Update

The first panty shots have appeared in the Powerpuff Girls fan-webcomic (in the 12 December 2004 installment).

Utterly unsurprising, but still pretty goddam creepy.

Best Regards

Finally finished and posted the last in the “Letters to a Young Poet” series. It’s backdated to October 31, to put it in proper chronological order with the others: Scroll down, or follow the permalink.

Looking for a Well-Done Webcomic?

Pleasingly designed. Gorgeously rendered. Mad as a bag of ferrets.

Fanfic and doujinshi: Is this stuff the Outsider Art of the information age? One of the characteristics of genuine Outsider work is that its makers have no access to the art world as a system. But with the Web as the great leveler—JoJo McMadbastard’s website is every bit as visible as the MoMA’s, and may get just as many hits (maybe more, if it’s BoingBoinged or Slashdotted)—is anybody truly “outside” anymore?

I have to wonder—given that this guy is drawing at or near a professional level—is he getting offers of work? Or worse (but somehow, I think, more likely), turning them down to leave him more time to concentrate on his passion for the bleedin’ Powerpuff Girls?

Meanwhile, I still can’t find anybody to draw one of my scripts. Out in the world there is talent to burn.

And fandom is the fire in which so much talent goes—whoosh!—up in smoke.

Gahhhhh Sweet Baby Jesus

Beneath the Christmas tree the two-year-old just picked up a shiny glass ball ornament and took a bite of it like it was fucking apple—D and I both within about six inches of the boy but it was so fast, so unexpected—one moment happy baby playing with Mummy and Daddy on the floor, the next a bad-dream crunch, sudden as a gunshot.

Somehow, miraculously, he did not cut his lips and tongue to ribbons—nor even scratch them: Somehow, by grace of God, he did not swallow, did not choke: Somehow, by kind fate, we were able to get all the shards out of his mouth. He was more scared by our panic than by the event itself.

Jesus. Jesus God. Heartbeat still hovering around nineteen thousand beats a minute, here. All okay in the end, but Christ.

The stuff of nightmares, truly.

O Internet, Thou Unfaithful Servant

Amuse me, damn your eyes! I am weary and I crave distraction.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Going Dim (But Not Dark)

NaNoWriMo may be over, but blogging will continue sporadic for a while as I continue to tinker with Seven Souls and, y'know, rebuild my shattered personal life.

I'll be around if you need me.

Tick Tick Tick

BOOM.

The novel is not quite done, but the word count alone puts me in the "winner" category. Which means it's time for another graphic:

Here's to better days.

Tapped

Please to excuse lack of personal bloggery through the end of November: between NaNoWriMo and—god help me—a renewed involvement, after a lapse of nearly two decades, with the time-sink that is Dungeons and Dragons (it’s a long story), I’ve got no love left over for this page at the end of the day. Normal service to resume in December.

In the meantime, enjoy my novel-in-progress, which is currently veering wildly between “woefully bad” and “laughably bad.”

Dig my suck, baby!

Remembering What Joe Said

Don't waste time in mourning—
Organize.