DC Comics’ New 52 – Current Pull List

Last Wednesday marked the 3/4 mark of DC Comics’ New 52 Initiative, with their re-launching of 52 all-new issue one comic books introducing both brand new and iconic characters to their line of monthly ongoings.

There’s be debate, there’s been controversy, there’s been a substantial amount of buzz regarding DC’s new venture. For a niche market like comic book fans, this is bigger than World War Three (I hope this is an exaggeration). For newbies to the market of comic books, this is a great start for them to get on, and for others to get the word out.

But they question remains, for a creative medium that I’m hope isn’t nearing its end in the coming future, was it a success?

To fork out four dollars every week to get twenty-five pages of fisticuffs and sequential art may seem like a dollish routine, but hell, lots of people do it. It’s the best way to support what comic book creators and audiences do and love.

So how I have helped? Well, let’s see.

Usually, recognition goes to the writer and both the pencillers + inkers, and the colorists (as represented below) as the combined art teams. Collaboration for the win!

Justice League #1, Written by Geoff Johns, Art by Jim Lee & Scott Bryant.

Action Comics #1, Written by Grant Morrison, Art by Rags Morales & Rick Bryant

Batman #1, Written by Scott Snyder, Art by Greg Capullo & Jonathan Glapion.

Batwoman #1, Written by J.H Williams III, Art by J.H Williams III & W. Haden Blackman.

Batgirl #1, Written by Gail Simone, Art by Ardian Siaf & Vincent Cifuentes.

Batwing #1, Written by Judd Winick, Art by Ben Oliver.

Green Lantern #1, Written by Geoff Johns, Art by Doug Manhke & Christian Alamy.

Green Lantern Corps #1, Written by Peter J. Tomasi, Art by Fernando Pesarin & Scott Hanna.

Animal Man #1, Written by Jeff Lemire, Art by Travel Foreman & Dan Green.

Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E #1, Written by Jeff Lemire, Art by Alberto Ponticelli.

Swamp Thing #1, Written by Scott Snyder, Art by Yanick Paquette.

Demon Knights #1, Written by Paul Cornell, Art by Diogenes Neves & Oclair Albert.

Resurrection Man #1, Written by Dan Abnett & Andy Lanning, Art by Fernando Dagnino.




I think all of them are first prints—the ones that matter at least I know are. Still on the hunt for Detective Comics and Wonder Woman, but I’m pretty sure they’re all sold out around the GTA, Toronto for sure since I’ve been to both Silver Snail and The Beguiling and coming up empty handed this week.

It started with Justice League and Flashpoint #5 at the start of the month, and now we’re three weeks in with most of DC’s new titles selling out in a day, if not sooner. Which is great for the industry, bad for me. Still, looks like all wheels are go on this initiative. And I’m still looking for grabs, so DC’s doing something right.

Going to do some more reviews on my grabs so far, but all-in-all, I’ve been careful with my grabs in making sure they’re worth it, all others I just download because I’m poor. All the Jeff Lemire (Animal Man, Frankenstein) and Scott Snyder (Batman, Swamp Thing) are probably going to be subscriptions from me.


Batwoman is a definite, you just can’t find that kind of art anywhere else. Both Green Lantern books are looking good, and GLC just has that ‘space epic’ feel I can depend on—I’d much prefer that over Legion Lost #1 or Legion of Superheroes #1 and their more closed-off and teen feel (but still looking forward to testing out Teen Titans #1 next week for my teen book fix).

So, there’s my proof. I’m a legit geek. I’m looking at you, Sheldon.
Don’t need some stupid quantum mathematics knowledge to get some geek gratification. Fuck laugh tracks, buy comics.

EPIC Sound Design of the Week

Audio production last year was an awesome course, save for the shitbag teacher that gave me and my buddy a 75 for the most horrifying soundscape our class has ever heard.

But I learned a few things, and I like how I can appreciate stuff like this now:

Diego Stocco - Music From A Dry Cleaner from Diego Stocco on Vimeo.

Good vibes.

[via dailywh.at]

StoryCorps–The Importance of Listening

I think I may have posted about this a while back, but it deserves readdressing because I’m really a sucker for these kinds of things.

