The Stone 3

And there we go. This will do. I have to remember to be patient and put it through a few states before I call it quits, print different versions and compare, and so on. This is a printmaking process!

Although the visual qualities of this approach seem closer to painting in some ways. Starting off with a gray background really threw me at first -- it took me a while to realize that while in conventional drawing, I'd ground this kind of image with clearly defined areas of solid black, in this case it was the white highlights that nailed the image to the eye. Very, very different for me, and I've still got a lot to learn. But I think I managed to get a decent composition here.

The Stone 1

Swill is being a pain in the ass. We need more stories, and I am girding my loins to begin the process of begging. I've also recalled how much of a pain in the ass it was last issue when I had to do all the art at the last minute. It worked out well, but it was a horrid experience.

So I'm starting a little early this year.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I'm working on a new technique. I want it to look less photographic, more expressionistic. I want size-independent resolution. I want the option of easily reworking the images in color. And I want something that will allow me to use a wider variety of sources with less concern about the initial qualities of the images in question -- I want to be able to blend scans from the newspaper, sketches, and photographs from cameras bad and good seamlessly.

What I'm doing is making composite images in Photoshop, then rendering them as black, white, and .25, .50, and .75 flat gray images on separate layers using a combination of the magic wand selection tool and the pencil tool. Then I bring separate files for each layer into Illustrator, autotrace them, and Bob's your uncle. (First time when that phrase seemed right. Apologies to Bob.)


Here's an early attempt. It's still too photographic and busy.

This time around, I'm laying out color roughs first and only using the photograph as a guide, and the composition already seems a lot livelier to me. Now to find a few hours to noodle compulsively until the edges are clean. Or, rather, dirty in the right way.

Yes Indeed, There Is A Plethora Of Swill-Related Posts

See, the thing about the way I work with Illustrator is that I think in ink. I can't fucking control a pen or a brush to save my fucking life -- but I've learned to use Photoshop and Illustrator in a way that gives pretty much exactly the kind of result I'd like to be able to execute in ink.

Which would make me feel terrible, and inadequate, if I didn't have to clean up brushes and pens and wind up with accidental tattoos all over my feet from dropping pens on them unlike the four or five Rapidograph dots I currently sport and rather than spending forty or fifty hours crouched over a drafting board to produce the above, which I cannot do with my back, I spent about twelve hours all told. Standing work, sitting work, walking around work. Good variety. If I can make this pay, it's a good job. Cool.

Swll Some More!

Deborah called me up yesterday and asked where we should go to sketch. I told her I needed to take photos and that I could use some inspiration for prints. She delivered, and here she is. Thanks, as usual, to a good pal.

Second Cousin of Swill

Okay, so today I wrote a very odd essay -- inspirational surrealism, a rare feel-good piece -- edited it, redid the first Swillistration and greatly improved it, and executed the piece above. In addition, I purchased a book for a friend, walked the dogs, made lunch for the missus...

Swillmore

Four down, three to go. Tomorrow? I hit the street.

Swillagain

And here's the linework... Now for interminable tone fiddling.

Yes, it's Swill!

There we go. Now it's time for the fun part -- turning it into black-and-white.

Further Swillistration.

An interesting result from a simple drag and drop. One of those temporary images that's still kind of cool.

Swill Madnesss!

Swillistrate. Swillistrate, Oafboy! Sunday depends upon it!

Oh, Yeah -- Swill Reviews!

Here's the initial photograph...

... and here's the finished image.

By the way. If you still haven't gotten around to reading the new issue of Swill, you might be interested in a pair of reviews that have been posted recently. One is by Chris Cornell on his coreKnell website, the other by Catherine Schaff-Stump of Writer Tamago. They're both going to be at Viable Paradise in October; man, I can't wait.

(For some reason, when I first ran across Writer Tamago I assumed it must have something to do with the old Zappa number Rat Tomango. This does not seem to be the case -- so far as I can tell, a Tamago is a Japanese omelet.)

Back On Track

Here's a bit of the studio to which I periodically refer. I need to get on the stick -- ol' Glendon and I have discussed the idea of doing a big thing on creative working spaces. This brief glimpse should be give you some idea of the informational density of the Oaf's environment.

