Cover to new journal, beginning 08/21/2017
Cover to new journal, beginning 08/21/2017
My father owned the third largest architecture firm, that was contracted by The Society to redesign Caentibiry Alley. My mother was a classically trained dancer and teacher. My parents’ wealth allowed me to grow up in the privileged district of the City of Flowers in Biell.
I spent my childhood in Vargaria and Huxia, where as a family we converted to Rejenys. Growing up I wanted to be a graphic fiction writer, with stories published in genre collections and periodicals. At 16, I worked my way across Bharat as an artist’s model. I never considered myself the prettiest, but I smiled deceptively locking myself in another mind.
After Bharat, I took an ocean-liner back to Biell, in The Valley. Having graduated high school early I treated what would’ve been senior year as a skip year. During this time, I hung with the freaks and the wild ones, drank and got into drugs. I lived hard in every moment. I joined Blithedale, and met Michel Caillois, who I wanted to teach me how everything worked. Continue reading “The Vagabond’s Identity Part 1”
Writing is a pure reaction to the world that produces something, new to create and build upon. Fiction, essays, and articles bring currents to depths, re-contextualizing the world and experiences. Writing affects the physical world, re-conceptualizing experiences.
The writing process involves searching to a root of what I would enhance or disagree with in life. Writing allows me to edit and revise the world or myself into agreeably unique. What is put down on paper – fiction or non-fiction – is the distilment of that act. It is the statement of the me that cannot tap down.
Essay writing grants me the opportunity to talk about the world, and its effects. Essays require stories from the writer’s life to provide wisdom for the reader. The level of introspection on my past affords me occasion to forge new-ness, spurred by the peace brought from new perspectives on experiences. Essay writing crystalizes life events into formative moments to create a sound foundation to move forward. Sharing personal moments – connecting through failures, cultural touchstones, milestones, etc – that enlarge and unite everyone’s humanity provides foundation to deep relationships with friends and family. Celebrating humanity as foundation analyzes to create an increased quality of life.
Topher Moore went through his life believe he was only typical. Then taking an internship on an inter-discipline expedition to the Megalith at Ulurru Rock. There his presence sends the Megalith into radioactive spasms, which send Topher and the rest of the interns to the distant Aeolya Belt.
At the Aeolya Belt Topher learns he is the embodiment of the populace’s primary religious deity. Topher discovers that the other interns were Aeolya and had been sent to retrieve him. Upon discovering a political conspiracy by the P’iytha Citadel to consolidate power during next leadership vote in The Senate of Citadels, by setting off a false terrorist attack. Topher is murdered and left for dead in Plᴂtuo. He is found by the young political disrupter Nico, who nurses him back to health. She teaches him Aeolya language, history, and culture. Under her guidance Topher awakens his innate ability, and regains his memories. Topher takes Nico to all the other interns only to discover they’ve been seduced by Aeolya decadence. Their last check-in is with intern Wyte, who at the same time has just left the revelation of the underside of Aeolya society.
Breaking into the Senate vote, they battle waves of Atchium and other Aeolya. When they arrive, the vote is already underway. Topher gives his life to stop the bombing, and he survives the explosion unscathed. P’ithya tries to turn the situation to her advantage but is stopped by Topher who denounces her actions and beliefs. Topher then denounces Aeolya Belt, announcing his intent to leave for Earth. The remaining interns go as well, disillusioned by the compromises needed in governing.
Every so often a wave of belief that I am boring washes over me. I feel as though I must tap dance to be seen. Unfortunately, the dance is all that is seen. In new situations or groupings, I lean into being the “funny” one. While this gets me socially accepted, it limits the depth of my character.
At work, in our team meetings e have anonymous kudos, where everyone is assigned a different co-worker and then everyone writes a kudo. Every time, regardless who gets me, the kudo is the same – my humor makes the office enjoyable. This is pleasant to hear and I am glad I make work a fun place to be, but it seems to place when others’ kudo states a specific accomplishment or helpful act to that person. My kudo is a generic “atta-boy,” the personality compliment given about ugly fat chicks. The generic-ness of my kudo makes it impossible to identify the source; even though it is anonymous. Personality compliments are participation trophies. I want to be recognized for my accomplishments and contributions, something tangible.
The clown is two-dimensional character, whose purpose is to bring brevity so that the story’s plot does not get bogged down. There is no other room for development in the comedienne because then the jokes would carry the weight of the truth
Dorian Iacchus sat across from Lorelei Saunders, respective cups of Qi’s poppy java between them. Both forwent breakfast for smoking own salvia cigarettes.
Dorian leaned forward on the wrought-iron coffee table, his ankles crossed beneath the wooden chair. His red hair was pushed beneath a brown knit hat. Brown round-rimmed sunglasses sat atop his head. Dorian had on a white t-shirt and an unbuttoned white, red, and blue flannel. His black jeans were rolled above the ankle revealing his blue socks. Dorian had on camel ankle boots; a leather messenger bag hung from the back of the chair.
Lorelei sat cross-legged heavily smoking her salvia, as she leaned back. She had her blonde, pink, and magenta hair in a messy-bun. Aviator sunglasses were on her nose, and a black and gold clutch sat on the table. Lorelei had on a black romper, which was accented by a large orange-trimmed brown belt. There was a matching colored silk scarf around her neck. Lorelei had on Grecian heels.