Especially now, on the wake of 9/11, which personally doesn’t emotionally impact me that much at all, but you realize it’s important for a lot of Americans. My opinions aside, there really is no better way to recount or remember all the people who died there than to do it through something like this.

StoryCorps is a non-profit organization devoted to telling stories. Oral history of ordinary people from ordinary lives. Yet, they always seem to be able to capture something greater, and the audiences are always captured by them.

They’re sad, yes, but every story enriches the viewer’s life. I certainly get a better understanding of humility and humanity. It makes you feel good about yourself, and people as a whole.

Now, if these were international, it’d be a great way to raise awareness. StoryCorps in crisis zones in the Middle East, Palestine, parts of Africa, that would really make an impact.

These is the oral history of the ordinary, and yet, there’s always something amazing about discovering people’s lives. We relate, because we want to, because its necessary, because it’s instinctual.

The themes are always the same, and that shows you a lot about why StoryCorps exists, and why it needs to continue to exist to share stories about ordinary people.

We need it. Check them out on Wikipedia. Subscribe on YouTube. 

Everyone has a story, just takes the right person to listen to it.

Comic Reviews!: Animal Man, Batgirl, Swamp Thing

Hey, hey, hey, guess what? Reviews are coming back.
Yeah, they basically change with whatever I’m into at the moment, and I’ll admit I don’t usually review things unless for something else (ahem, WILDsound those eons ago), but god damn it, it’s new comics.

AND I LOVE ME SOME NEW COMICS. 

Might do some more movie/television/book reviews. Like always, read this blog with a grain of salt. Except for what’s below. Follow it to the letter.
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Every Wednesday in North America, in comic book stores everywhere, is comics release day. Like how movies are usually released on Fridays, comics have a particular day that publishers send their books out to stores to go on sale.
This Wednesday, out of the dozen or so comics that DC Comics released, I only got three (but now I definitely plan to get more). I’ll just cut to the chase. DC is re-launching 52 of their comic books this September with all-new Issue Ones.
Some big names released today, but I went on the fringes and got some that I always wanted to get into—which is the real point of this entire initiative.
BATGIRL #1

One of the two Batman titles releasing today, I decided to pick this one up because I’ve always wanted to see Gail Simone’s work on other titles like pre-launch Secret Six.

I never got around to it, which I regret, but the re-launch gives me a chance to sample some of her writing, which I’ll admit doesn’t astound me like it’s hyped up to be given what I see on forums, but it’s definitely up there on quality.

The internal dialogue is a big hitter with this one.
If you get comics and read them frequently, you realize how important internal dialogue is to characterization, especially in a solo title. Gail knows how to write women, and I don’t think it’s solely because she’s one of the rare lead writers that is female, I just think she gets the character of Batgirl. ‘Getting’ a character is a loaded term, but it’s a necessity for a writer to engage with the story they’re telling. And that’s happening in this one.

Barbara Gordon, aka. Batgirl, has been paralyzed for three years, as the continuity regarding her wheelchair escapades has been kept. Controversy prior to launch day regarding how her miraculous recovery has swept the web, and the big question—probably the final say on whether this issue one is worth it, is how Simone writes it (or ignores it) in the book.

I want you to read it for yourself, but if you’re a new reader, you need not worry, the information of her past is front and centre, and well composed into her characterization, visually and narratively.  The best part is, if you’re familiar with Barbara Gordon, it’s even better. Really intuitive way to keep her grounded in who she is, combined with essentially a completey new identity with his relaunch.

It was a good taste for me into Barbara Gordon as a character. She was done right in this issue. On the fence for a monthly pick-up, but a good start. And Simone leaves nothing under the table, which is expected of a writer of her capacity.

Check it out.

Forgot all about art; I’m writing this on a whim. Ardian Syaf makes it action-packed, poppy, and clean. Easy on the eyes, like it should be.

SWAMP THING #1

Been following this one closely since it was announced, and pretty hyped. The comics master/completely senile old man that is Alan Moore gave the green giant comic book fame, and the decision to re-launch him with Supes, Bats, and the rest, is a respectable decision (one Moore is cranky as usual about). Gives me a chance to finally get into Swamp Thing; again—something I’ve always wanted to do, that this re-launch lets me do.

