There is a pulverizing quote about writing. Along the lines of (at least initially) no one pays you to do it, and no one cares if you quit.
Finally, I put aside a project titled Tranch. One of those parallel realities bleeding one into the other tales. I just could never figure out what Tranch and his parallel - Danny - would do once they were in the room together.
I laid some serious track down, too, maybe as much as 25,000 words but I committed the unpardonable sin of not mapping the beast out beforehand. I know there are writers who like to show up and see what happens. I'm not that brave. Not that talented. And so I paid the price, a good three serious attempts come to fat jack nothing because I couldn't be bothered to solve the math/create the map before characters started blathering.
The Internet is to blame as well. And some ongoing health issues. Actually, the two twine. While doing occupational therapy stretches, I watch YouTube/BookTube. More specifically The Reader's Athenaeum and Chareads . The former Scottish, the latter British. As a boring white American, I'm a sucker for an accent. Also, strangely, it took me a bit to realize Kathryne (Reader's Athenaeum) is Gal Gadot's twin. I'm slack on noticing all sorts of things these days, lost in the electrifying intertwining paths of thumb spica orthotic, wrist flexor, Biofreeze, independent medical evaluators, myofascial release, secure L&I message centers, and so on and on and on.
The news an Absolute edition of The Killing Joke is on deck interested me enough to re-read the book. Then I poked around and found not only is Alan Moore's full script up online but apparently, Moore and Bolland originally included a super-duper-explicit image of Barbra Gordon included in the Joker's amusement park slideshow.
Despite Bolland's assertions ("I drew what was in the script. That's my job."), a little poking around reveals it was more Bolland's decision for the really, really, really explicit portion of the panel. Moore didn't go into excruciating detail on all the images thrust upon the good Commissioner Gordon. Bolland nabbed the rope and ran it off the spool.
I always remember my mom halted my Swamp Thing collecting after I foolishly showed her issue #29.
Memory holds the deal was sealed by Arcane revealing the whole sick crew -
- but firmly entrenched in my silver years and cognizant of #metoo, the credit splash is all so much more unsettling:
God knows what mom would have done with all my funny books if she'd come across DC editorial's stamp-of-approval upon a sobbing, shot, nude head-to-foot, abdomen bloodied Batgirl.
Besides comics books, I've been reading Lou Gehrig bios, Mary Oliver, and Jane Kenyon. For the latter, I wandered too deep into her biography and found she and husband Donald Hall attended an 'Eating The Pig' dinner. Photos were taken. Documents persist on the Ann Arbor District Library website.
No matter how much I enjoy Kenyon's poetry and find her early death sad as shit, upon mention or thought of Kenyon or the now deceased Donald all my brain forwards on the sprocket is this poor dead pig poking out from the bottom shelf of a fridge.
I'm sure I'm in the minority, being ever more troubled by the dead animal sourcing for some of Hall's vaunted poetry, rather than fictionalized DC female characters being slung into the trash compactor of geekdom's collective abhorrence of acknowledging the fairer sex as anything other than a motley assemblage of comely (and cum inducing) flesh, suitable solely for insertion into distress, even target practice.