The two had met in journalism ethics while attending Aerynd University, and then numerous classes until graduation. They were inseparable. While Ian and Jared filled his nights, Lorelei filled his days and weekends. Often, the other was a great deal more pleasurable to be around than who they were having sex with.
Lorelei was the type of friend completely accepted another person as they are. She’s the rare person that shares what she has, and the even rarer person who gladly gives up what she must to improve another’s standing. Lorelei allowed people to drop their masks and be themselves. In the instance of Dorian, he had found a person with similar proclivities underground Blithedale. Both Dorian and Lorelei were voracious readers and deeply empathic, making each an ideal conversationalist for the other; smart enough to grasp references & allusions without explanation. They remained friends through their successful endeavors: she became an associate editor/writer for FETCH magazine; Dorian became a popular graphic fiction writer and curator.
It had been just over three years since Lorelei and Dorian had seen each other. The fault in their disconnection laid with Dorian. After Jared broke up with Dorian it was a dark time. He could no longer deal with people around, so he pushed all his support systems away. Dorian had been convinced everything had to be done alone.
Dorian flicked his salvia butt into a drainage canal, pulled a second from his pack of 21, and lit it. Exhaling deeply Dorian asked, “Interested in going to Huxia?”
I had missed Bill Sienkiewicz’s work in the 1980s, but I had David Mack; ‘Metamorphosis’ was Mack’s Elektra: Assassin. Both artists combined traditional fine art skills, collage, and traditional comic book style-art in their work. David Mack’s artwork exposed me to comic books as fine art; before, the closest at this point was Sam Keith and Travis Charest. David Mack was the first sequential artist whose name I knew and followed from project to project.
Both Kabuki’s ‘Metamorphosis’ and Elektra: Assassin are stories of teenage rebellion. In their respective storylines, Kabuki and Electra begin their journey awakening in a mental institution disjointedly recalling their origin, and eventually must escape. While Elektra escapes and thwarts an evil ninja clan’s plan to take-over the United States, Kabuki spends the entirety of her storyline in the mental institution. In Kabuki’s case, though, the institution reprograms secret agents to work in other organizations. While escaping Kabuki is pursued by released inmates and former teammates. Kabuki’s fights are battles against intrusive ideologies.
By defeating the anthropomorphized points of view, Kabuki rejects the limitations of philosophy. For Kabuki, a myopic view of the world does not fully explain the world. Returning to Elektra, by the end of her journey she has defeated the plan of The Beast, an evil entity worshiped by an evil ninja clan. Having been groomed by outside forces to be a vessel for The Beast, Elektra’s defeat of the creature is her own statement of anti-establishment. For Elektra and Kabuki their stories are about rejecting the societal expectations, which others use to groom them to be killing machines.
The Aeolya dived deep into the Promenades to seek their origins. They experimented on the microbes and organisms that were discovered, and sewed onto Helixes.
In Mourning Cry Promenade, at the Tear of the Burning Ember, The Phylx bred Soot. The Senate of Citadels argued over the Soot’s value, its part in their origin. The oldest of the Citadels saw Soot as the same as themselves, but several of the younger Citadels found a connection insulting, and The Great Hemorrhaging broke out amongst Citadels. Reaching a cold war, Promenades were divided amongst Citadels as territories.
The Zyius Citadel was granted the Mourning Cry Promenade, and immediately began building their primary outpost, Uluuru City, at The Burning Ember. To hasten the spread of Zyius colonies, Atchium were created for experimentation to facilitate adaption to climate changes.
As Ulurru City’s opulence grew, Atchium’s role transitioned from experiment to slave. Eventually, the Atchium outnumbered their creators and engineered independence by disrupting economic benefits to resource cultivation. The Atchium created environmental disasters that isolated outposts and colonies, resulting in most forces being removed from trade-protection to being applied to maintaining order. With resources deemed inadequate, the Zyius emigrated back up Promenades to The Aeolyan Belt, abandoning the outpost to the Atchium.
Growing up I wanted to be a published short story writer. My stories would be published in genre collections and magazines. The stories are collected in anthologies, where a shared cosmology – Pentapolis of the Valley – links the shorts, cycles, and novellas. My fiction career allows me to publish articles and essays in literary journals. Favorite topics of mine include: Emily Bronte, graphic novels, social equity, and the works of Caitlin R. Kiernan. I write cultural think pieces for mainstream magazine and newspapers. Eventually, my non-fiction works are collected.
The success of writing career gives me the ability to move to New York City, in its West Village. I get to rub shoulders with artists at weekend parties while spending weekdays in discussion with critics.
My bibliography allows me opportunities to be guest editor, playwright, and historian. I spend 1 year as a guest editor-in-chief at Heavy Metal magazine, selecting critically acclaimed European &Asian translations and indie creators. I lead the magazine in an open submission that publishes two unpublished creative teams. Working at Heavy Metal allows me to work with the premier graphic, fine, and sequential artists in illustrating my NEON/ECN short stories. The decisions acquisitions and discoveries that I make have me become a curator of graphic fiction.