there it'll be better than if I were to do it now.  Along with all the things I'm learning on this journey, learning what projects to wait on is one of them. 

At one point, I was a bit skeptical about sending so much out for publication in one year; afraid of flooding with my name or what have you to where people don't care - a stupid thought, I'm sure.  But I figured my first year of being an actual published writer, as opposed to just working unknown for so long, I might as well make it good and pull out all the stops so this year I'll be getting out as much as I can and I hope you all will join me and stick around for what's to come.

Thanks for putting up with my rambling.

Co-writing

Co-writing can be difficult if you and your cohorts aren't in sync.  I'm currently co-writing two projects; one has proven difficult while the other not so much.

I talked about this anthology I've written with my wife.  It's currently finished and we're going through the editing process; which, when co-writing, takes a bit longer than if you were doing it solo.  This book was started because we thought it'd be a fun thing to do together.  Although I'm proud of the stories within the book, the process of writing it all was far from fun for me.  Like people who build together, we haven't exactly seen eye to eye on what should happen when and why along with what should stay and what should go.  There was more of a rush in writing this book, as opposed to a blueprint we agreed on and worked for.  She did a pass through the book, now I'm currently doing my pass, and then we'll sit together and do the final edit before we figure out our publishing route.  There were stories I felt would be better taken out and fleshed out into its own thing while she wanted them to stay.  It's been a real head-butter but when you read the book, it won't even be apparent; but, then again, you rarely see the trouble gone through to get a project done.  Our real struggle had come from idea vs execution; I'm at home writing full time while she has a full time job.

The other project I'm currently co-writing is with a friend of mine and it's flowing just fine.  We throw ideas at each other and some stick, some don't.  Something that turns out to be a BIG thing in our story was something she pitched to me kinda halfheartedly, thinking I'd brush it off, but I loved it and we've been working with it.  It's kind of a real genre mashup in ways and her suggestion weaved in another genre seamlessly.  Usually when we throw ideas at each other, we include several choices and then it goes from there.  When something's rejected, it comes with a reason; "Eh, I don't think that would work because of *this*."

Now, these two projects are far apart in what they are and the processes involved so I can't compare them beyond the fact that they're both co-written.  I'm proud of both, the one completed and the one still in progress, regardless of what the process entails.  I think the process of co-writing will change from project to project and from co-writer to co-writer.

Because I'm home all the time writing and my wife isn't, I grew pissy pretty quick with having to do what I felt was "the bulk of the work" because my wife didn't have the time to devote to it.  Again, she has a full time draining job.  That was the idea vs execution argument as she argued that she was coming up with a lot of ideas and I would say "Yes, but I'm doing the actual writing".  She did sit down and put in the work though; it was just odd timing to what I was doing.  BUT the book is done and I think whatever we come to a decision on the final edit will look great and I'm very excited for you guys to see it.

My other co-writer and I live cities away and we can't ever get together, so everything is done through email, Facebook, and phone calls.  She has a job and children so she has a full life she's trying to weave around to work on the project.  We're not rushing the project, we just want it to be perfect and do what we want it to do. 

With both of these projects, one thing is constant and that's the fact that I have a mountain of other things I'm working on and my co-writers have their own responsibilities to deal with so it's always a juggling act.  I'm always learning and I love that.  I don't think I ever want to get to a point some day when my career is in actual full swing where I feel like I can't learn anymore and I'm just writing by route.  I always want to learn something new and improve.  Right now, among other things, I'm learning the co-writing process and realizing that just because I can sit here and hammer things out doesn't mean they have that same luxury, with everyone's lives being different. 

There are boundaries and limits and others' aren't the same as yours.  I'm learning the same thing in my personal life as well.

In hindsight, I should've set aside designated time between my solo projects and projects with others so I'm not being pulled this way and that.  Another thing learned to keep in mind for the future. 

Justice Roll - a comic book script

I thought of this within minutes of thinking of Two-Fisted Youngins (if you haven't read it, it's a few posts back, help yourself).  I was standing outside of a sushi restaurant when I jokingly thought to myself "You know, there's really no sushi based superhero..."  And fusing my love for sushi and superheroes I came up with Justice Roll.  It's an about-face to Two-Fisted Youngins, a drama about two brothers in the south.  I write a lot of different things and I'd wanted to write a cheesy superhero book; something that was just FUN.  In a world in which even the lightest of heroes are getting dark and gritty updates and changes, I think it's good to have some Justice Roll out there. 

*Just like Two-Fisted Youngins, this book currently has no artist.  The plan was that if this one shot was to be picked up, the next issue would actually go back to the beginning and build a series from the hero's point of view.  So, here's Justice Roll; a comic book script.  I hope you enjoy.

