Red Meat - the comic strip, not the food

Years ago I walked into a B. Dalton store and purchased some books. Nothing extraordinary about that. But while standing at the checkout a little book o' comic strips caught my eye. The cover had a creepy Goth kinda priest looking dude on it. Flipped through it, read one or two, and bought it on the spot.

It was Red Meat, and it is disturbingly brilliant. (Click under each strip for a larger, easier to read version.)


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So wrong, it's right.

Go visit their website. Buy a book. You'll thank me later.

Lost - On daddy issues

WARNING: The following contains SPOILERS for the television show Lost. If you have not caught up through season 5, do not read this. It will spoil your enjoyment of the show.

Lost makes no great attempt to hide its recurring themes. Faith versus reason (as I've already discussed), free will versus fate, and redemption and rebirth are not just subtle thematic elements of the show, they are right up front and center.

These aspects of the show's thematic heart are oft discussed, but a common element more infrequently discussed is the sins of the father; trying to rise above deep parental issues, specifically father issues. Not that Lost has made this theme a big secret. After all, the eleventh episode of the very first season was called "All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues". Talk about putting all your cards on the table!

Jack's problems with his overbearing drunkard of a father were put right up front with Jack's pursuit of visions of his dead father, which were among Jack's first confrontations with things he could not (and would not) explain. Locke tells him outright that the Island wants him to confront his demons -- manifested here in the form of his father.

But the show's father issues run much deeper than Jack's alone. He isn't the only one haunted by the sins of the father. Locke himself is dogged by daddy issues, arguably the most painful in the show. His father took his kidney and later left him in a wheelchair (not to mention helped ruin Sawyer's life, too). Yet unlike Jack and others, once on the Island Locke no longer seek's closure or approval from his father. For Locke, the Island is an opportunity to set aside the past. But he can't, can he? His faith in himself, in the Island, in his destiny ... it is tormented by the failures of his life. His every weakness is driven by having been emotionally dismantled by his father.

Others do seek closure, and often get it. Sun's father, a tyrannical and ruthless businessman, turned the man she loved into a distant, violent criminal. She does not let go of her father's actions here. Once off the island, she purchases a majority stake in his company and makes clear to her father that he is nothing to her, closing the door on her father issues.

Jin, too, had daddy issues, but his are more modest. He's simply ashamed of his father, who is a poor fisherman. Jin confronts his father, explains his shame, and purges himself of guilt.

The end of Sawyer's daddy issues are far messier. Interestingly, his conflict is with Locke's father, not his own. Not that Sawyer's experience with his own father does not haunt him. How could it not? While hiding under a bed as a child, Sawyer's father shot his mother and then took his own life. Sawyer witnessed it all. Needless to say, his is a dark burden. It was Locke's father, though, who set into motion the chain of events that led to this tragedy, the same chain of events that led to Sawyer killing an innocent man in Australia. So, when given a chance to confront the man who ruined his life, Sawyer finds closure in the darkest of ways ... by strangling Locke's father to death.

If Sawyer's father issues are dark, Kate Austen's are just as dark. Living with an drunken, abusive father -- a man she thought was her step father -- Kate is finally pushed to the edge and kills him. She abandons all she loves to flee the law. And she must flee the law, because her own mother is the person who turned her in. Her flight informs all she is when she reaches the island. She's afraid of opening herself to others. She will not trust. She can not trust.

Michael Dawson's father issues are not about his father, but about being a father, while Claire's are similar (though maternal) but more layered. She's confronted with her baby not having a father, and then briefly with the idea of the baby's potential step-father being a heroin addict (Charlie). Claire also copes with an absent father (who happens to be Jack's dad). When we first meet him, Michael's son, Walt, is dealing with a step-father who doesn't want him and a father who doesn't know how to be a father. All of these characters are swimming in parental uncertainty.

Even less prominent cast members are burdened with parent issues. Miles, the man who can speak to the dead we first meet in season 4, never knew his father. When he finally discovers who is father is in season 5 -- the enigmatic doctor from the DHARMA training videos -- he refuses to confront him, and when the truth is told his father at first refuses to believe it. Meanwhile, the delightfully quirky Daniel Faraday has both both daddy and mommy issues. His mother manipulates him into events that she knows will kill him, while his father is the heartless businessman Charles Widmore -- who also happens to be the father of Penny, Desmond's wife.