I won’t summarize it for you, but basically it revolves around a botanist who died developing a flora-saving compound, and resurrected as a creature composed of plant matter with sentient thought, and the memories of this man. That was before this rewriting of origins. What struck me is that this starts off with Alec Holland, the man instead of the creature, and focuses on him in detail. The decision to bring Holland back to Swamp Thing stories (he was absent for most runs of prelaunch Swamp Thing) was a nice turn. It represents a true retracing of steps back to the core of the comic character and its mythology.

This is a comic that’s dialogue-heavy, but has a nice cameo interaction that, I think, connects it closely to the entire new DC Universe within these 52 comics. Really nice to see that Swamp Thing’s importance is represented in these interactions with big name characters.

This is all thanks to Scott Snyder, responsible for American Vampire—an award-winning series. In interviews he’s cited Moore’s run on the comic as a big influence, and if I read Alan Moore’s run (sadface), I bet I’d agree. The dialogue, while heavy, gives a lot of presence to Holland as a character, plus its exposition was a treat, since I never really understand what’s behind Swamp Thing—that’s a new reader standpoint.

From the art, I can gather the ‘dark’ side of the new DC pretty well from Yanick Paquette’s artwork. To me, I get a sense of the range of artistic styles throughout all these artists working on the 52 books. The villain reveal is a real treat, I can say its definitely dark, and quite literally, twisted visuals. It balances out with clean and bright colours, but when it does go deep into the supernatural, it delivers.

Not really any negatives, since I’m treading new territory, and it’s engaged me on a level that makes me really want to see where Alec Holland and his troubles with chlorokinesis go. Snyder immerses me with the dialogue, and Paquette drags me into the world with those swell visuals. Could definitely be a monthly pick-up.

Check it out.

ANIMAL MAN #1

Animal Man is one the other ‘Dark’ line of titles coming out of the new DC. And damn, did it hook me on this line. Probably the most hyped ‘fringe’-style book on the web, it did not disappoint anywhere, I don’t think.

Jeff Lemire is some new talent, coming straight out of Toronto for one thing, and his Sweet Tooth project, I hear is worth the endless reads. When it comes to Animal Man, shot from C-list status into the DC front-line by writer superstar Grant Morrison in the 80's, I had a feeling from the news and previews that Lemire was going to take this book to some crazy places, much like many think of the prelaunch Buddy Baker and his numerous adventures.

Within the first three pages, I was seeing some quality writing, and some striking, unique artwork by Travel Foreman. The way it starts out too, is unconventional to say the least, but for an Animal Man new reader, it worked very well. I’ll let you read for yourself when you pick it up, but it perfectly summarizes what I need to know in order to get with this book, and it did it in a way that seamlessly blends into the narrative. It engaged me right off the bat, and I got to know this character in one page.

From there, it’s easy pickings for Lemire. He knows Buddy Baker, and his writing shows it. It was naturalistic dialogue coming into my head easily, and by the time the action starts, the artwork by Foreman signifies a narrative change that the writing almost has to catch up with—like the naturalistic feel is leaving Buddy Baker’s life at that moment, and he as to deal with something pretty unnatural by the middle of the issue. You can clearly see it in the intricacies and technical details of Foreman’s art.

By far, this is my favourite of the three. If not only that it’s unlike any other superhero comic I’ve read in a while, it combines generic elements from horror and fantasy and just crazy stuff that’s even outside a cape comic’s norms—and that’s saying a lot—but it’s what you’d expect from the 'Dark’ titles of the New DC.

And that villain reveal, it gave me chills. Foreman’s artwork shines most here. Lemire’s carried the character the whole way, and plops him right in front of some twisted shit that puts the cherry on top. And the ending is like putting another cherry on top.

That’s two cherries. It caught me from the start, and dragged me into a story that I don’t think I can get out of. You start feeling a little of what Buddy Baker might be, and it gave me goosebumps. I hope it gives you some too. This is alternative/counter-culture/’contemporary-style’ comics given a new spotlight. Morrison should shake Jeff Lemire’s hand, because this comic is in good hands.
Definitely going to be following this awesome comic book. Check it out.
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Alright, that’s it for now. Three comics that were definitely worth picking up, which is a good thing because it lessens the blow of the cash I freely give to the comic book overlords. Not an addiction people, creative resource.