Justice Roll
By Christopher Michael Carter


Page 1
Full page – The outside of a sushi place. Signs and posters around. One has Justice Roll holding up sushi and smiling. Justice Roll is buff in a yellow and red spandex suit and cape. He’s got short black hair and a big picture of a sushi roll on his chest. One poster states “I’LL have the Justice Roll.”

Page 2
Panel 1: 2 pairs of hands holding menus.
      Mom: What are you gonna get, honey?
      Dad: I just don’t know.
Panel 2: The son across the table noticing the front of his parents’ menus.
Panel 3: The menus with Justice Roll on the front “Home of the Justice Roll”.
Panel 4: The kid getting excited.
      Kid: WOW! The Justice Roll eats here!?
      Dad: That’s right, buddy.

Page 3
Panel 1: Justice flying in the sky punching a dragon.
      Kid: The one we see on TV fighting monsters?
      Parents: That’s the one.
Panel 2: Justice fighting an old school looking crook (striped shirt, domino mask) with money bags in hand.
      Kid: And the one who stops robbers?
      Parents: Same guy.

Page 4
Panel 1: Closer to us in view, a guy with a mustache and sunglasses smirking. In the background is the boy and his parents.
      Kid: No way!
      Parents: Yep.
Panel 2: Closer pic of the smiling guy.
      Kid: Awesome.
Panel 3: A waiter standing at the table.
      Waiter: What’ll it be, folks?
      Parents: Oh, hrm, not sure if I want the tuna roll or the…
Panel 4: Seen from the window two thugs picking on a hobo.
Panel 5: The kid looking out the window kinda bummed/frustrated.
      Kid: C’mon, where is he?

Page 5
Panel 1: The parents handing the menus to the waiter.
      Dad: That sound good to you, son?
Panel 2: The kid staring out the window still.
      Parents: Son?
Panel 3: Kid’s attention back on the parents.
      Kid: Oh, yeah. Sounds good.
Panel 4: The mom’s hand with her finger pointing down on the table.
      Mom: You know that Justice Roll’s story started right here in this very restaurant.
Panel 5: The kid looking excited again.
      Kid: Really? Is that why they have his pictures all over?
Panel 6: Overview of everyone in the shop (low to no detail).
      Mom: That’s right. He even eats here but he’s always in disguise and nobody ever notices.

Page 6
Panel 1: Close up of a blazing asteroid.
      Mom: Legend has it there was a comet hurling towards Earth…
Panel 2: Earth on the left and the comet on the right.
      Mom: As it was getting closer to our planet it was getting smaller and smaller…
Panel 3: The comet blazing with pieces breaking off and burning off.
      Mom: What was once the size of asteroid that would kill us quickly burned down to the size of a…
Panel 4: Someone playing golf as the comet’s seen above.
      Mom: …Golfball.
      Golfer: Anybody else see that!?

Page 7
Panel 1: The tiny comet soaring through the sky.
Panel 2: It lands in the ocean.
      SFX: BLOOP
Panel 3: A fish swimming around.
Panel 4: The same fish gets clocked in the head with the meteor.
Panel 5: The fish is now glowing, his eyes have changed and he’s slightly muscular.
Panel 6: A fisherman’s net catching him. He looks shocked.
Panel 7: A couple of guys on a boat pulling in net after net full of fish.
      Fisherman: Eh, not a bad amount for today.

Page 8
Panel 1: The pile of fish on the boat and something glowing inside.
Panel 2: An Asian man standing with a clipboard in hand while guys unload a shipment of fish from a truck.
      Delivery guy: Here’s your order, Mr. Yin.
      Mr. Yin: Ah, looks good guys.
Panel 3: Fish on a cutting board, we also see hands and a knife.
Panel 4: From the cutting board view looking up at the two chefs with knives chopping. One’s looking at the other while cutting.
      Chef 1, turned: …Yeah, so that’s when I told her…
      Chef 2: Hey, watch what you’re doing!
Panel 5: The glowing fish on the board.
      Chef 2: Hey, man, your fish is glowing!
      Chef 1: Glowing? You’re smokin’ somethin’.

Page 9
Panel 1: Hands rolling sushi, with that fish.
      Chef: Oh, well.
Panel 2: A group of young guys hanging out talking.
      Mom: And there he was with a group of friends to have that fateful lunch.
Panel 3: A younger pre-Justice Roll drinking his soda; not muscular, a normal guy.
      Mom: Some believe it was meant to be.
Panel 4: The waiter bringing out sushi to the table.
      Waiter: Alright, boys, here ya go.
      Guys: Awesome. I’m starving.
      Young guy (our soon-to-be hero): Man, that looks good.
Panel 5: A hand grabbing a glowing roll.
      Young guy : Hrm. This one must be new.
Panel 6: The guy eating the sushi.

