REMEMBERING MOEBIUS

I'm incredibly sorry to hear that the artist Jean Giraud, known to many of us as Moebius, has passed away.  Giraud was a genre unto himself:  his work was unique, inventive, mind-expanding and utterly magical.  He broke down barriers through the sheer force and fearlessness of his imagination and inspired generations of creators.  Looking at a Moebius graphic novel you weren't just reading a book:  you were Alice falling down the rabbit hole; tumbling, head over heels, into a strange, and somehow truer, reality.  What a loss.

My heartfelt condolences to his family and friends.

THE CATS ARE BACK

The ThunderCats return to Cartoon Network on Saturday, March 24th, at 9:30 am and I'm happy to report that the first of the new T-Cats episodes—"New Alliances"—is one of mine.  Here are a couple of preview clips.  Enjoy!

THEY WENT THAT-A-WAY

Once upon a time, the Western—that wildly romanticized, deeply American vision of cowboys, Indians, outlaws and blazing six-shooters—dominated the pop culture consciousness.  I’ve got photos of myself—three, four years old—wearing my Roy Rogers cowboy suit and riding my hobby horse (a golden palomino, just like Roy’s horse, Trigger), galloping off into the far reaches of my own imagination.  Roy was my first hero:  I watched his TV show, played with Roy Rogers toys (one of the few surviving relics from my childhood is an RR action figure:  Roy, atop a rearing-up Trigger, with a big grin on his face, waving.  I’ve lost Roy’s guns and hat, his saddle’s cracked and Trigger’s tail is missing, but that action figure still holds a place of honor on my office shelf).  My sister and I would even duet to “Happy Trails,” just like Roy and his wife, Dale Evans.  There were other kid-friendly westerns I remember from that age—The Lone Ranger, Wild Bill Hickock (with the squeaky-voiced character actor Andy Devine as Wild Bill’s sidekick, Jingles), Davy Crockett—but Roy, Dale, Trigger, Pat Brady and Nellybelle (which, believe it or not, was Roy’s jeep) commanded my heart.  If there was someone I wanted to be when I grew up, it was Roy, the King of the Cowboys. 

This obsession with All Things Old West only intensified with time.  In the fall of 1960, when I was six, there were just three major television networks and, out of all the prime-time shows they had on the air, something like twenty of them were Westerns.  Maverick, The Lawman, Sugarfoot, Bronco, Wyatt Earp, Wagon Train, Bat Masterson, Bonanza:  each one imprinted on my consciousness like a cattle brand.  It’s no wonder that, a few years later, my favorite book was Robert Penn Warren’s Remember the Alamo!  What boy in the early 60’s could resist the tale of the aforementioned Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and a hardy band of sharp-shooting hombres dying in the name of (what seemed like) a noble cause?  

As I got older, though, the Westerns lost their grip on my imagination.  Another television show I discovered at a tender age—The Twilight Zone—seeped deeper and deeper into my soul because it touched something essential, vital, in me.  Something metaphysical and cosmically true.  Comic books and science-fiction had a similar effect:  they wove so-called fantasy and so-called reality together in a way that spoke to another dimension of existence; one that, even as a child, I sensed lurking just beyond the periphery of my consciousness.  Cowboys?  Not so much. 

The more I learned about the era, especially the genocide we perpetrated on the Native Americans, what little charm the Old West retained blew away like so much sagebrush.  (To read Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is to have your own heart pierced and broken, chapter after chapter.)  Oh, there was the rare Western film that caught my attention—Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (if you’ve never read William Goldman’s screenplay for this classic, which you can find in his wonderful book Adventures in the Screen Trade, do it now), Clint Eastwood’s  brilliant anti-western, Unforgiven—but, for the most part, the genre became a massive turn-off.  To this day, as I channel surf across the cable dial, the sight of a cowboy hat or six-shooter usually makes me move on with lightning speed.

Which makes what happened in October of 2011 very odd.

I woke up one morning with a story in my head.  I don’t know where it came from, I certainly didn’t ask for it to start playing, like a 3D movie, across the insides of my eyelids.  But there it was:  a Western.  Okay, it wasn’t a conventional western—I’m very protective of new stories, so I won’t be sharing any details here—but it certainly had all the staples of the genre.  I watched the movie play out with curiosity and wonder, rushed into my office to write up some notes based on what I’d just seen—and then forgot about it.  “A Western,” I thought.  “How strange!”