The show's daddy issues are seemingly endless.

The cautionary tale of all these crushing father issues might just be Ben Linus, the villain everyone loves to hate. (He's the best character on television since Deadwood's Al Swearengen, thanks in large part to Michael Emerson's amazing performance.) Like all of the characters listed above, Ben had issues with his father. Issues enough so that the troubled Ben kills his father. And he does so with no repentance. No pity. No grief. Kills him and dozens of others.

Ben goes on to become a loving yet also terrible father, a man who loves his (abducted) daughter but also allows his need to win, manipulate, and maneuver to get her killed.

A common theme of the show is redemption. Atonement. But for Ben, there is no redemption. He does not seek to make up for his ill deeds. The Island's reward to him is to make him the leader of the Others. A strange reward indeed, and seemingly counter to the notion of the castaways finding atonement on the Island, but as the finale to season 5, "The Incident," shows us, things are clearly not all we've been led to believe. Ben's role as leader may have been something a bit deeper. A bit more sinister. Maybe even a punishment of sorts.

So what's the deal with Lost's immense stack of father-troubled characters? Is this common thread purposeful, or did it just turn out that way? Are Jacob and Esau (the name the Lost fan community has given to Jacob's mysterious nemesis) glorified parental figures? Are the castaways not simply pawns in their game, but something more? Something akin to Jacob and Esau's adopted children, manipulated even as their real parents manipulated them?

Or am I tilting at windmills?

Something to think about.

Anthology in its final stages

I'm exceedingly happy to report that my upcoming comic anthology is in its final stages. Finished art is coming in every day. Only one script left to finalize. Some pages are being sent off to my pal John Mietus (creator of the awesome Sir Chuck) for lettering. Stories are looking done and complete and excellent.

In the damn near immediate future, this 100-page beast -- nine stories in all by nine different artists, all nine written by yours truly -- will be shipped off to the printer. I'll get some proofs. And if it looks good, it will then be made ready for purchase.

One last major preview coming up in the next week or so, this time with lots of awesome finished art, then it's radio silence until it's available for purchase. I hope you folks will check it out. A lot of people worked really hard on this.

New album of guitar noise

If you don't check out my music archive blog, you may have missed the latest release from my m2 project, which focuses on ambient guitar soundscapes and walls of sound. Unlike the much softer and more somber Six Stories, released earlier this year, this new one is very raw and ugly. Check it out:



m2
Ashes

1) Choking on Ashes (7:18)
2) Sleep Paralysis (8:48)
3) Dry Story (7:11)
4) Are His Defenses Going To Hold Up? (3:28)
5) Climbing Mountains and Falling Short (16:16)

All songs (c) Eric San Juan 2009. Free to distribute, just ask. More information on this release here.

Writers, put your work in front of people

One of the hardest points to reach as a writer is the point at which you're willing to put your work in front of people and are not seeking validation. In other words, when you're ready for real opinions rather than pats on the back.

The praise of family and friends is the bane of the aspiring writer, though too often the aspiring writer does not realize this. Your mother and your close friend tell you your work is good, and you believe it because that's what you want to hear. However, praise for its own sake does you more harm than good. It blinds you to flaws in your own work and gives you an elevated sense of where you are in your development as a writer.

Far harder than letting family or friends read your work is presenting it to complete strangers, or people you know will be forthright with you rather than offer a glowing assessment just because it's the nice thing to do. This is where many starting writers falter. When I talk with other people who write, or who want to write, and they express hesitancy at showing people their work I always encourage them to do so. It's a huge, huge thing to reach the point where you feel ready to show people your work, and once you start doing it you'll either flee from writing in fear or start looking at your own work in a different way. In a BETTER way. A way that forces you to improve.

That awareness is invaluable, and you will not get it if you only solicit the kind comments of loved ones.

When I first began writing semi-regularly as an adult, I didn't write with readers in mind. Never considered how this material would look on the printed page, I just wrote and loved it and thought, "Aren't I so talented?" When the day came that I looked at it from the perspective of someone reading the work it hit me just how crap it all was. I realized I'd never put that rubbish in front of people. I wouldn't read it, and I was the guy writing it!

