Wednesday, July 10, 2013

The Misfits of the Spaceways are Back -- Big Time!


It's kind of disturbing to me to note that my latest book, Quirk Volume 1: Pulp Friction, has been something like 28 years in the making! The very first story included in the volume, "Knight's Gambit," was begun in the early '80s and never completed until more than a decade later. But those original 20-something pages of story and art from the first version were so primitive compared to what I'm capable of now that I knew they would have to be re-written and re-drawn for this book. And so, the first 16 pages of "Knight's Gambit" are all-new work, the next few pages that follow are a mix of new work and individual panels from the original version, and the climactic final third are the unaltered finished pages from the mid-'90s! It's kind of a Fronkonsteen Monster of a story that way, but I think that actually adds a layer of interest, and shows graphically how Things Change and -- we hope! -- get better over time. 


"A-Muck Time" is a big story for the Quirkiverse! It's not just a sly parody of both Star Trek and Superman -- it's also the first official Origin Story given to any of the regular cast... specifically, it's all about Sludge -- that sentient glob of goo from the disgustingly moist planet Grundge. I had a lot of fun making it back when Quirk made his first appearance on the internet as a weekly web comic, way, way back in the '90s. I hope you'll have fun reading it!

You can also download the free comic from the new QUIRK page that's accessible by the tabs at the top of this blog. That's where you'll find the YouTube video trailer for the series (check it out if you haven't already!), and links to order the book from its own dedicated online shop or from Amazon, B&N and a variety of other on and offline retailers (as it becomes available from them). 

As for me, I'm going to take a slight break this afternoon... but not for long! I have plans in store for more new books than you can shake a stick at (although why anyone would want to shake a stick at anything is anyone's guess), and Time's a' Wastin'!

Quirk will be back before the end of the year with Volume 2: Termination Alley, along with Volume 2 of Tinsel*Town, a new fantasy/SF/action/adventure novel called See Them Dance, the new Tarot of the Zirkus Magi  (already getting a lot of advance support, thanks to you all!) that compliments STD, a non-fiction book  called Bookman, about a genuine American eccentric and folk artist, and our first-ever children's book, illustrated by the late Barbara Thornsjo, titled Under The Rooster Weathervane. And that's just what I have left to do in 2013! Next year will see lots more. Stay with me here! I need all the help I can get!

And thank you. In the last month and a half this site has shot past the 50,000 hits mark and reached nearly 65,000 hits. That is amazing to me, and I'm grateful to you all for stopping by.

-- Freder
www.ducksoup.me

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

When Good Shows Go Bad


Into any television programme that runs for any length of time a stinker episode or three must fall — and as I work my way through a second viewing of the revived Doctor Who, it’s frustrating to note that while David Tennant is growing on me (although he is still my least favorite of the three “modern” Doctors), the series itself isn’t doing him any favors: especially in Season Three, which just seems to be ripe and rife with Stinker Episodes.

After a good start with the introduction of Martha Jones and her subsequent near-hookup with William Shakespeare, suddenly the season nosedives, and five whole episodes later it has not regained any ground.

It’s all gone very very Eric Saward / John Nathan-Turner — and as that was my least favorite era of the original series, maybe you can understand my dissatisfaction with this run. Saward was a horrible script editor, not to put too fine a point on it, and although Peter Davison was laboring manfully to bring us his Doctor, he was lumbered with some really just godawful scripts — and that’s precisely what happens here in Season Three to poor David Tennant.

“Gridlock” was bad enough. Aside from the funnish Welsh Cat-man, the only good thing about it was seeing the Macra again — and even that wasn’t much good. What are the Macra even doing there? How did they get there? What is their reason for being in this story? The Macra themselves cannot tell you, as they are simply Giant Brainless Crustaceans. So I have to look at it from the writer’s point of view, and it boils down to just two things: we put the Macra in there, on the one hand, just because some of the fans would go “Ooooh! Macra!” and on the other hand because it allows us to get away with a Dirty Joke: Yes, boys and girls, New York City has a bad case of The Crabs.

Oh, and then we get the Face of Bo. Again. Why do we get the Face of Bo? I will tell you why. We get the Face of Bo because they spent about a gajillion pounds on creating the Face of Bo prop all the way back in Season One, and Russell T. Davies is justifying the expense by sticking it (rather carelessly and wantonly) into every subsequent season. I would tell Russell T. Davies where to put the Face of Bo at this point — except that he might just like it.