If I had bad reviews on a comic, then I’d regret buying them. And that sucks. So they’ll probably be good reviews. Sorry for the lack of variety.

Go to your local comic book store and ask about DC’s The New 52. Hell, ask about what’s happening with Marvel if you feel so inclined. And guess what, you can buy them online, and read them on your computer. No creepy fat guys accosting you.

Just buy some damn comics—the ones above, or any others that catch your eye.
Happy hunting.

[no, there probably won’t be posts about not-comics for a while.]

“Why Read Comic Books?”

A web column By Martyn Pedler, on Bookslut.

Sometime back around 2004, geeky Seth Cohen became the unlikely heartthrob of teen soap The O.C., relegating the traditionally dreamy Ryan Atwood to sidekick status. If I was forced at gunpoint to pick the exact moment that comic book reading lurched into the mainstream, this might be it.

In this post-Seth world, however, convincing someone to read a comic is more like getting them to try a new band than getting them to admit that “music” as a whole might be worthwhile. If you’ll forgive my apples-to-oranges comparisons and rah-rah cheerleading, here are some random reasons why I read comics.

Starting big: comics can do anything. (Cancer? Cured!) Without limitations like sets, makeup, or special effects, comic art encourages the transformation of subjective reality to objective reality. The art can feel like it’s coming directly from the artists’ sticky subconscious to the page. It’s also why the best horror comics always feel like nightmares; like drawings that require a child to be sent home early from school.

That’s because they feel less mediated, too, thanks to the illusion created by pencil, ink, and especially lettering by hand. Of course I know most comics are mass-produced, and yet that illusion remains -- the odd notion that what you’re holding could be the only and original copy, made just for you. (Even the most idiosyncratic novel is still obviously typeset, right?) Comic books are an especially intimate artform, and many autobiographical comics succeed by exploiting that sense of reading someone else’s diary.

I won’t begin to explain -- or, frankly, entirely understand -- the mechanics of how sequential art tells stories and make motion. Writer and editor Dennis O’Neill once wrote that “a comic book world is a world lit by a strobe light,” and how that hypothetical strobe is used varies wildly from artist to artist.

Exhibit A: the animal-like characters of Norwegian artist Jason. They don’t seem to move like other comic stars. His precise art seems to capture them in the most awkward moment between two events, showing them frozen, deadpan. Jason’s been compared to Buster Keaton -- high praise, but warranted. At one point in his chess-themed western Low Moon, someone’s so surprised their hat flies off their head, and yet it seems to hover in the air like a bemused UFO.

Exhibit B: Jack Kirby, the King of Comics. Writing on “why read comics” without mentioning him would be cause for revolt, as he’s responsible for much of the visual vocabulary of superhero comics to this day. His men and women are drawn in such energetic poses that they exude dots of extra ink -- the famous "Kirby Krackle" -- and I always imagine the simple act of standing like statues in each panel requires herculean effort. Tensing every augmented muscle, they stay frozen until the moment I look away, turn the page, and they leap back into action again.

(A quick, tangential rant about “motion comics.” More and more, comic companies are hoping to supplement sales by offering digital versions of their titles with limited animation and voice acting that sounds like a first take at best. They think it’s just adding a gimmick to an existing story, like, say, slapping 3D on an old film. What they don’t understand is that forcing this motion onto sequential art actually breaks something fundamental about comic book storytelling. It suggests a group of executives throwing a comic on the ground and poking at it with sticks. “Look!” they say, jabbing at the page. “It’s moving! It’s moving!”)

Returning, then, to my scheduled evangelism. Once thick comic collections are sitting on your shelf, it’s easy to forget that these stories were ever presented in any other way. I was surprised to hear that Daniel Clowes’s latest tale of misanthropy, Wilson, was his first true graphic novel -- everything else had first been serialized. Why buy individual issues when, more and more, everything is out in collected editions soon after? And sold in respectable bookshops? It’s not just the credibility of comics that’s made them more accessible; it’s this newfound ubiquity.