Since I kinda hated the lighting in the initial snapshot, I gave it a five minute cleanup. This one is more crafty than the one I did of Amanda a few posts back -- since the lighting varied over the room I used four adjustment layers and airbrushed their masks to tone down the contrast between the light and dark areas. I think I'm gonna like photography.

So I'm in a much better mood. Last night's Homework Club meeting left me feeling pretty good. Allison's home, Warren's decided to make fiction more of a priority, Rob is going great guns on his spy novel. He also brought me a big box of Swill.

And they made me feel a lot better about my own novel. Seems that I panicked and over-reacted. The early chapters are not without grab. But it took that kind of abject terror to force me to make some changes that will make the whole book a lot more readable -- dumping scenes and characters, downplaying some of the protagonist's pity parties and making his strengths more obvious to the reader. I've figured out how to do the latter in ways that strengthen both plot and theme -- and part of this comes from realizing that at the stage in my life that I'm portraying, I had more going for me than I gave myself credit for.

Fuck it; I'm a drama queen and there's nothing to be done but endure it.

Allison and Warren are giving me the message that my skills are of a professional level and I could be making money both as a designer and a writer. If I had contacts, a track record, etc, etc. But you know what? Fuck a bunch of trepidation. Everybody starts somewhere and I don't want to die in the fucking gutter. Anyway, I'm a hell of a cheap pet. It doesn't take a lot of income to keep me content.

This is shaping up to be a hell of a nice week, as well. Gonna see friends tonight, music tomorrow, a hike with Dad on Friday (and I think I'm gonna bring the camera for the first time) and then in the evening I'm gonna see my old boss/buddy Kamau Bell perform at the La Pena cultural center. Saturday afternoon I'll be meeting up with another old boss/buddy at Triple Rock for snacks and adult beverages. (Really looking forward to seeing Megan -- she's the one who got me serious about writing, taught me the rudiments, steered me into a writer's group, and got me a lot of work back in the day.) The missus is going out of town this weekend, but hey -- I'll spend Sunday lazing around in a stupor, which I enjoy from time to time.

Gonna try and get Swill into another store this afternoon. Both of my hats have become disgusting social liabilities, so I'll probably catch a nice sunburn on my shiny bald head. The things we do for art...

We Got Swill! Nice, Hot Swill!

Last night Rob referred to the flash fiction on the back as, "Nearly a collaboration," due to my typically heavy-handed edits. You didn't hear it from me. Go on and click the image to read it.

Swill is available from www.swillmagazine.com!

(or just click on the above line)

Finally. Finally!

Swill is here and it's the best issue yet. Rob and I worked like motherfuckers on this one -- I spent a few weeks worth of ten-hour, twelve-hour days on it, and I wound up pissing Rob off by editing my story right up to the minute he pulled the layouts from my thick-fingered hands. We painstakingly fine-tuned the cover and layout based on test prints, thus removing some of the infelicities of earlier issues.

The fiction is solid -- one great story after another, even mine, he said with no trace of false modesty. And on a similarly shameless note, it is fucking gorgeous.

A certain literary luminary (who I shall not name, for if I pimped him out he'd probably use the tattered remains of my severed head as an example for those who would tempt his wrath -- but if you knew who he was you would shit green, he's on the Big Fat Anthology You Have To Buy For Your English Class level) sent me a letter last year in which he opined that the design and illustration for that issue held more content than the writing.

I would have assumed that he meant the writing sucked, but he also recommended Swill to one of the top editors in the SF/Fantasy/Horror field, so now we're being read for The Year's Best Horror.

Two artworks published in the last issue were featured in gallery shows; this issue looks twice as good. Easily. Rob told me that people he showed Swill to stopped and really looked at each illustration -- and one dude started talking about putting one of the images on a T-shirt. I'll let you know how that works out.

But of course Swill is all about the fiction. Rob and I try put together the kind of magazine a writer likes to see his work in, and it's paid off. For instance, we gots us a well-known writer this issue. One of those workers-in-the-vineyards who actually shape pop culture.