Page 10
Panel 1: His eyes bugged.
Panel 2: Him coughing hard.
      Friend: Dude, you alright?
Panel 3: His body tensing up, his head turned up with his mouth open with bright light coming from it.
      Friend: Good God!
Panel 4: He falls over – behind the table, out of sight. 
      Friend: Hey, can we get some help over here!?

Page 11
Panel 1: His glowing eyes.
Panel 2: His friends shielding themselves from the bright light.
Panel 3: Justice Roll emerging from beneath the table in full costume and big muscles.
Panel 4: His friends looking shocked.
      Friend 1: Whoa.
      Friend 2: …Yeah.

Page 12
Panel 1: Full page shot of Justice flying just above the floor.
      Justice Roll: Hi, guys.

Page 13
Panel 1: The mom and dad sitting next to each other in the booth. The dad’s reading the paper.
      Mom: And, of course, the rest is history.
      Dad: History.
Panel 2: The kid in awe of this story.
      Mom: Ever since then people have poured in here looking for the sushi that was gonna make them strong and powerful.
Panel 3: The mom and kid in profile across from each other.
      Kid: You think I might get one?
      Mom: Y’know… You just might.
Panel 4: The two thugs from earlier. One’s spray painting on a wall while the other’s breaking a random window.
Panel 5: The kid sees them out the window.
      Kid: How… How does he know when to get the bad guys?
      Mom: I guess he just knows.

Page 14
Panel 1: Random customers looking to the left of page.
      TV: We have breaking news coming to us now…
Panel 2: The boy and his parents looking over as well.
      TV: …Warning, all citizens to be aware and on the lookout.
Panel 3: The TV showing the two thugs the kid’s been seeing out the window.
      TV: …After the dangerous duo known as the Party Crashers have escaped from prison.
Panel 4: The kid, wide-eyed, pointing out the window.
      Kid: Uh…
      TV: These men are indeed dangerous so please-
Panel 5: The TV with a knife in the screen.

Page 15
Panel 1: People in the restaurant looking shocked.
      Rexo: Time to crash your party!
Panel 2: The two thugs entering the door; The Party Crashers, Thonk & Rexo.
      Thonk: Where’s Justice?
Panel 3: An incognito hero smirking, the man with the mustache and sunglasses.
Panel 4:  Rexo holding up a larger knife.
      Rexo: I’m gonna count to three!
Panel 5:  Thonk grabbing a woman by her pony tail.
      Thonk: One!
      Woman: AH!

Page 16
Panel 1:  Rexo holding his knife as it’s twinkling.
      Rexo: Two…
Panel 2: The little boy looking up bright eyed and smiling.
Panel 3: Justice Roll floating.
      Justice Roll: Right here boys!
Panel 4: His hands grabbing both guys by their shirts.
      Justice Roll: Y’know these nice people are trying to enjoy themselves.
Panel 5: From outside – the two guys being hurled out.
      Party Crashers: AHH!
      Justice Roll: So let’s take this outside.

Page 17
Panel 1: Justice in the doorway.
      Justice Roll: It’s alright, folks, enjoy your meal.
Panel 2: The kid smiling.
Panel 3: Justice smiling and giving the thumbs up.
Panel 4: The two guys, one with a knife, the other with a chain.
Panel 5:  Rexo stabs at him while the knife breaks.
Panel 6: Justice karate chops him.
      Rexo: UGH!

Page 18
Panel 1: Thonk swings his chain at Justice Roll but he’s punching through the chain busting all the links.
Panel 2: Justice holding both of them by chopsticks by the back of their shirts.
      Justice Roll: Guys, how often do we have to do this?
Panel 3: The two guys flying into the dumpster.

Page 19
Panel 1: The kid tugging on Justice’s cape.
      Kid: Mr. Justice Roll?
Panel 2: From his view – the boy, looking up at him.
      Kid: Good job.
Panel 3: Justice smiling.
      Justice Roll: Thanks, kid.
Panel 4: Justice Roll kneeling down to talk to the kid.
      Justice Roll: You know, you were really brave in there.
      Kid: Yeah?
      Justice: Yeah.
Panel 5: Justice’s hand putting the chopsticks in the kid’s hands.
Panel 6: The kid starry-eyed looking at them.

Page 20
Panel 1: Outside the front of the sushi place. The little boy standing there looking up.
Panel 2: Justice Roll flying through the sky.
      Caption: The end.