April 10, 2007

Wooden Iguana

Here's a preview of the next page of The Wooden Iguana comic book.

As always, click the preview to go to ComicSpace for the full page (and if you're a new reader ... there's navigation there to start at the beginning).

Posted by Red Monkey at 12:10 AM | Comments (0) | Sketches | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | Stumble

April 5, 2007

Wooden Iguana

Here's a preview of the next page.

As always, click the preview to go to ComicSpace (and if you're a new reader ... there's navigation there to start at the beginning).

Posted by Red Monkey at 5:53 AM | Comments (0) | Sketches | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | Stumble

April 4, 2007

Stimulations

I asked Jodi the other day why she paints. And, as I was surfing first Mike's blog and then following the link to fellow 9Ruler blog by James Mathias, I got to thinking about my own creativity.

Since I was very small, I've told stories ... no, not tall-tale lies ... I mean I have always been a writer. Sheesh, damn peanut gallery around here. Anyway, words, I suppose come easily to me ... so easily that I'm convinced there's really nothing special in my writing, despite what others have said. That doesn't mean that I stop writing ... and I do enjoy it. I suppose it simply comes so naturally that it just seems normal to me.

So, in high school, I wrote like a fish swims. Constantly. I wrote my first novel in high school ... and all of my teachers thought that I had suddenly started taking excellent notes. I got an idea for my second novel in the last year of my college years ... and again, my teachers simply thought I was taking excellent notes.

In the in between years, and, in fact, since ... I've not been one of those writers who insists on writing every day ... I've always considered myself a binge writer ... writing when I have something rather than the CONSTANT VIGILANCE of daily practice. (Can you tell I'm ready for the Deathly Hallows to come out???)

I guess my writing has been much more the case of Gordie in Stephen King's "The Body" (or the movie Stand by Me, whichever you prefer): my stories bubble up like bubbles in soda. It just kinda happens.

But since I graduated from a creative writing program, I've been oddly dry of stories. The fizz just kinda up and left for a while, I suppose. Without any real challenges, I went flat.

However, since I started drawing again ... I've noticed not just the desire to practice every day ... but a compulsion to improve what I do and stretch it every day. Not because "great artists" or paid artists or whatever, draw every day ... but because I was not given the same "easy" gift at drawing that I was at writing, it's more of a challenge to me. And that challenge is eminently more interesting to my li'l ole ADHD self than the ease that writing had become.

I suppose that is why I'm drawn to comic books, cartoons and graphic novels ... I can combine writing and drawing ... a segment with which I'm very confident and secure ... and another where I can feel myself stretching and beginning to achieve what I want. The challenge of it all stimulates me further.

I suppose it's the fact that I have to concentrate on a good story ... character design ... backgrounds ... how to show the action ... shading ... highlights ...

There's just so much more to do. So much, in fact, that I've noticed myself stopping to look at how a cartoonist will set things up ... how they shade ... how they make things "imperfect" and thereby make it more real. It's all fascinating to me. And I've noticed that I've begun seeing almost everything in shapes instead of seeing objects.

No point to this post, I suppose ... just a bit of an internal dialgue into just how my mind and eyes are working lately.

Posted by Red Monkey at 12:41 AM | Comments (2) | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | Stumble

March 18, 2007

The Absence of Me

So, I posted the Goth House/Haunted House sketch the other day ... Jodi from Looking Beyond the Cracked Window was working on putting together another poetry book and as we were chatting, she said something about looking for a Goth House to put on the cover. On a whim, I decided to see if I could sketch one up. I showed it to Jodi, not really expecting it to be what she wanted for the cover of her book ... but apparently I tapped into the inner goth well and she really liked it.

So ... now I give you the finished book cover (click to visit Lulu.com and see her book):

Posted by Red Monkey at 7:14 AM | Comments (3) | Sketches | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | Stumble

February 22, 2007

Black Noser

What is the fascination little kids seem to have with tying each other up? Is it a way to play with complete control at an early age? Curiosity about a complete loss of control?