But if “Gridlock” was bad (and it was), the Dalek two-parter that followed it was even worse. The two words that come to mind are “lamentable” and “excreble.” 

Bad enough that the Brits seem to think that everyone in N’Yawk runs around with an unbelievably exaggerated and farcical Brooklyn accent. But a working theater with a direct-access entry to the public sewer in its prop room? When has that ever happened? Humanized pigs or pigified humans as Dalek slaves? We are expected to feel Pathos at the plight of a half-transformed human pig — instead you want to point your finger at the screen, cover your mouth and chortle. 

The Dalek Master Plan in this episode seems interesting enough, until you remember that Daleks hold humans in such contempt that not even the most forward-thinking and liberal Dalek would ever conceive of tainting their Master Race with human DNA. And, I’m sorry, the creature that ultimately results from this unholy union is just… well… stupid. 

How does the Doctor survive the lightning blast that he absorbs atop the Empire State building? Lesser things have killed him in the past. Sure he’s got two hearts — but all that means is that he has two hearts to have a Heart Attack with after the lightning strike. Instead, he takes a little nap and wakes up a few minutes later just Perfectly Fine and Chipper and ready to carry on with the plot. The goose-stepping human Daleks are kind of low camp, and their sudden turn to rebelliousness just in time to pull the Doctor’s ass out of the fire is just too too Deus Ex Machina. And then, or course, they all have to be killed off because they’d simply cause too much Continuity Havoc if even one remained alive.

I cannot respect any writer who has so little respect for me.

Next up, “The Lazarus Experiment.” Okay, at least it doesn’t stink on ice the way the Dalek two-parter did, but it’s so bloody generic. It’s not Doctor Who. It could be Warehouse 13 or Torchwood or Star Trek: The Next Regurgitation. It could be “Insert Name of SyFy Network Program Here.” It’s nice that we get to meet Martha Jones’s family, and that long-time Who scripter Mark Gatiss (he started with the Big Finish audio dramas) gets a chance to act, but, meh… 

“42”? Aside from having an incomprehensible title, it’s merely The Doctor Does Alien. When you’re trying to recover from Lousy Crap like “Gridlock” and “Evolution of the Daleks,” this bit of generic boredom is not going to help you.

That’s as far as I’ve gotten, but there is More to Dread coming up: I didn’t like Davies’s reintroduction of The Master the first time through (The Master as a kind of Donald Trump filtered through Iggy Pop? I don’t think so), I can’t imagine a second viewing is going to make me like it any better.

About the only thing keeping me going at this point is the knowledge that Stephen Moffat’s absolutely brilliant “Blink” is coming up. That episode, all by itself, makes up for an awful lot. It’s not just brilliant Doctor Who: it’s one of the most outstanding hours to come from any TV drama, ever, in any genre. And it blazes the way to Moffat taking over from Davies as the show runner, which is the best thing that happened to Doctor Who in some considerable time. 

— Freder
www.ducksoup.me


Saturday, June 29, 2013

Where You're on the Menu


Across many years given over to storytelling in as many genres, QUIRK is the closest I've come to establishing a concrete and specific worldview. In the world of Quirk, the Universe is not just a dangerous place; it is a self-aware environment narrowly and specifically focussed upon the destruction of the four friends who call the spaceship Frigid their home, in which nothing and no one can be trusted and even best buddies are ultimately incapable of completely knowing one another or sharing mutually beneficial goals. 

As far back as the very first QUIRK story, individualism and innocence exist only as a target for corrupt authority, and naiveté will get you killed. In “Island in the Sky,” (1980), a sinister religious cult captures a species of space whales, tortures and torments them for no known reason, until they are reduced to mindless killing machines lying dormant in space, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. Naturally, Quirk and his friends stumble upon one of these beasts and manage — literally — to light a fire on its back.

In story #2, “The Humor Agency,” Quirk, Smith and Sludge are brainwashed by the same authoritarian regime and forced to infiltrate and investigate a Secret Society devoted simply to Taking Nothing Seriously: only to find that even Irreverence has its rules and regulations, and if you don’t play the way the ones in charge want you to play, you will find yourself cast out from the outcasts.

In the soon-to-be-published Quirk paperback, “Knight’s Gambit” carries the theme further, as the accepted modes of entertainment and escapism take on a life-threatening aspect, and Old Enemies lay in wait wherever you go, anxious to challenge you with a fight to the death.