It's not a matter of not writing what you love. Always write what you love! It's a matter of getting outside yourself and seeing your work as others might see it. Of finding the ability to be truly objective about your work. Nothing helps you get into that mindset better than having an audience who is willing to be honest -- and brutally so, if necessary. It can be hard to get to the point where you can accept criticism, but if you want to improve (and ultimately succeed), you MUST be willing to do so. Join a writing group. Establish some online acquaintances who will critique your work. Post your work to forums like Absolute Write.

Having an audience forces you to take a stronger editorial hand with yourself. Or it should, at least. So do it.

Trunk novel? What the hell is a trunk novel?

Trunk novel. Somehow I had never come across the term, only seeing it for the first time these last few days. Don't know how it eluded me. If you've never heard the term, you'll certainly be familiar with the concept.

A trunk novel is an old, unpublished manuscript stuffed away in a trunk (or drawer, or closet, or box, or whatever), in most cases because it's terrible. You pull out your old trunk novel, read it, and remember how bad you were.

I can relate to that!

My trunk novel -- and dear god I hope I don't build up more than, say, three of them -- was an epic fantasy, the first book in (naturally) a trilogy. The delightfully bland title was The Fortress of Stone, and in a shocking twist it involved a young man being forced to leave his comfortable little village and travel with a group of mix & match companions, their quest key to stopping great evil from coming into the world.

Yes, it was that stunningly original.

Even better was the overblown purple prose, laborious descriptions of every tree and rock on their journey, painfully stilted dialogue, and complete lack of real characterization. And that's not even considering the boring, uninteresting story.

It currently rots away in a box ... which is right where it deserves to be. It's never been read or pitched, and it never will be.

Calvin & Hobbes was the greatest thing ever

Is there anything in the world that was better than Calvin & Hobbes? I'm not sure there was. Sure, sure, there is eating and sex, but Bill Watterson's masterpiece of a comic strip is right up there. Far more than three panels of humor each day, the full scope of the work will long stand as one of the great achievements of sequential art.

And no, I don't think I'm overstating the case.



In 10 years, Watterson evolved his strip from a quirky and funny comic strip that was a slightly edgy, modern version of Peanuts into something wholly unique. Something with a pretty amazing range. Something that could be risque one day and charmingly quaint the next; dealing with childhood antics on Monday and making serious political and social commentary on Tuesday. (Just look at this prophetic strip.) Calvin & Hobbes has made me laugh, cry, think, snicker, and more. I don't think any strip has had the range of delights that C&H had. It was smart and funny and juvenile and a thousand other things.



Calvin & Hobbes is one of the great treasures of the 20th century. For real.

As my proof, I present to you the snowman series of strips. If that's not brilliant, nothing is.

Lost - On Locke and faith

WARNING: The following contains MAJOR SPOILERS for the television show Lost. If you have not caught up through season 5, do not read this. It will spoil your enjoyment of the show.

Indulge me for a moment while I write about Lost, in my estimation one of television's greatest dramas and something with which I an currently obsessed.

Of all the overriding themes of Lost, one of the most powerful is that of faith. Or more accurately, the struggle between faith and reason. The belief in fate and external forces beyond our comprehension, and the disregard of those concepts in favor of accepting only that which we can see and touch.

Representative of this is the sometimes overt, sometimes spiritual conflict between John Locke, a man of faith, and Jack Shepard, a man of science. Jack believes in reason, in using logic and sound thinking to overcome the obstacles fate (which he does not believe in) has put before. Locke, on the other hand, believes in fate, and even more importantly, he believes in the Island as a guiding hand in his life. It is an entity unto itself that has granted him the opportunity to experience what amounts to a kind of illumination.

Locke, you see, was born again upon coming to the Island. Or at least that is the message the show imparts to us.

After the traumatic birthing experience of Flight 815's crash -- what else is it for the survivors other than the pain of labor and then a birthing? -- Locke is essentially reborn. He begins his second life, but now as the man he wanted to be rather than the man he was. The Island, he believes, has given him the power to be that person. Throughout most of the season we see him place an ever greater amount of faith in the Island as something special, important, and maybe even benevolent. It delivers a guitar to Charlie, allows Locke to once again walk, and most significantly, gives him a purpose by handing him the Hatch, first as a puzzle to be unlocked and then as a task he must do. These among many examples that reinforce his faith in the Island.