A friend stopped over the other day to chat and said that he'd spent most of Monday night in the E.R. with the youngest kiddo. Immediately, I popped off with, "What'd he do?" You have to understand, this is a bright and creative kid, and those, of course, are the ones who get into interesting predicaments.

So "Joshua" tells me that he'd just gotten home, grabbed a little bite and was laying down for a wee bit of a nap, just drifting off ... when he hears screaming upstairs. By the time he gets up there, his wife,"Siobhan," is dealing with the screaming and crying and bleeding-everywhere six year old, so Josh corrals the other three kids and says, "What happened?"

The trio looks at the floor, nudges each other, shuffles their feet. Eyes huge, startled and scared by the blood all over their littlest brother, they say nothing at first. After all, it was an innocent little thing ... they'd never conceived that someone might get HURT.

Finally, the explanation begins dribbling out ...

"We were playing cops and robbers ...." Already there's something of a parental wince here as the family is dedicated to non-violence and peace, and while police are a necessary social job ... the playing of cops and robbers can get a little ... well ... witness the blood: violent at times.

Apparently, little "Tieg" (yeah, I swiped that name from Katherine Kurtz) was either the bad guy tied up in jail ... or perhaps he was a convenience store clerk being robbed. At any rate, the others tied him up.

To the ladder of the bunk bed.

And then they left the room.

Yeah. So you know what happens next ... Tieg struggles to get loose ... jerking around ... immobilized by scarves and t-shirts, he's reduced to wriggling and attempting to hop.

And then the hook slips off the top bunk ...

Yeah ... it was like that. Kid tied to ladder ... ladder tipping over ... straight into the dresser .... Apparently, Tieg caught the dresser with his nostril, ripping it open. (The nostril, not the dresser. I mean, the kid's tough, no doubt about that, but come on. Wood or flesh? Wood's gonna win.)

So, once Josh and Siobhan had assessed the damage, it was off to the E.R. And, thinking only of getting their son fixed up, they hadn't really thought about what to say when they got there.

"How'd he get this tear?" the nurse asked.

"Umm, well, he kinda fell. I mean, he caught the dresser with his nose."

Suspicious look. They cart the kid and Siobhan off to x-ray to make sure the nose isn't broken as well as torn. Josh sits and waits in the little room. He's got a moment to reflect on just how fast they got a bleeding kiddo out of the waiting room and into the E.R. when another lady walks into the room.

"I just need a little more history," she says. "For the paperwork, you know." Disarming. "So, he was running in the bedroom and he fell?"

"Umm, well, no."

"How did he sustain the injury, then?"

"Umm, well, he fell ..." and the light bulb goes off. Concerned about his son, somewhat embarrassed by his older children's game design theory, he'd not thought about this aspect. He and his wife both and hemmed and hawed around exactly what happened to Tieg ... not thinking that this might possibly look suspicious to the hospital staff. He was being "interrogated" by a case worker!

With that flash of recognition, he meets the case worker's eyes and relates the story in a little more detail.

Disconcerting enough that he'd been awakened from a nap by a screaming 6 year old ... and then the long drive to the E.R. ... waiting to see how bad it was ... what they'd need to do ... was it broken ... oh, and by the way, did someone beat the crud out of the boy? Having nothing to hide, Josh actually didn't mind the questions. If that's what it takes to save some other kid ... then it's all good.

But next time, he'll get his story straight before he walks in. There's nothing more disconcerting than being worried about your kid ... and interrogated for abuse all at the same time!

UPDATE: Having been sick and then with all the snow and then fog we've had lately, Tieg's missed about two weeks of school. So this morning, Siobhan takes him to school and as they pull up to the school, Tieg suddenly turns to her, horror-stricken.

"Mommy, is it ... is it still all black?"