Focus too much on the package, rather than the content, of comic books makes me feel like one of those people who decries e-books by reducing reading to physical objects and waxing lyrical about how paper smells. (You’d swear they snort up every sentence like cocaine.) But I do believe design and narrative sit together more closely when it comes to comics. Adrian Tomine asked that his earliest Optic Nerve comics, once found in a fancy collection, could be reprinted as the photocopied mini-comics they were always meant to be. He explains why in the new introduction:

The format -- the very thing that tempted me in the first place -- seems too professional, too aggrandizing for the material. […] Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like there’s a different criteria that we apply to a little Xeroxed pamphlet versus a fancy-pants book, and in the translation from one iteration to the other, these comics of mine suffered.

Similarly, Jeffrey Brown’s heartbreaking novella, Every Girl Is the End of The World for Me, has just been collected in a larger book -- but it just won’t feel the same as the original version. Its scribbled pictures and shaky text sit in the palm of your hand. If the idea that a comic has been drawn just for you is an illusion, Jeffrey Brown’s so good at it that he could have his own Las Vegas magic show.

As comic book collections crept into those respectable bookshops, they were inevitably lumped together under the banner of graphic novels, no matter what sort of stories they might be. Autobiographical indies sit next to hysterical manga teens next to sequential art documentaries next to corporate-owned superheroes. As annoying as this might be, it accidentally highlights how comics possess unheard levels of generic bleeding. When a movie or TV show does a “western in space,” it’s a high-concept hybrid. When a comic book has frozen World War II soldiers, Norse gods, billionaire inventors, and gamma-powered monsters fighting side by side? That’s just business as usual.

Let me get my pom poms for the big finish. Ready? I love the strange split between stillness and motion, action and contemplation, that defines comic book reading for me. I love the inventive pages-as-puzzles techniques used by Chris Ware to illustrate angst in Jimmy Corrigan or that J. H. Williams employs for his spectacular action in the recent Batwoman-starring Detective Comics. I love the stylistic tornado of Grant Morrison’s conspiracy-fuelled series The Invisibles, and how it somehow made meaning out of its dozens artists using a dozen techniques.

I’ve run out of room to mention the pleasures of serial storytelling; the addictive fun of cliffhangers; or the sheer scope and dependable insanity of superhero stories. One last thing -- I love word balloons. When it comes to prose, I’m with Elmore Leonard. Almost any word used to describe dialogue delivery other than “said” makes me wince -- but the shifting shapes and sizes of word balloons are a wonderful thing. Growing, shrinking, dotted lines for whispers, icicles for dripping sarcasm. By combining the verbal and visual into something ridiculous, effective, and unique, word balloons serve as shorthand for comic books as a whole.

Right now, as I’m putting the final touches on this column (mostly involving kicking myself over all the books I promised myself I’d mention that didn’t make the cut) it’s August 28. It’s been declared the first annual Read Comics in Public Day:

Let strangers see you reading a piece of sequential art. Take to the streets. Be proud. If someone asks what you’re reading, say, "a comic book" (the phrase "graphic novel" is also acceptable, but let’s face it, it sort of defeats the whole purpose).

I’m for anything that generates sales for artists I admire, and it’s sweet to choose Jack Kirby’s birthday, too. But call me Pollyanna, call me naïve, call me blinded by Seth Cohen’s charms -- it feels about a decade too late for a rallying cry like “be proud.” The same could be said for everything I’ve written here. I can see the headlines now: “Biff! Kapow! Comic Books Worthwhile After All!”

Why read comics? As with all art, there’s only really one answer: why not?

Pretty much embodied everything everyone should take from reading a comic book. Wish I could write it as well as he does, but hell, I’m not a web columnist so whatever. Still, I think I did a pretty good job on my end. 

[via Bookslut]

EPIC Interdisciplinary Profession of the Week

Mountain Climber + Videographer + Documentarian =

On Assignment from renan ozturk on Vimeo.

Jellllyyyyyy. But not really. I’m physically not able to do anything near this intensive.

The payoff though—God damn, like no other.

If you print it, they will come.

I follow up on my word.

It’s a dawn of a new age. A new, possibly financially destructive age for me, and hopefully the opposite for DC Comics.

The first of the new 52 are here. Down with the old, in with the new.

Haven’t read them it yet. I will soon. Don’t wait up.

EPIC Artist (and Art) of the Week

This time, we’re surpassing dimensions.