But Locke, as is often the case when upon a spiritual journey of this sort, begins to experience a crisis of faith. Here it comes after the Hatch has been opened and he has devoted himself to entering the mysterious numbers, 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. After a time, Locke's previously unshakable faith in the need to enter the numbers begins to waver, as does his faith in the Island itself. Locke doubts his purpose and the things to which he devoted himself. He once considered the Hatch of great importance, but this is called into question after we explore DHARMA Station 5: The Pearl, which (falsely) reveals the Hatch to be little more than an elaborate psychological experiment. It is the final blow to Locke's faith.

Yet Locke's faith is validated in the season 2 finale, "Live Together, Die Alone," when the Hatch implodes on itself after the numbers are not entered.

Locke, it seems, should never have lost faith.

This validation of faith continues not just in Locke's experiences -- following the events at the Hatch, Locke is increasingly painted as a chosen one, the next person in which the Island will place trust and power -- but also in Jack's experiences.

Jack is the man of science. Of rationality. Despite the fantastic things he has seen and experienced, up to and including interacting with his dead father, he refuses to be taken in by the allure of the Island. He does not want what it has to offer. He does not believe. In the ultimate rejection of the Island, he escapes and returns to the real world.

Jack's reward for snubbing the Island is to lose his love, his job, and his very soul to drug addiction. He is stripped of everything, right down to his dignity. The once clean-cut, stoic Jack ends up an unkempt, unstable and haunted man searching for a way to return to the Island.

Lose faith and lose yourself, or so seems the message. And thus is the man of science foiled.


But is he? As it does repeatedly, Lost again turns everything we know upside down as Locke's shocking story continues to unfold. Following the implosion of the Hatch, Locke's faith in the power of the Island is repeatedly reinforced and validated. The Island's power to help him achieve a kind of human perfection, a oneness with the world around him, is maybe most dramatically displayed in Locke's ability to recover from wounds with remarkable quickness. What better way to underscore the power of Locke's faith than in the healing hand of the Island? Whenever Locke wavers, he is given a new reason to believe. A new miracle. A new affirmation of the power of his faith.

Eventually, Locke makes the ultimate sacrifice for the Island. So deep is Locke's faith in the rightness of the Island and the sense of purpose it gives him that he chooses to die when it demands his death. Had Ben Linus not taken action, Locke would have died by his own hand. Though by Ben's hand rather than his own, Locke does indeed die for the Island. That's how strong his faith in its unfathomable purpose.

And indeed, we are led to believe in the Island's amazing power now, too, as we see the greatest miracle of all. Locke's resurrection. If ever we had reason to doubt, it is wiped away in the most uncompromising of ways.

But Lost is not a show content with satisfying viewer expectations. In the stunning season 5 finale, "The Incident," we discover -- or think we discover; by now we should know not to take things at face value -- that Locke had not been resurrected after all. He is dead, truly dead, and the post-resurrection Locke we've been seeing was merely an ancient being that had taken his form in order to trick an old adversary, the elusive Jacob.

In stark contrast to all we had come to believe, Locke's reward for his faith was death. Meanwhile, Jack, the man of science and reason, may be on the path to breaking the chain of events that led to the crash of Flight 815.

So what are we to take from this? Faith, it seems, was a false road. A will-o'-the-wisp that leads the unwary to a bad end.

Maybe. Given Lost's history of defying our expectations, it's impossible to predict where this clash of faith and reason will end. Jack's unwavering adherence to reason got him off the island, but also ruined his life. His sudden faith in the Island and fate, which was found during his darkest days, restored him to the heroic figure he was, yet as season 5 came to a close it was once again his reason that drove him forward. The question we're now left with is, did his decision to detonate the hydrogen bomb accomplish what he sought to accomplish? Did reason win out over faith, or was it again a trap?

And what of Locke, the One True Believer in the Island and all it offered? Are we really to believe that his story ends here? That he is dead, dead dead, and such was his final reward for his loyalty to the Island?