Months passed and I found myself in conversation with my old friend and collaborator Mike Ploog.  We’d been trying to find a new project to work on together but, with several ideas pitched across the Atlantic (Mike lives in England), we weren’t getting anywhere.  Then, suddenly, I remembered that Mike loves Westerns.  That he had a childhood love for Roy Rogers that probably trumped mine.  Excited, I resurrected the idea that had appeared—in a cloud of dust, like a fiery horse with the speed of light (to paraphrase the opening of the Lone Ranger television series)—that October morning and emailed it to Mike.   He was intrigued—I knew he would be—we discussed the idea a little and then...

Mike came back to me with his own offbeat Western idea, one he’d been chewing over for years.  And a problem quickly arose:  No matter how hard I tried to get Mike excited about my idea, he returned to his; no matter how hard Mike tried to get me excited about his idea, I returned to mine.  (Don’t worry:  We eventually found another, non-Western story that excited us both equally and we’re developing it now.)  Still, that brief conversation with Mr. Ploog opened up a corral gate in my imagination and I was stampeded by characters, events, details, themes, concepts that I couldn’t—didn’t want to—stop.  Day after day I’d wake up with another Western epic playing in my head; intrigued, excited, obsessed by this tale.  I couldn't get it out of my mind.

And I kept turning to my wife, scratching my head and saying, “A Western?  Really?”

But when you’re a writer, you just (to keep extending the Old West metaphor, perhaps too far) saddle up the Story, climb on its back and let it gallop off, leading you down the trail—and this one has been leading me down some very interesting trails indeed.   I’m still not sure what destination we’re headed for but, so far, it’s been a fantastic ride.  The idea could evolve into a movie, a TV series, a novel; but, at the moment, I see it as a comic book, an ongoing.  One I could write, month after month, for the next five or so years.  

“A Western?  Really?”

Somewhere in my mind, there’s a four year old, dressed like Roy Rogers, bobbing up and down on a golden hobby horse.

And he’s very, very happy. 

©copyright 2012 J.M. DeMatteis

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEHER BABA!

 

"Love is essentially self-communicative; those who do not have it catch it from those who have it. Those who receive love from others cannot be its recipients without giving a response that, in itself, is the nature of love.

True love is unconquerable and irresistible. It goes on gathering power and spreading itself until eventually it transforms everyone it touches. Humanity will attain a new mode of being and life through the free and unhampered interplay of pure love from heart to heart."

Avatar Meher Baba

PAUL BUNYAN WITH A PENCIL

The past few weeks I've had the joy of talking with my old buddy Mike Ploog—we're discussing the possibility of working together on a new project—and it's been a delight reconnecting with him.  A few years back I wrote an introduction to a Modern Masters edition that focused on Mike's extraordinary body of work and I'd like to share it with you here—in celebration of one of the most amazing artists, and wonderful guys, it's ever been my pleasure to work with.  Enjoy!

I thought he’d be taller.

I’d been working with Mike Ploog for a couple of years—communicating through phone calls and emails—but I didn’t actually meet him face-to-face until the spring of 2006.  We were in New York City to meet with the folks at Hyperion Books For Children, publishers of the Abadazad books, and then we were heading to Washington, D.C. for the official launch of  the series at Book Expo America.   

We made a plan to meet outside a restaurant in Union Square.  I’d seen photos of Mike—bushy white beard, mischievous twinkle in the eyes—so I didn’t think I’d have a problem recognizing him; but when I arrived at the Union Square Cafe, I couldn’t find him.  Oh, sure, there was this man standing there who kind of looked like Mike—but he was so much smaller.  Understand:  it’s not that Mike’s short—he’s not—it’s that the Ploog I’d imagined in my head was about thirty feet tall.  Talking on the phone, listening to that booming laugh, hearing those amazing stories of Mike’s boyhood adventures in Minnesota and Burbank (think Huck Finn in the l950’s), in the Marines (where he was part of—no kidding!—the Marine Corps rodeo team), in Hollywood (where he worked with everyone from Terry Gilliam to Roman Polanski), and in the comic book business (this is a guy who started his career working with Will Eisner), I’d imagined a kind of Paul Bunyan character:  a towering giant striding through the Manhattan streets.

