Nightmare House (Part Two)

I wrote a short story for Halloween. I'm going to post it in three parts for three days. 

Part One can be found here.

Here's part two:

Nightmare House, A Halloween Story

Part Two:

It was the Halloween night, and trick-or-treating had ended, easily our busiest time of the year. It’s tough to notice individual people in a big crowd, but somehow, this little boy caught my attention. He looked about eleven or twelve years old and his eyes were kind of bright and kind of hollow at the same time.

I figured that he was going to be one of those mean kids. I’m not proud of this, but I kind of enjoy watching the mean kids get scared. They’re the ones who try to show how fearless they are by making fun of demon house, which usually means mocking me and ruining my act. I’ve had kids throw trash at me more times than I’d like to admit. Sometimes they shout me down during my introduction, which, as I mentioned, is the only good part of my job. This is going to sound a little silly, knowing what's about to happen to them, but those kids hurt my feelings. They don’t know what I’m planning. As far as they know, I’m just some working stiff who they push around for selfish amusement.

So, back to this kid. I thought he was going to be a jerk, so when his group got to the front, I gave them the best, most mock-proof “Welcome to Nightmare House” spiel I could muster. But the kid was quiet and respectful the whole time. When I was done, a few of the youngest kids gave a tiny applause and he joined in. He seemed to be nothing but polite. I had no time to figure him out because they were all in the house in less than a minute. I shut the door and stood back as the nightmares began to come to life.

As usual, the room came to life with skeletons, zombies and clowns. There was a kid who seemed to be dreaming that he had poisoned himself (I hate watching the smart kids. They always come up with the worst psychological tortures to inflict on themselves.)

That’s when I noticed the worm. I had been working for Nightmare House for years, so I’d seen pretty much every imaginable fear in some form or another. But I had never seen anything quite like that worm before. It was the size of a small dog and growing fast. It had skin that looked like my demon bosses’ skin, except folded into worm segments. It was oozing a putrid purple vapor and it seemed to be growing tentacles that could be feelers or extra heads. It seemed to be chewing on the remains of something that was probably once human. Again, descriptions can’t do it justice. It just gave me a really awful feeling. And it was about to get worse when I noticed that no one seemed to be looking at the worm beast. What if it wasn’t a nightmare? What if this thing was actually in the room with us? By now, the worm had grown to the size of a small car and showed no signs of slowing. Watching other people’s nightmare come to life had always been more disturbing than scary to me, but this thing was flat out terrifying.

The creature started to advance on the boy with the strange eyes. It must be the boy’s nightmare after all, but that thought did little to comfort me. How did a kid even imaging a thing like that, even in a nightmare? Is he psychotic? Or…is this something he had seen before?

Somehow, over the usual sounds of screaming and panic, I became aware that the boy was talking softly. No, he was chanting, chanting in a language unlike anything I had ever heard before. And the more he chanted, the slower the nightmares seemed to move. Then, the nightmares started disappearing. Not all at once, as they usually do when a tour ends, but one at a time. And, for the first time, kids were coming out of their trances at different times, so the first to break the spell could clearly see they were standing in a room full of nightmare illusions and traumatized children. Then, just like that, all the remaining nightmares vanished, along with my demon bosses. The little boy yelled, “everyone get out of here!” and all the other children took off either out the exit or back through the front door, until there was no one left in the room except the boy and me.

He turned on me and asked, “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, trying to shake off my own fear as fast as possible, “there’s just this one room.” From inside, without the distraction of the illusions, Nightmare House was very clearly made of just four plywood walls.

“Think hard. Where else could they have gone?” He asked, sounding very serious. It seemed like such an absurd question. Where could they have gone? My demon employers had never told me about any escape plans. Thinking harder was not going to change that. Somehow, the urgency of the moment forced an idea to form. Nightmare House had a few cheesy decorations to help convince people that this was a normal haunted house. One of these decorations was a fake door, covered in fake chains to imply that there was some kind of fake monster behind in. Most of the decorations went on the outside of the house, but the door was the only one that fit on the inside.

