Hank Speaks.

Who were you, Hank?

Who was I, Kid? Legend… in my own mind. Like all the men ‘fore me. Ruthlessly strong, but so unfortunately young. Innocent in my deeds so much as compelled by them…

I was the shining scourge of this underworld. My posse rising from the dust around me on devilish mare and spectral horse. Our eyes dark as dusk, but we rose with heart. Heart burning strong with the fire of the setting sun. We had all lived lives of great glory and pursuit, and in that, we shared our death. Paving the lands of the unknowable, bringing the sunset. Bringing the fire.

We tamed lands, we awoke the plains with life. Free from time and boundaries, we burned the maps. Unshackled the prisoners and kept riding, let the die lay where they may.

Oh we faced opposition. We were not the first. There was always someone before, now washed out by the sifting sands. But we held strong to our passions in the long nights. In the dark times. Often only saved by the warmth of the cracklin’ fire. We tamed those beasts, just like the rest….

Heavens… it’s been so long since those days. Lineages have crumbled, galaxies have formed. Stars have collapsed, even…more than likely in our name…

Well… what happened?

What always happens. You get old. But ah…how do you die? You’re already dead. You decay, you lose your form. You lose your mind, you fall prey to the darkened soul…

The consciousness is unlimited. Timeless, and in so formless. Left here with only the power of your mind, your world is yours. But we as unique form can only hold so much life. Only so much rain in the old bucket, rotted through with a sharp rust. Time doesn’t age you, of course, we are free of time… but it is the perception that does you in. The expectation.

You expect to be old. You lose pride and let the wounds come. Then you heal and you let them come again. You lose strength, you lose faith…. Those who followed in your glory, die away… Done in by a ruthless betrayal. A wicked turn.

Your compass gets cracked when you’re bucked from your horse. Scared by a damned snake in the grass, who by the way, never really existed in the first place!

You lose your way in the dust, hide yourself in the rocks…

I ain’t asking for much anymore…Nah…Just the sun to shine and the people to see on their journeys.

Now listen here, alright? Our strength is in each other. With each other, we are ourselves. Y’see? I rode with that posse like a seed on the wind. We were brothers, but each with it’s own fertile soil. Set to be born, to grow, and to further the idea.

I show them the way, one way. I show them the path that lies off the trail and into the brush. Through the bramble of their own minds. The only knowledge worth knowing, is that of the self. The first hand. That’s what makes us, and here, it makes the world around you too…If you believe it enough. 

But if everyone has that power?

The survival of You depends on what you believe as truth. 

Heh. I am fading now. Wasting away…. The further you sink back to reality, the older you get… You forget… You’re not here. You’re really… really right there. Right where they left you…

A little in-progress piece of the main characters of Sundrop. I liked the idea of bubbles as a visual metaphor. It’s symbolic but also a literal representation of how this world of consciousness works. Every mind builds its own little bubble of reality around itself. Those of greater awareness hold more influence, and their bubbles extend to others. Sundrop, the town, is Henry(the old cowboy)’s bubble.
Still struggling with Church’s design (it’s on the right). I’m fighting the idea of cutting it all together, cause I like the visual moments it creates in my mind at least. But storywise I’m not finding a lot for it to do, other than be a companion for Henry. His “man of action” of sorts. Maybe that’s enough?
Thanks for lookin’!

A little in-progress piece of the main characters of Sundrop. I liked the idea of bubbles as a visual metaphor. It’s symbolic but also a literal representation of how this world of consciousness works. Every mind builds its own little bubble of reality around itself. Those of greater awareness hold more influence, and their bubbles extend to others. Sundrop, the town, is Henry(the old cowboy)’s bubble.

Still struggling with Church’s design (it’s on the right). I’m fighting the idea of cutting it all together, cause I like the visual moments it creates in my mind at least. But storywise I’m not finding a lot for it to do, other than be a companion for Henry. His “man of action” of sorts. Maybe that’s enough?

Thanks for lookin’!

"I want to help these souls." Henry said.
 "You do." Marga assured him.
 "I want to be there for them. Keep showing them the way…"
 "You are."
 "I still have the strength. The knowledge. I’ve lived lifetimes, through myself and through others… I can still lead them."
 "You can. I’ve seen it."
 "Then… then why do I feel so darn… tired all the time? Like I’m falling to pieces… Dyin’ all over again…”
 "Because nothing is eternal. The power of life is in its brevity. It holds on to us for meaning, but finds ultimate power in the letting go."
You taught me this, Hank.”
The two sit in silence for a few moments.
"And yet…we’re still here." Henry said.
 "We are." Marga assured him.
—-
More comic stuff. A little exchange between two of the main characters. Henry, the town Sheriff, and Marga, a reclusive witch. They’ve lived a long life in the town of Sundrop, and have formed a special bond because of it.