Ultimately, I think we'll find that neither will be the "correct" viewpoint. Rather, we'll see that strict adherence to either results in blind spots in our vision, an unwillingness or inability to see all that there is to see. Lost being Lost, there will be no easy answers. No neat and tidy and clean judgments.

Just like in the real world.

Balancing enjoyment and WORK

I write because I love to write. But sometimes I write because it provides a check.

I don't apologize for that. We all need to eat. Still, taking assignments you don't love can be a slog. You take a freelance assignment because it will make you a few extra bucks -- always welcome in this economy -- but if it saps all the joy out of being in front of the keyboard, is it worth it?

I don't have an answer to that.

I still throw my all into each project, even if it bores me to tears. I always strive to do my best work. And hey, I must be doing something right or I wouldn't get hired for this stuff, right?

But let me tell you, it rips out my guts to be working on something about the latest medication for incontinent senior citizens when I could be working on my dystopian science fiction novel. Paying work has to come first every time, too, which only makes matters worse.

I wonder how other people balance the desire to write the things they want to write and the need to write the things they HAVE to write. Someone tell me!

Keep going, keep going, keep going

When it comes to writing, I obsess a lot about keeping productive. I do this because at heart I am a lazy, unmotivated person. People who see my list o' projects might think otherwise, but believe me, if I could lounge around all day I would. That, and I am a horrible, horrible procrastinator. It's not that I don't love writing -- I'm absolutely passionate about it -- it's that I'm allergic to work and obligation. I can jump into something with great vigor and tear through a project like it's the only thing in the world, but once I decide it's a Real Project and not a Fun Distraction it becomes work, and I don't like to work.

So needless to say, I struggle with staying productive. Managing the trick can be a real slog, but you've absolutely GOT to do it. I do this through routine and a healthy dose of momentum. They are the two most essential ingredients in keeping myself working. Without them, it's all too easy for me to lapse into spells of inactivity.

Routine - This is self-explanatory, isn't it? Every night I sit down in the same place at the same time and I write (or edit, which is a major part of the writing process). What I write or edit doesn't really matter, as long as I'm working. Sometimes I'm doing some PR stuff I do on the side. Sometimes a novel. Sometimes something else. The key is, I'm working. Fingers on the keys, head as far in the game as I can get it. When you make writing part of your routine there is no waiting for "inspiration" or struggle to drag words out of yourself. You just sit down and DO IT. For me, I manage to fit about 90 minutes a night into my life. It's not enough to accomplish all I want to accomplish, but it's what fits.

Find how much you can fit, turn it into a routine, and your productivity will soar. If all you can get out of your day is an hour, make that hour count. But more importantly, make it your routine. Treat it like exercise. You're going to sit down in the same place, at the same time, and you're going to WORK. Every day. It will take a few weeks, but before long it will become second nature. No "inspiration," you'll just sit down at the appointed time and the words will come out.

Momentum - This goes hand-in-hand with routine. Once I get rolling on a project, it's important for me to keep steaming ahead. A break can grind me to a halt. And when I halt, well, I'm often halted for good. Just ask my wife. I'll spend the entire day doing some big household project, falter at the 85 percent mark, and never look at it again. This is death for a writing project. How many unfinished novels do you have sitting around in your files? The answer is probably "too many." That's certainly my answer. In order to avoid building an ever greater pile of stuff I'll never finish, I have to keep up the momentum on my project of the moment.

One of the ways I do this is to keep a brief journal of each day's writing -- and a journal for other people to see. The idea is to put pressure on myself. After all, who wants to fall on their face in front of other people? In my case it's on a private message board, where friends can scold me if I skip a few days. "Day 23. Worked on X, Y and Z tonight. Hope to wrap up the first draft by Monday." That sort of thing. Maybe post samples once in a while. You can do the same on your blog, or Facebook, or wherever. The point is that by regularly logging what you're doing, you're both establishing your routine and helping maintain your momentum.

These minor adjustments in how I look at writing helped me go from eight years working on my first novel (now in a drawer) to about two months on my second, or about six months if I account for the differences in length.

If you want to write but are faltering, take a look at how your work. If writing is not something you're doing every single day the same you see that same jogger on that same stretch of road at the same time every day, well, consider changing your approach.