Been slaving away at the art table all week, making Man-Size a dull boy, and got the first 3-pages of NIGHT FALLS...#2, penciled and approved for inks. My peeps and SBX, tell me that I'm making bigger leaps with these pages. I guess practice does make perfect [when you don't let the perfect get in the way of the good]. Today, I work on the cover to #1, even though I'm pushing for the pin-up I drew last April to grace the first issue cover.
Check out the big Evan Dorkin interview at The Pulse:
Tuesday night, I watched '24' w/Mike & Marie and ate mint chocolate chip ice cream. I miss the charge of high-stakes soap operas. They remind me of why I dig good superhero comics. '24' does that thing to me where I keep trying to second guess the plot/s as it unfolds rapidly, barking out twists and turns before it happens. Tallying how much I get right, cringing when I'm wrong, and kicking myself when they did it better than I would have. Wishing I could sit in on those writers meetings and throw in my 2-cents, fuck America up with my wise ass flip-knots. Mike & Marie are hilarious to watch melodrama with. We all squeal and buckle like school girls rubbing their thighs together a little too tight under the skirt, cajoling that slippery friction. When TV is good, it betrays me gay.
Wednesday night, I went over to SBX's castle where she allowed me into the sanctum sanitarium of her two sleeping beauties lair. Every night, SBX checks on her daughters before she paves her road for respite. The bunch of times I've been over, I have never been invited into the tradition, and tonite she asked me in to witness their angelic faces as they slept peacefully. The Haze, stretched arms above her head, one leg out from under the covers. Ola, her left arm dangling off the bed, the rest of her body curled like a twisted ball of string. SBX, lifting and centering them, tucking them safely under the covers. They kept sound asleep, obviously used to this nocturnal ritual where their mommy visits them in slumberland and mollycoddles their unconscious retreat. I kept quiet, observed the transaction of parental love. My heart skipping a beat, waiting to tuck my angel under her covers.
Thursday got me an email from BATMAN ADVENTURES editor, Joan Hilty, asking if I would like to draw some covers for the new relaunch next year, once Bruce Timm was done with his stint. "Fuck yeah!" I said. Also, I may have sold her on a BATMAN story that my pal, Gabe Soria wrote for me to draw, called "Deathtrap au Go-Go!" Still haven't heard from Joe Cavalieri about the OMAC story for BIZARRO 2 that Nick Bertozzi and I pitched him...
Phone rang and Roach Smally, i.e. Samantha, my newfound 16-yr old cousin from Arizona, called. She was hacking and coughing and sounded like a squeaky sock puppet. She admitted to a head cold and wanted to say "hi." We made sweet convo and her father, my cousin Myles, got on the phone. Had a nice long discussion about "family." I told him that I always had a problem with the institution because we don't get to choose our family. We choose our friends, lovers, and sometimes our co-workers, creating our own clan of sorts but, we're stuck by blood, no matter who, what, and why. There is an unconditional allegiance that is laid upon us to support and perpetuate our bloodline and keep it thriving through emotional branding while hiding skeletons and burying hatchets. Yet, truth is, guilt is what often keeps unlikely people together, especially family, and you can choose to break-up with your friends and lovers, but you can never extract the DNA from your blood. You are handcuffed to each other, no matter what. Guilt turns to hate and hate makes you either one of two things: a prisoner, or a murderer.