Indulgence

The kid with a comic book in his hand

Jim Morrison
There is the known and the unknown. I want to be the door.

One of the graphic designer/artists in the office brings his comics to work sometimes. To pass the time, maybe, while waiting for the assignments or to rest his eyes or maybe to get inspiration; whatever the case maybe, I've been taking it from him and reading them during my free time.

How fun to all of a sudden remember my younger days when I used to be a comic book geek and could effectively argue over who were the better super-heroes and super villains. I look back and realise how I moved my arguments from which character had cool super powers to which character was drawn better until it came to the point on which comic was written better than others. Slowly, I began appreciating more what made the comic book what it was; rather than the product, I was more involved with its creation.

I did, after all, write 32 issues of a comic book professionally when I was 14. Looking back at my work, it was horrible. I blame my age for that mistake. At that age, if you were offered to write a comic book, what teen-ager would refuse?

Reading the comic books now, there seems to be some new emphasis on the grit. An indie movement, it seems to make the work edgier; to match up with the world's current reality, it seems. I don't mind. The harder it is to distinguish fiction from fact, the more subversive the art form without having to be overt.

I used to live with all these characters I made on my own and I knew which artists I wanted to work with. I knew which characters I wanted to work on. I gave up that world a long time ago. I've kept some of my old stuff; my favourite issues but haven't opened them and read them in a long time. I no longer live with heroes flying around me in weird costumes fighting for the sake of good and evil.

And now, I was offered again, "Wang, let's make a comic book. You write something." Strangely enough, my answer was "sure. What kind of comic do you want to make?" Without thinking, I acted upon an impulse that came from somewhere deep inside me. A longing for things that should've come a long time ago from an old group of people, another batch of friends from the past. Does it come true for me now, now that I'm older and a better writer?

I don't know. Already, the heroes and villains fly around in my head and I can already see some of their costumes; trying to write different ways for different people to talk. I'm strangely excited.

Post Script: To the person who has my whole collection of Kabuki by David Mack, if I discover that you are holding it on purpose, not returning it to me on purpose; I'm gonna slit your throat with a batarang, burn your legs with heat vision and tear your head from your body and throw it like a football into the Pasig river. You scum! But if you just don't realise you haven't returned it yet, please do and I'll give you a hug and thank you profusely...

posted by wanggo @ 10:52 AM