Concerned that he was going to be self-conscious, she starts explaining that it was going to take some time to heal and yes, it was still black.

Scurrying out of the car, he pumps his arms up and yells, "COOOOOOL!" And he ran off to show off his battle scars.
LOL

Much thanks to "Josh" for letting me post this story ... and a huge kudos to he and his wife. I love listening to his stories about the kids because it's so obvious to me that they are the kind of parents I would love to be. They think, they reason, they talk, they interact with their kids. They talk with them, they explain things ... in short, they treat the kids like they have brains and feelings ... the kids aren't spoiled ... they have boundaries ... but they also know they are loved and safe and protected. (Unless tied up to a bunk bed ladder)

I hope, when I finally get around to adopting, that I can do the type of job they do.

Posted by Red Monkey at 12:04 PM | Comments (6) | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | Stumble

January 10, 2007

Race Tracks and Sarlaac

We bought this house back in 2002, I think. It was 50 years old, and one of the few brick homes in our town within the subset of: we could afford the thing. It needed a little tuckpointing and a few minor things here and there, but it really wasn't a fixer-upper kind of house. (Let me note: all houses are fixer-uppers ... this was not one of those, gee, it'll be a great house if someone will put two years of work and 10,000 bucks into it.)

Three years ago now ... we were invaded by chipmunks. They would frolic in front of our huge picture window, dancing in and out of the ground cover planted outside. I was enthralled that entire summer. I have adored the cute li'l critters for ages and ages and was just delighted with the chance to watch them all summer.

Fall happened. It got cold.

We didn't ever get around to tuckpointing the house.

Can you see where this is going?

Asleep in the bed one Saturday morning, I am awakened to an odd scrabbling noise. Above my head. In the ceiling.

The chipmunks are no longer adorable when they are making a nice comfy nest in the insulation above your head. Particularly not when you're a light sleeper. We place traps. They eat the peanut butter gleefully. They ran off with the glue trap. At least one ate the green bar of poison bait -- and lived. We went up to the attic in the day when they were out of the attic and tried to block any kind of hole we could find.

Either that worked or they only nested during the coldest times ... because it stopped.

We had the dead tree in the backyard chopped down. Branches sized for a wood chipper sat around the backyard for months before we managed to actually rent the woodchipper and haul it back to the house. The chipmunks grew fat and multiplied.

We chased them off partly by means that I won't tell now ... I'll save that story for another day ... and partly by simply cleaning up the damn yard. The next winter was blissfully quiet. I thought that was the end of that.

Bloody fooken hell, it was NOT.

There is a freaking village of mice in the attic now. Traps have managed to catch two. I was horribly traumatized by the caught mouse on the glue trap. The second I caught in the live trap and released several miles away. The rest ... grew wary.

They have a nice little living space directly above my head. There's a bar-n-grill over by the front door to the house - they refuse to eat the lovely mothballs I attempted to put on their menu. But above my recliner in the living room ... that's their real hot spot.

The mice have their own Nascar track.

You think I'm kidding? Dude, I will be sitting there in the evening and all of a sudden I can hear the throngs of fans taking up positions in a freaking oval. A hush. And then all hell breaks loose as two of the little beasts run in an oval at top speed for at least 3-5 laps.

They're not good sports, these mice. The loser invariably squeals and squeaks and squreams in angry denial over the loss.

Of course, I think the Mutant Chipmunk, the one who ate of the poison and lived (he looks like a freaking baseball ... not just fat ... this sucker is ROUND), I think the Mutant Chipmunk is perhaps the Jabba the Hutt of my Tatooine attic. I'm beginning to wonder if they don't just feed the loser to the Mutant Chipmunk. It would explain the frantic preparations of the race and the over-reaction at the end.

I'm about ready to ask Luke to come kill these darn womp rats and feed them to the Sarlaac pit.

Posted by Red Monkey at 8:13 PM | Comments (6) | Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. | TrackBack | Stumble