I want to try to post more comic stuff. I’ve been holding a lot of it close to the chest, but I’m starting to feel the need to show it. See if it really interests anyone other than me, see if there’s any future in these ideas.
Thanks for lookin’, enjoy!

"I want to help these souls." Henry said.

"You do." Marga assured him.

"I want to be there for them. Keep showing them the way…"

"You are."

"I still have the strength. The knowledge. I’ve lived lifetimes, through myself and through others… I can still lead them."

"You can. I’ve seen it."

"Then… then why do I feel so darn… tired all the time? Like I’m falling to pieces… Dyin’ all over again…”

"Because nothing is eternal. The power of life is in its brevity. It holds on to us for meaning, but finds ultimate power in the letting go."

You taught me this, Hank.”

The two sit in silence for a few moments.

"And yet…we’re still here." Henry said.

"We are." Marga assured him.

—-

More comic stuff. A little exchange between two of the main characters. Henry, the town Sheriff, and Marga, a reclusive witch. They’ve lived a long life in the town of Sundrop, and have formed a special bond because of it.

I want to try to post more comic stuff. I’ve been holding a lot of it close to the chest, but I’m starting to feel the need to show it. See if it really interests anyone other than me, see if there’s any future in these ideas.

Thanks for lookin’, enjoy!

Some more or less recent sketches. I’m finding I want to explore more with thin pencils and lots of detail, tho am wrestling with the prospect of drawing a whole comic like that. Unfortunately I was never built for endurance, my creative energies come in spurts. I guess all I can do is keep trying.

The characters are still taking form. I do worry that my somewhat inconsistant style is impeding any progress… there is a part of me, however, that thinks it might actually be an interesting experiment given the reality this story would take place in. But ultimately I don’t really want to confuse the reader. And solid designs will come with repetition…

Thanks for lookin’, enjoy!

Some doodles for the comic idea. Chunky and loose, just trying some stuff out.

This is Marga. She is a woman of ritual. A witch, to put it plainly, practiced in the art of blood magic. She uses the blood of mammals to cast her spells; to exert her power over the earth and to commune with the greater universe. It was not a life completely chosen by her, a life full of scars. But it’s one she has come to embrace over time, forming a deep pride and respect for her gifts.

And then in walks Sketchy.

Is it dangerous to assign a personality to an aspect of your own personality?

So I was sitting here, brainstormin on my comic idea as I do a lot lately. And all of a sudden Sketchy pops up. And it works. Given everything I am trying to build on and explore in this story, when Sketchy just struts in and starts running the show, it just makes sense.

The world I am building exists in a space of conscious reality. A holding place of our conscious minds when we die. Without careening too far down into this mind pit, I basically want a world where anything can exist. A place where mind, idea, life all exist as one.

So if anything can exist, Sketchy can exist.

But you get the double whammy of that first point doesn’t even matter. Given the nature of Sketchy, he lives in my mind, in my world of ideas. And given his, forgive me, lore, he holds control over it, using his power mostly to be a dick, hoping into my stories and messing them all up. So there’s nothing stopping him from entering this world, as it is nothing but an idea in my mind. 

I may be getting too meta here… Especially considering I’m the only one who has any real idea what’s going on in my head. But I dunno, I guess it’s just fun sometimes to think about thinking. Where ideas come from, what we see in our mind, sex, drugs, and rock&roll.

Anyway, just a little mind puke. Trying to write stuff down a lot more lately, tell myself it will make it stick this time around. Going well so far, but I dunno if it’s interesting at all to anyone. Let me know, so I can feel better knowing I’m not just talking to myself. If I start that shit I am in real trouble.

SO BASICALLY…

It would be like Monkeybone except less Brendan Fraiser and maybe about even on the masturbation jokes. Something tells me I should watch that movie again…wish me luck.

Transition.

Where is the line that crosses “I want to make a comic” and “I’m working on a comic”? Is there one? Are you not “working” on it the minute you start thinking about it? Sketching out characters, thinking of stories?

For some reason I envision it in my mind as the minute I start the script. Even though I’ve done all this sketching, concepting, thumbnailing. I still feel in my mind this is a not for sure yet thing, but here I am, dreaming up entire lifetimes for these characters and putting fingers to keyboard. Pencil to paper and sketching, evolving these characters and this world. Everything I do, see, taste, new and old is an element in this universe. The characters are me, my mind split apart, spread across a cast of characters on the edge of reality.

But yet, I feel still so unsure about so many things that I still just feels like an idea, not a work in progress. Might feel that way all the way up till I get the thing printed, but the day that switch flips will be an important day.