Here in Quirk’s cosmos, nothing is safe, ever: as shown in “A-Muck Time,” (ostensibly a parody of both Star Trek and Superman), even your best friends can turn on you and literally have you for lunch. In Quirk, everything beyond The Self is carnivorous. 

Although I didn’t know it until recently, the worldview of QUIRK mirrors that of Aspergers Syndrome: unable to comprehend the things that normal people take for granted, the Aspergers person lives in a world that seems stacked against them. The simplest things can be a source of deep anxiety. Because the Asperger’s child does not understand the language or the underlying codes and rules that everyone else knows by instinct, he or she has no hope of ever “fitting in” to that World They Never Made — and in the end, many of us lose all desire and interest of doing so. The Quirks of the world have one slogan for all situations: “Fwoink you.”

Welcome to The Quirkiverse. It is a living thing, and it will eat you if you don’t watch out. 

Have a Nice Day.

— Freder.
www.ducksoup.me


Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Under the Weather


After some difficulties with software that resulted in the loss of several panels of artwork, and more difficulties with stylus tools that kept dying on me, things are back up and running and the Quirk paperback is back on track! I'm hoping to complete work on it this week -- at long, LONG last!

-- Freder.
www.ducksoup.me

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Run Away with the Circus!!

Duck Soup Productions now has a Sister Blog! This one is devoted specifically to the creation of my Tarot-Deck-in-Progress, and will feature not just preview images of the cards, but also brief text about my thinking behind each design and links to outside sources of Interesting Information. Although it will no doubt be tweaked six ways till Sunday as I go along, the first two entries are up. To add a little Circus Magic to your life, click here:


And many thanks as always to the people who visit this blog. It -- and you! -- have been lifesavers.

-- Freder
www.ducksoup.me
http://circustarot.blogspot.com

Monday, June 17, 2013

The Great Pursuit

Tom Sharpe died the week before last. I suppose that there are some out there who are just as happy to see the back of him. His work was emphatically not for every taste, and I’m certain that he ruffled a few feathers back in the day. 

For me, it’s another one of those sad milestones. The ground slipping away under my feet. It’s not as severe a blow as when we lost Roberston Davies or Kurt Vonnegut — both of those men were still working at the time of their deaths, and had not faltered in their craft — but it’s a stinging blow nonetheless.

Years ago I wrote a couple of paragraphs about Sharpe as part of an article for The Cortland Review. Here’s what I had to say way back then:

Caustic humor is a long and noble British tradition. What sets Tom Sharpe ahead of the pack is not the depth of his perversion (which is deep enough) or the sheer volume of comic mayhem that he can squeeze into two hundred pages, but that he can make you laugh out loud at the most appalling things, and keep you coming back for more. 
Part of his secret is that the stories are laced with Awful Truth. It’s hard to conceive that a writer who uses penis mutilation as a recurring motif and whose characters habitually cavort in rubber rooms and sex-toy factories might have something important to say. Sharpe is driven by a deep-seated anger at the system, and it’s the anger that powers the black extremes of his humor.

The other part of his secret is harder to express in a short recommendation: because, yes, the books are charming in a sick adult sort of way, and this charm of style seldom fails even when Sharpe is describing (in his South African series Indecent Exposure and Riotous Assembly) the efforts of white Afrikaners to eliminate black Africans by raping black women, or (in The Throwback) the efforts of a young man to hang onto his inheritance by having his dead grandfather stuffed and wired for sound. Look, I don’t expect you to believe me: read the books and find out for yourselves. Reading Tom Sharpe is a test of character — try him and see if you pass.

Although I didn’t know it then, Sharpe was already past his prime. He had fallen into what became nearly a fifteen-year-long stretch of literary silence, and by the time he returned (with The Midden in 1996), it was pretty well obvious that something was missing. 

The man wasn’t angry anymore. He had mellowed with age, or something; bereft of the anger, his books seemed just to go through the motions. They weren’t bad by any means… but there isn’t a single one of his later books that you would shove under a person’s nose and say to them, “You have got to read this!

In that regard, I came to regard Sharpe as one of my own personal literary successes. With, as I now see, Asperger’s crippling my social skills, Sharpe became one of those subjects that I could talk about, that I could evangelize, and he was one of those occasions where my friends listened. I’ve created some converts to Sharpe in my time. Well — it was almost inevitable: put The Throwback into someone’s hands and it will produce a reaction. 