I’ve always been a fan of alternative art—the creative phenomenon where many fans and artists alike visually reimagine some our most beloved characters. The result? Hours of browsing interpretations, and how cool and weird and incredibly well done they are, more often than not.

Well, this time Futurama steps up to the plate once more, and it’s a common subject for visual reinterpretation. Deviantart (or deviantsculpt?) user artanis-one takes it to…

A whole.

Notha.

LEVEL.

 

 

“Hi, I love comic books.”

My guest post on preposterousthoughts:

No, I’m not a fat-ass, the Simpsons didn’t draw me, and  my comic book shirts look fucking awesome—no three week old stains and unwashed smelliness. My voice isn’t obnoxious. I’m not an elitist.

My basement is, in fact, unfurnished, but my bedroom is a nice place to sleep.

But yeah, I enjoy comic books. I enjoy picture books for overgrown children. The almost literature. The stuff for little cousins and creepy guys in your English lecture. And I tell as many people as I possibly can, because more people need to like them.

More of you, and your friends, and your parents, and your children. You need to benefit from reading a comic book, because there’s more good in one than you can possibly know right now, and because it will help you. It will help you be a more creative person, a more imaginative mind. It will aid you in understanding your perception of the world and help you think critically and creatively about absolutely everything you experience.

You know why? Cause it’s helped me in the two and a half years since I picked up my first one, and it sure as hell can help you and everyone you know.

Look, I realize you have better things to do with your time and money. You have work, you have school, you have more productive, active hobbies. You may read books, and since comic books are not those, there’s no need.

It’s a common misconception. A majority one. A one comics can’t yet seem to break.

That’s because they rely on us—on me, the reader, to spread word. To recruit audiences. To get people interested. Because unlike books, there’s never an end to them when the author sells a bunch of them to a company, and calls it a day.

No, comics are a rare form of narrative. They’re deviations from the structure. They’re special. In a self-contained narrative, you have characters, plot and setting to create a story. It’s alone. It ends, and with it, so does everything else contained within. Comics are not self-contained. They’re self-sufficient. They evolve with each generation. And because of it, there’s people you and I both know, that have been alive far longer than we have, and will most likely continue to do so.

Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Peter Parker. They don’t end with the story. They live on. That’s what they do, because they’re more than characters; they’re icons. They exist to give us examples, to provide us with something, to enrich our understanding of life and its values. They are templates.

To be important, they must represent importance.

Lets do some role-play. You’re the scrawny kid in school. You grades are pretty good for your age, a few friends, you keep a low profile because that’s how you roll. Then you find out there’s some others who don’t like something about you. Your scrawniness. Your good grades. Who you are. They beat on you, they hurt you, they make you feel less than them.

You want to get back at them, show them who’s boss, make them understand what they’re doing is wrong. You want to be powerful.

Who do you turn to, without making a scene, without risking yourself? When there’s that much fear involved, of consequences, of punishment, what’s the way out?

I hope, for that kid, it’s a comic book. The reason why someone like Spider-Man is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, comic book characters of all-time, is that he was born into a generation of nerdy, bullied, and weak kids like he was. He had the grades, he liked a girl, he was picked on. Then he got bitten by a spider, and had these amazing abilities. Abilities that real life would never allow under any circumstances, and right in front of your eyes, after each page flip, Peter Parker’s doing it all in front of you.

When you’re a kid, ‘real’ can be as fluid as your next daydream in class. That kid takes that comic book with him wherever he goes, because after each bully pushes him around, he turns to Peter Parker. ‘With great power comes great responsibility’. Those catchphrases become mantras. They live by them. It moulds them. It guides them through turmoil and helps them overcome hardships thrown at them.

When they grow up, the grow up with Peter Parker too. That’s how comic books get fans. They connect with you. You see something in those iconic characters that have survived sometimes longer than your parents. They have amazing abilities, crazy powers, but there’s one thing that they will always be:

Just like us.

They’re human. Maybe not in the literal sense, but they are like us, because they’re written by us. They’ve had lovers lost. Their parents are gone too. They’re orphans in a place they’re not used to. Problems to them are problems to us, just with supervillians thrown into the mix.