The truth is Mike is a kind of Paul Bunyan—but instead of an axe he’s got a giant pencil slung over his shoulder; and he uses it to create astonishing worlds of imagination.  Mike is one of the greatest fantasy artists on the planet:  There may be some artists out there who are as good, but—take my word for it—there’s nobody better. 

I've been a Ploog fan since his Marvel Comics work of the 1970's—especially his extraordinary run on Man-Thing with the great Steve Gerber.  I always responded to the flow of Mike’s art, the almost palpable texture, the impeccable storytelling and—most important—the heartfelt humanity.  But being a fan and working well with someone aren't always synonymous.  I'm happy to say that, from Day One, Mike and I have had a wonderful creative interplay, both professionally and personally.  (I think what really cemented our friendship was the fact that we both still believe in Santa Claus.  And, no, I’m not kidding.)  Watching him bring both Abadazad and The Stardust Kid to visual life has been one of the great joys of my career in comics.  Time after time I’d get new pages from Mike and be stunned by what a brilliant job he’d done.  Hell, I was absolutely giddy.  “This looks just like Mike Ploog!” I’d say to him—and he would laugh that remarkable laugh.

I don’t think he realized that I was paying him the highest compliment possible.

©copyright 2012 J.M. DeMatteis

ALMOST AMARTITHI

"The book that I shall make people read is the book of the heart, which holds the key to the mystery of life."
Avatar Meher Baba

CREATION POINT AND BEYOND

Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to mentor young writers:  sharing my knowledge and experience, teaching them about the vital basics of craft and encouraging them to grow beyond their comfort zones and embrace the art of story.  There’s no joy greater than creating your own tale, surrendering to the mysteries and metaphysics of storytelling; but there’s a unique pleasure to be found in helping others do the same:  to see someone’s personal vision take shape, to watch their creative selves transform and grow.  

In recent years I’ve continued this mentoring in new forms, first as editor-in-chief of Ardden Entertainment, then as a freelance editor and, most recently, through the launching of my Imagination 101 writing workshops.  Teaching the workshops has been a genuine delight.  You can’t beat sitting in a conference room for an entire weekend, working intimately with aspiring writers:  answering their questions, dissecting their ideas, enjoying the electric atmosphere generated by a group of enthusiastic, creative people.  

The workshops will continue—my next one is in Massachusetts in April and I’ve got more planned for upstate New York and New York City later in 2012—but I’ve also seen a need for a one-on-one mentoring program.  Toward that end, I’ve joined with two partners to launch Creation Point Story Consultation.  CPSC will provide anyone who’s interested with a chance to get feedback, analysis, hands-on editing and sincere encouragement as they build their imaginary worlds from the ground up.  Perhaps you’ve got an idea for a comic book that you’ve been wanting to develop for years, or a half-written graphic novel, a first draft screenplay, even The Great American Novel.  Creation Point Story offers you a chance to work with skilled mentors who will help you bring that work to the next level.  

Joining me in this endeavor are Derek Ivan Webster and Cody DeMatteis.  I first met Derek about a decade back when he was head of the story department at the Los Angeles based Acme Talent and Literary.  His job was to work with the screenwriters that the agency represented, dissecting their scripts and offering insights and analysis to help the writer’s vision manifest with more clarity and impact.  I was impressed with Derek from the start:  his understanding of the elements that make a great story was, and remains, powerful and impressive.  Derek and I have collaborated on several projects over the years—we’re working on a novel at the moment—and we hatched the CPSC concept together as a way to extend that collaboration.  I first met Cody when he was born.  Yes, he’s my son (and, as such, you could say he was my first writing student), but he’s also a highly skilled editor who’s worked in the trenches at both Boom! Studios and Devil’s Due, shepherding story and art through the entire creative process.  (As a result, Cody knows more about the day-to-day mechanics of producing comic books than I do.)  These days he works in the television business, on staff at Cartoon Network’s hugely successful spinoff, Adult Swim.  Cody’s got the kind of mind that’s always working outside the box.  His insights into story, and life, are funny, deep, unique and unexpected.  I’d want him as a partner even if we weren’t related.

We're working a few kinks out of the CPSC site—so, for now, if you're interested in our services, send an email to:

Story.CreationPoint@gmail.com

Maybe we’ll find ourselves working together soon.