My favorite among his novels is still, and I guess always will be, The Great Pursuit. Far less extreme than some of his other books (and consequently less laugh-out-loud funny), this was the Moment in Time where I became convinced that Sharpe was a Major Novelist who cloaked his depths in dirty jokes. It was the novel in which Sharpe turned his anger specifically on the publishing industry, sparing no one: not the illiterate businessmen who publish the books, not the agents who cynically package the product, not the writers with, alternately, their lofty goals and ideals on the one hand or pandering on the other; and certainly not the readers who consume the final product. The incestuous nature of the business is reflected when the novel comes around full circle with revelations that indicate guilt within even the most Platonic teachers of the craft. 

Frensic, the focal character of The Great Pursuit, is one of the great characters of English Literature: half Dickens, half Python, and all Sharpe, wrapped in smug-self-confidence concealing a wellspring of disappointment and disillusionment.

I came upon Sharpe at an age when I was still susceptible to literary bombshells: when the discovery of a writer who opened doors in my mind and did things that no one else could do was still capable of altering my DNA for life. Faulkner, Chandler, Davies, Alasdair Gray, Vonnegut and Sharpe… they all showed me things that no one else even attempted. They all ignited sparks inside my brain. 

Of them all, only Alasdair Gray is left, and he’s not working much anymore… by his own admission, he is “written out.” As was Sharpe, when Vintage Stuff proved that he was running out of things to be angry about. No candle can burn that brightly forever and ever, except in the best work that it leaves behind.

So addictive is Tom Sharpe’s “voice” that I attempted Sharpe-esque situations in some of my own writing, only to realize that I had none of the qualities to make it work and that my own voice would have to be found somewhere else.

But oh, how well and how happily I remember standing in that now-defunct Maine Mall bookstore and coming across Sharpe for the first time. Vintage was his American publisher then, and the books promised much. I remember picking up The Throwback, and Wilt, and The Wilt Alternative, studying each one, and thinking to myself: 

“These look wild. Do I dare?”

— Freder
www.ducksoup.me

Friday, June 14, 2013

Always Late to the Party


Based on what I’ve read online (so you know it has to be the truth, right?), the creator / executive producer of Warner’s Supernatural TV series had a tough time pitching and selling the thing. 

If only he’d consulted me. Because it was obvious to me from the very first episode that what we’re dealing with here — and the only way to pitch it — is “Route 66 with Monsters.”

Actually, Route 66 did have monsters a time or two and could be a pretty scary show. One early episode had Martin Milner (later of Adam-12) and George Maharis stumbling upon an isolated tank town where the Boss Guy had years earlier committed a brutal Hate Crime and was holding the entire citizenry to silence, even to the point of piling more murders onto the problem. EC Comics published a very similar story right around the same time. During the late fifties and early sixties, for all of its post-wartime prosperity, America kept some pretty dark secrets.

In the first season of Supernatural, brothers Sam and Dean Winchester uncover a nearly identical situation… except that the murderer is a possessed scarecrow and isn’t motivated by Racial Intolerance. 

Supernatural owes so much to Classic TV that it feels like Classic TV right out of the box. I blew through the entire first season in a little over two weeks, and am raring for more. Perfect? Not. But it has a good beat (you can dance to it), and the show runners display a lot more  intelligence and good instincts than most of their peers ever did — I’m thinking specifically of David “I’m Making it Up as I Go Along” Lynch and his Twin Peaks, of the talented but too-cocky Chris Carter and his X-Files and the not-so-very talented J.J. Abrams and his Lost — the latter of which held its audience in so much open contempt that I’m amazed it found people willing to be insulted week after week.

The Big Elephant in the room on all of these shows is what’s come to be known in the trade as “The Mythology.” There’s nothing wrong in principle with having a backstory that ties your series together as a whole, while allowing for standalone episodes. It’s the way that those Other Bozos implemented the mythology that brought destruction down upon their shows. The X-Files is a prime example — it became obvious pretty quickly that Carter had no specific plans for his backstory, and suffered from what comics artist John Byrne once called “Gee-Whiz-What-A-Good-Bit-ism.”

That is, if it was a Good Bit, Carter stuck it on whether or not it made any sense in the overall design. I can just hear him saying “We’ll fix it later.” The so-called mythology became so contrived, so convoluted, so bloated and was so incoherent that the entire show eventually collapsed under its weight. Left with no other alternatives, Carter had Mulder and Scully fall in love, and that made for some far creepier moments than anything the conspiracy claptrap could provide.