The fantastic versus the realistic. The unimaginable versus the understandable. There is no competition in comic books. They co-exist by necessity. When I read comic books, for that moment, in that panel, reading that word bubble—I’m hearing, seeing, witnessing the character come to life. My imagination connects with the page. I bring it to life myself, I fill in the blanks. I have the power to make it as real as I want it to be.

When you’re a kid, that seems like the easiest thing to do in the world. Everything else is a mountain to climb. When your head’s in that comic book, it’s a way out. It’s a resource, and a bible. You live in it, and it lives in you as long as you carry on everything your favourite characters and stories represent.

Truth, honesty, responsibility, justice, kindness, heroism, understanding, tolerance—the list goes on. Comics teach more than they tell. We want the heroes to win, that’s a universal truth of storytelling. In comic books, rarely, if ever, is that fantasy not fulfilled. For that kid, it’s a wish come true. It’s reaffirming. It’s validation.

It’s telling him, ‘If you’re a good person, and you do the right thing, and you stay true to who you are and what you stand for, you’ll always be the good guy—you’ll always be the hero.’

Basic. Simple. Direct. A comic book is all these things on page. Yes, they’re complicated, and yes there’s a lot of history and backstory and pretext, but you distill those things into what’s important: the character—what, and who, they fight for.

I’m not going to lie, it takes work. When you grow up, you lose a lot. Most of why being a kid is awesome slowly dissolves. I think one of the first to go is that enthusiastic acceptance of the incredible. Everything is exciting. You’ll accept anything as reality—is it naiveté? No, just wild abandon. Not caring for the world, because you don’t fully understand it yet. And that’s okay, you’re a kid.

When you’re older, you have to care. You have to be a realist, accept that this is the world you live in. There’s no more tea parties with stuffed animals, or car races on your bedroom ceiling. Just you and the world you live in.

Then you pick up that issue of Spider-Man, remember how much it did to save you from yourself, and others, back when you were that scrawny kid, and it all comes back. You live it all over again. Your imagination sparks, you start thinking inside the book. Things come to life. People come to life.

Just think, how could you ever drop something like that again?

You have to take yourself outside your world. Your bubble needs to be burst from the inside out. Open a comic book to a random page—I’ll bet you anything something amazing is happening. If not, within the next two or three pages. It’s not like films, where it generally has to be rooted in reality, or like books, where your imagination is exercised to the point of exhaustion. Reading comic books is a team effort. It gives you glimpses into another world, with you to decide the rest.

You provide the images motion. You give the comic book a life of its own. All it takes is for you step back from your world, and your perceptions, and your understandings as vast as they may be, and pick one up and read it. Leave ‘real’ at the door. Enter another one—it will takes you places.

There’s a commitment. Comic books make money, yes. But it’s in the most creatively satisfying way possible, for both parties. Readers, they get a perpetual storyline and an awesome protagonist (a few have run to 900 issues), and creators—writers and artists—they get to create those worlds, guide your hand while you traverse something you’ve never seen before.

To me, that’s enticing. That’s something I can commit to. It gives me inspiration that things so fantastic can engage me that closely. Evoke a plethora of emotions and thoughts with each page. I want a lot of what I can’t have. But I can take pieces of it, and use them elsewhere. Create my own stories, my own realities. Engage with my imagination and let it, instead of trying to make it, go places.

I hope you have an alternative. For me, comic books represent the ability to dream, the opportunity for escapism, and the inspiration to use my imagination as freely as I possibly can. Maybe you have other ways, and I’d love to hear them.

Just know that, that creepy guy in the English lecture, he could have been that kid who grew up without Peter Parker, or Clark Kent, or Bruce Wayne. I want you to help him. Get a comic book. Give it to him.

His mind, and his heart, and his dreams will do the rest.

Support comic books. Visit your local comic book store and ask about DC Comics’ ‘New 52’. There’s 52 new issue one comic books releasing tomorrow, featuring 52 of DC’s top characters and teams.

No history needed. Just pick one up and start reading.

If you get confused, just ask me. I know my shit.

[via my tumblr & preposterousthoughts]

Good Fucking Design Advice

This site makes you want to fucking do better.

Just keep clicking, the advice keeps coming.

I want to live off this site come second year.

And I will. I’m ready. Bring on the design.

Tons more to get you pumped.