It is John Shirley, folks. John motherfucking Shirley! Cyperpunk's Patient Zero and actual punk rocker, scriptwriter of The Crow and (my beloved) Max Headroom, lyricist for Blue Oyster Cult. His short noir fiction is my favorite stuff of his, brutal, unrelenting, absolutely convincing, and filled with the core rage of someone who is seriously disappointed by the inadequacies of human nature.

Let us take a quick tour through the table of contents. If you want to see some samples of each story, go here and start clicking in the left-hand column.

You Blundering Idiot, You Fucking Failed To Kill Me Again!
by
John Shirley

Never send a lumbering doofus to do a paracosmic being's work!

(I just realized that if you combine the two lead characters in this story, you get me. Shirley's surrealistic and noir sides meet in order to fuck each other up. This one is hilarious -- it reminded me of Sheckley, just a little.)

Girl Like That
by
W.G. Kelly

They thought they had it all worked out -- but they didn't know which way the wind blew...

(A nice, tight crime story. If you remember Black Lizard Press fondly, you'll like this one.)

Mud People
by
Rob Pierce

You can only be underfoot for so long...

(A surrealistic parable of the personal and the political by the man with two verbs for a name.)

Holy Adam and Saint Jason
by
Steve Young

Family will do it to you every time.

(A surprisingly touching slice-of-underlife with a strong reportorial feel.)

My Day At The Mall With Paul Bowles And Jack Kerouac
by
Craig Hartglass

A word to the wise -- when trolling for girls, it never hurts to bring along some Beats!

(Last night, Rob said that every time he reread this story he still laughed out loud at all the jokes. Need I say more?)

Mackler's Last Fare
by
Brian Haycock

Sometimes quitting time comes a little too late...

(Lots of noir this issue. Gritty, ground-level crime done right. We worked this poor son-of-a-bitch like a government mule.)

Hate Her, Hate Her, Tribulator!
by
Sean Craven

You'd think an alien torture demon would have a knack for hatred. You'd be wrong...

(This was my second attempt at a short story. It's only taken fourteen drafts over six or seven years to get it right. If nothing else, it's the weirdest deal-with-the-devil story you'll ever read, I gore-un-tee.)

Swill! Tell your friends! Tell your family! A must-have for cyberpunk completists! Soon to be a valuable collectors item! A genuine art object, fit for the Louvre!

Buy it! Buy it! Buy it!

Please note that supplies are limited, as each copy is assembled by hand.

If none of the above moves you, maybe this will --

-- the missus hates my author's notes!

(Thank you, and we will now return to our regular programming.)

Before And After: The Watcher

That's it; all done. I even fixed a tailpiece that looked like crap. I am burnt, my back is killing me, I'm mean and stinky. But I'm done. I may have to move some of the illustrations around -- gonna want to talk to Rob about that.

Tomorrow I'm gonna work on the novel. I've got a minor bit to add to the first chapter, the second chapter has a fairly painful bit of remembering/rewriting, and then it's gravy.

Now it's time to go terrorize the missus, grandson, and dogs. And maybe have a bit of supper.

Tell you what, though. This issue is gonna be a visual fucking feast. I guarantee.

Before And After: Whispers

Before.

After.

Almost done... Almost done. I once got called in on a TV show proposal that went haywire. (The show wasn't produced, but one of the people who called me in said that I kept the creators from looking like idiots...) Anyway, one of the other people working on it was a Peruvian illustrator, who wrote an email I'll always remember.

You think I am lazy but I am not lazy. I have been working day and night. I have worked my back to the chair!

That's what I've been doing. I've been working my back to the chair.

Before And After: The Tribulator

Before...

... and after. You see why I have to redo these?

There's Some Kind Of Electromagnetic Energy Coming From The End Of The Tunnel

The fish is actually a beetle, two butterflies, and the skull of a skunk. It took a bit of work to make it all come together. This kind of fine-line black-and-white doesn't come off that well on screen -- I like it now but it won't really come to life until it's printed. I'm pleased by the composition, though. You can tell that I've spend a few hours poring over Japanese nature prints.

I've hit the point where I no longer have any idea what to call this stuff. Is it drawing? Collage? Photography?

So here's the last of the illustrations...

