Projects! (Not low income housing.)

Can't believe I left this sitting here for over a year. Actually, no, I'm lying. I just don't see the point in blogging.

1. No one cares what you did all day/week/month.

2. Your opinions don't matter.

3. The URL doesn't have Myspace in it, so no one is coming to visit, anyway.

So, what's left to talk about? Not a whole lot--unless you're totally awesome. Am I? Well, I don't like to boast. But this baby I rescued from his abusive father does*1:

Thanks, kid!

Let's get down to business. (What does that even mean?) I'm a writer, or trying to be, though I guess there isn't much indicating that around this here blog. Now you know. I've been writing comics, the devil's first media, for a few years. With the rules I listed above in mind, you should now be painfully aware that you're more likely to learn what I'm fooling around with at any given minute than what I had for dinner*2.

So what am I fooling around with? Bob Rivard. But not his penis*3!

A couple of years ago, I met Bob on Digital Webbing.com. He was looking for a few mercenaries to rescue his wife from Vietnamese pirates, and I agreed to sign on. It wasn't until much later I found out he was an artist. Soon after, I found out he was a bastard. Don't let him fool you. They say if you whisper Bob Rivard into a pool of still water six times, you'll turn into a pillar of salt. Side note? He was fucking Lot's wife.

We spent a long time talking about different projects, before finally laying down some solid work on Zeitgeist, Bob's creator owned book. It wasn't easy getting to this point either. Bob had to run through three different writers, and I had to stop coming up with shitty ideas. We've got a strong first script, with more on the way. That really hinges on Bob letting me put wizards in issue two, so we'll see what happens. Right now, it's strictly World War II time traveling espionage action.

In the meantime, we've started working on Type 1, a science fiction anthology. It deals with mankind branching out into the Solar System, sort of leading up to humanity collectively becoming a type 1 civilization. Since the spirit of a type 1 civilization is built on free trade and sharing, we've decided to get other artists and writers involved. We're keeping a loose continuity in place, so there's no pressure for stories to connect. They just have to be good.

There you go. Pretty busy, lately. And now it'll make a little more sense when Nazis and spaceships start appearing around here.

*1The kid is mine. I can assure you he is of the Not Abused variety of baby.
*2It was egg salad, and every bit as disgusting as you'd imagine.
*3I don't know if it's cool for me to talk about his penis. Also, Bob is responsible for the fire breathing newborn in my last post, as well as the shark/cheetah/black mamba hybrid (chesnark) tiled in the background of this page. Adorable? Sure. But so are bear cubs. Ask Timothy Treadwell how that worked out. For more of Bob's art, you should check out his page, conveniently linked to the right.