Lost was like that from the very first episode. Watching it that one time, I immediately thought, “Oh my God, it’s another Twin-X-Peaks-Files fiasco where they have NO plan, are making it up as they go along, don’t care if it makes a lick of sense, and aren’t interested in anything other than stringing viewers along.”

There’s an ugly old-fashioned term for shows like that. They’re cock-teasers.

Now, Supernatural does have a “mythology” — and the producers even call it that — but at its heart it is a simple story: Mom killed by Demon, Dad wants to Get Demon, grown-up sons get caught up in his Calling. I do get the feeling that they have a definite plan, that they are not making it up as they go along, and that, while keeping it interesting, they aren’t piling on complications just for the sake of making it more complicated.

So in the end, it’s not the Classic TV tropes that make Supernatural worthwhile (although that helps)… it’s that the producers actually have brains in their heads and appear to be using them.

This holds true even in the non-mythology episodes. These guys just seem to have good Story Instincts. When  a shape-shifter appears as the monster of the week, they make it personal, not just by having the shape-shifter take on the form of one of the leads (we saw that coming), but by making sure that the shape-shifter — which we never see in its true form — absorbs some of the thoughts and feelings of its “mark.” This allows Dean Winchester to say some things that he would not otherwise say, and dredge up some resentments that would otherwise stay buried.

That, my friends, is how you write a TV show.

Going in to this series, I had some reservations about the content. We live in an age where very few televisual holds are barred after all, and I was afraid that the series would be too gory and intense for me. My tastes in Horror are pretty classical (read: Universal Monsters) — modern tropes of hack and slash, blood and gore, “shock” horror and torture porn are Not Acceptable to me. Here, Supernatural walks a tightrope line, sometimes stepping over but most often keeping just within the boundaries of taste. Most often, it’s the consequences of that violence that are shown, not the violence itself… and that’s a reasonable, tried-and-true way of handling some fairly touchy material. Give us just enough to sell the story, and nothing more. Supernatural mostly accomplishes this in its first season.

Meanwhile, the producers of Supernatural should get down on their knees and thank heavens for their lead actors, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padelecki as Dean and Sam. They bring everything to the table that this kind of show needs in order to work. First and probably most important, they have the ability to speak the most ridiculous lines describing the most unbelievable circumstances, not just with a straight face but in a way that makes it all believable. Second, they work very well together. Third, they have all the qualities to make the women in the audience swoon, but are so likable and cool that they don’t put off the male audience. Finally, they just have that “Classic Television” vibe going on. Although they are young, they do not seem to be bound to any specific generation. Tooling around in their bad-ass Impala, all leather jackets and black jeans, the Winchesters would be just as much at home in the ‘fifties as they are in the twenty-tweens. Even in the not-so-classic rock that blares from the Impala speakers (on cassettes no less), there is nothing in them to alienate an Olde Farte like me. 

So — for now, at least, I’m on board. Always late to the party, I’ll begin the second season sometime this week. No matter how you cut it up, Supernatural has logged eight seasons as I write this and has been picked up for a ninth. That’s a huge success in TV terms: had the exact same show aired during the Light Dark Ages when the airwaves were ruled by just three networks and niche marketing was just a glimmer in Madison Avenue’s eye, we’d have been lucky to get three seasons out of the thing. 

You’d think that they’d be just about out of monsters by now…

— Freder
www.ducksoup.me

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Then and Now

I've mentioned before that a) QUIRK is coming to trade paperback later this month, and b) that the entire first two-thirds of the lead story is being rewritten and redrawn for this edition. I'm now in a position where I can offer a side-by-side comparison of the original story (created all the way back in 1982) with the new version of 2011. If nothing else, this will make it obvious WHY the old story had to be remade!

First off, the splash panel to the story. The top image is the 1982 version, the bottom image is the new "remastered" version:


Next up, from page six of the original story and page 3 of the new version (yes, that's how much I've tightened the story up), is the arrival of the Frigid at the Gamestation Rysk, where the main part of the story is set:


Work is progressing much too slowly to suit me -- these are the only two completed panels that I have to show you. But a lot of ground work has been laid, and things are going to start happening soon. The book will be in the same format as Tinsel*Town. As the publication date gets nearer, Quirk and the gang will get their own dedicated page here. Lots of fun and surprises coming, so stay tuned!

-- Freder.
www.ducksoup.me

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