... and now I have to go back and redo the first illustrations, which now look like crap next to the more recent ones. Right now I'm thinking that they'll be dead easy and won't require any serious work to fix. I'm wrong, of course, but I'll post a series of before and after images as the day goes on.

Wish me luck.

... And One To Go

I'm actually liking the pieces I'm doing out of desperation more than some of the earlier ones where I was more focused and purposeful. There was a point in this one where I decided it was a Phung from Jack Vance's Planet of Adventure. Of course, it's missing its hat and cloak... Sorry, Jack.

So if I can knock out the last illustration tomorrow I'll be able to do the rest of my fiddling with Swill on Sunday and then tackle the fucking novel head-on on Monday.

Unfortunately, I went back and looked at my first illustrations and they all are so much weaker than the current crop that I'm going to have to go back and redo them. Fortunately, the hard work of composition in Photoshop is finished for all of them and I just need to do the fiddly rendering in Illustrator, which I've come to really enjoy. It'll be a full workday, but I'll be able to do it.

Fingers crossed.

Ten Down And Two To Go...

Like I always say, when in doubt, steal from Lovecraft or Chandler. Just remember, it's entirely uninterested in any human concept, so don't take its actions personally.

The brain, she is crunchy like the chip. I'm at the point where all I can think about is getting this done, finito, out of the way.

Two more illustrations from scratch, and then two of the first ones I did need fixing, now that I've developed my method. And in addition to the illustrations, there are seven decorative tailpieces and one of them needs to be redone.

But it's only a matter of days. I must be strong.

And then I can really sink my teeth into the novel... and start in on the outline for the next draft of volume two. But for the moment?

My brain, she is crunchy. Like the chip.

Ah, but it's band night. There will be beer and cigarettes and conversation, and I've found the last lines I need for the lyrics to Two-Fish Louie's Explanation, which means we can start developing the vocals. And we've started monkeying with When I Paint My Masterpiece. It's a nice simple one-four-five song, with a slow loping beat that's dead easy to jam to. I'll probably figure out a solid bass line for it eventually but right now I'm having a hoot just letting my fingers wander. And now I'm wandering.

Because the brain.

Crunchy.

Back On Track

I'm starting to experiment with the illustrations for the next issue of Swill -- I've got to have it done by the start of July...

As I mentioned before, I'm going to be taking samples from the print series I'm doing and rendering them as black-and-white images suitable for xerography. Here's the source of the above image.

Well, the missus is out of town for the next few days. Her mother fell and wound up in the hospital for a while; it's a worrisome situation but so far things seem to be going as well as possible.

Before the missus left we patched things up. I got two days of a serious cold freeze -- I tried to kiss her goodnight on Wednesday and the look she gave me convinced me that I should keep my face away from her mouth for a while -- but Friday morning she yelled me down from my studio and huffily told me that she needed me now so I couldn't be distant and sulky. I have to admit, two nights of going to sleep hated had, in fact, put me in the mood to be distant and sulky but I hadn't gotten the opportunity to act on the impulse.

(And in a neat about-face she went from pissed-off to overly-solicitous -- she realized that my transgression indicated that I've been unhappy lately. No shit, Sherlock.)

Being good meant attending some social functions associated with her daughter's graduation (a doctorate in biology from UC Berkeley is indeed worth celebrating) and making a nice dish to bring to one of them. Normally hanging out with that crowd leaves me emotionally strip-mined for days -- they're perfectly nice people and some of them are working scientists, but they're...

Well, not the kinda folks I hang out with. They talk about things like sports and stereos and awesome snowboarding. I feel as though I have nothing to say to them, no subjects of conversation. I withdraw and start hating myself for being a loathsome pariah. As I said, the emotional hangover from this usually lasts a few days.

But it didn't turn out that way. I was bored as hell, I didn't do a lot of talking -- but the self-confidence I've developed over the last year or so seems to have had an effect on me. I got out of there with my mood no worse than it was when I came in. Nice progress, oafboy. Keep it up.

And the food I brought seemed to go over quite well. It was a strata, a dish I think of as a savory bread pudding. Usually I use it as a vehicle for leftovers. Since it has dairy in it, the missus hadn't eaten any until this Christmas. (Dairy is one of her innumerable imaginary allergies. She's got personal definition of 'allergy' that doesn't have much to do with the medical condition.) I'd brought one to the celebrations at my sisters and it was the hit of the season and she's been fixated on it ever since.

So when the missus's older daughter commanded her to make a contribution to the party, she decided that her contribution was going to be having me pay for and make the damned strata. It wound using sixteen eggs, a very nice sourdough baguette, a half-pint each of heavy cream and milk, fresh sage, fresh ground pepper, shallots, roast red and yellow peppers, cauliflower, brocolinni, garlic, mustard powder, bacon, ham, breakfast sausage, Canadian white cheddar, Swiss Gruyere, and shiitaki and crimini mushrooms.

Everything that could be sauteed first was sauteed first so I could make use of the fond. (For those not in the know, the carmalized crispy bits that form a sort of crust in a cooking pan are called the fond. It is the mother and father of flavors. Go google Maillard reaction and prepare to have your world rocked, you ignorant scullion.) All the dry ingredients were mixed in a bowl, dumped in a pan, covered with the custard, and left overnight so the bread could totally absorb the custard.

Then yesterday part-way through the cooking process a little voice in my head said that this dish wasn't going to be worth a shit without a crispy cheesy crust, so I mixed up some cracker crumbs with some more aged chedder, some fresh-grated parmagianno reggianno, and a bit of havarti to make the whole thing melt together, then laid the resulting gratin down on top of my symphony of pork.

When someone at the party asked me what was in it I cut to the chase and said it was death on a plate.

I'm of the opinion that if food doesn't elicit little involuntary noises of pleasure it isn't worth eating. This is probably why the missus puts up with me.

Anyway, I got two good moments of abject pleasure from the whole debacle. One was when the missus was at the computer going over snapshots and she made a squeal indicative of hysteria. She called me over to look at the family photo. Since most of them are either Ashkenazi Jews, Phillipino, southern Italian, or some mix of the above they are a thumb-sized people. As result, the photo made me look like Gulliver in Lilliputia.

The second occured when the missus was complaining that her younger daughter was bullying her the same way her older daughter did. She did not appreciate my pointing out that they'd gotten that trait from her. She liked it even less when I started giving a point-by-point lecture on how she does the exact same thing to me but the evidence I presented was both detailed and overwhelming. A good overwhelming every once in a while is good for her, though. It's also kind of fun.

But the real reason I'm feeling as if I'm back on track is that I've gotten back to work on the novel. I've revised the single most problematic area, the start of the thing. I've clarified the lead character's mental illness and if what I've done works, the result is that his motivation -- what he thinks he wants and what the reader knows he needs -- is a hell of a lot clearer. I've also layered in a bit more backstory so hopefully he won't seem as mysterious/confusing.

And by rigorously getting rid of everything that isn't absolutely necessary I was able to combine the second and third chapters into one much shorter chapter.

The result is a much more direct narrative flow, but the emotional tone is a hell of a lot grimmer and much of the humor wound up being cut. I may need to go back and see if there's any way to funny it up. I've submitted it to both of my writer's groups and am now on tenterhooks waiting for reactions.

So today I'm going to at least start, and hopefully finish, going over the whole manuscript with multicolored hi-lighters and Post-it notes and so on, getting all the continuity lined up, figuring out where to beef up the protagonist's crazy, figuring out what foreshadowing is there and shouldn't be vs. the foreshadowing that should be there and isn't.

I'm really anxious to start my search for an agent.

And I'm gonna spend some time with my brother-in-law this evening. In an expression of her newfound concern for my emotional state, the missus made me promise to find some company while she was gone and I haven't seen ol' Aubrey in way too long. So when I get to quitting time I'm going to walk up to Telegraph and hang out with him during the last hour or so of his T-shirt sales, then who knows what'll happen. I'm gonna prep some pizza ingredients in advance (I'm thinking a bacon/gorgonzola pizza with buffalo mozerella and an herb & ricotta mix instead of tomato sauce) in case he's into coming here for dinner.

Heh. I may be a miserable bastard, but when I can get myself to eat at least I eat well.