“Over there.” I said, “Try the fake door.” The kid ran to the door and flung it open as if that were the most natural suggestion in the world. If it had been a fake door, the boy would have opened it to see a plywood wall. If it had been a regular door, it would have opened into the parking lot outside, where, no doubt, an angry mob of parents would be demanding to know just what was going on here. The door was neither of those things. Instead it opened to reveal a staircase, a staircase which led up to what looked like the inside of a steeple tower. From this angle, the tower looked disturbingly like the fake, four-foot plywood tower I fixed to the top of Nightmare House. That is, if that prop tower had been real. The boy started up the stairs. “Come on!” he called down to me.

Going up those stairs felt like a horrible plan. But then, so did staying behind, so I decide to follow and see how it all played out. After all, I knew these demons. Maybe I could still smooth this over and keep this kid out of trouble. “

They’re not as bad as they seem,” I said in my most parental voice as we climbed the staircase, “they just need fear for food. They do this to stay alive.”

“Is that what they told you?” The boy responded without looking back at me. “They don’t eat fear. They’re using it for something else.”

I had slowly been feeling more confident ever since the worm beast disappeared, but those feeling of confidence were slowly being consumed by fear again. This was a different kind of fear than what I had felt when the worm beast appeared. That fear was panic, pure and simple. This new fear was dread. Deep-rooted, psychological, all-consuming dread. Why had I never questioned the stories about eating fear? I’ve spend the last several(?) years of my life years of my life taking the word of demons, for pity’s sake! Why had I gone along with all of this so complacently? This boy’s comments were removing all my suggestibility. There was no glamour left. Only more dread.

“What do they use fear for?” I asked. Despite my years of demon experience, this kid somehow seemed to know much more than I did.

“I don’t know,” he said, still not looking back at me, “but it won’t be good.”

“What can we do?” It was laughable to think that I imagined myself the adult in all this less than a minute ago.

“I can finish my spell. I was powerful enough to chase them away. Maybe the whole spell can destroy them.”

We were nearing the top of the stairs. I tried to remind myself that this would be okay. These were the demons I’ve known for years, right? It was tempting to think that this was somehow all a misunderstanding, but if I held out any naive optimism, I might fall victim to the glamour again. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of false hope. We were at the top of the steps.

(The third and final part of the story will run on Thursday, October 30.)

Nightmare House (Part One)

I wrote a short story for Halloween. I'm going to post it in three parts for three days. Here's part one:

Nightmare House, A Halloween Story

Part One:

Halloween is my busiest time of the year. I work for a haunted house, so that’s to be expected. You’re probably thinking Halloween should be my only time of year for that kind of job, but no. Nightmare House runs all year round. Yes, business is kind of lean in the winter months, but we get a steady stream of customers again in the late spring and all through the summer. Of course, nothing beats the crowds I see in October.

Nightmare House isn’t actually a house. It’s a little plywood shack that travels from town to town. We set it up in parks or empty lots, wherever they’ll have us. I book our appearances, get all the permits, take out ads, hang decorations, print flyers, sell tickets, lead the tours…whatever my bosses can’t do themselves. Yes, that is too much work for one single employee, but I get it all done.

Each night, right after sundown, all the kids line up and I lead one group at a time into the house. I like to take groups of ten in the off-season, but in October, I usually need to take groups of twenty or thirty kids at once. I like to wear dark clothes, a costume cape, and maybe a little stage makeup, if I’m feeling it. I lead each group to the corridor and tell them that they are about to enter a space where their worst nightmares will come true to haunt them. I’m not a natural performer by any means, but I like doing the introduction. It’s the only part of my job that’s even a little fun.

Then the kids walk into the house and I close the door behind them. Right away, they’re disappointed that it’s just a big empty room. They always expect the winding halls and creepy exhibits like you see at normal haunted house. But when their eyes adjust to the dark they notice that we are not alone in here. My bosses are in the room with us.

That’s when the nightmares start to appear. It usually starts with something small, like snakes or spiders. In less then a minute, the room is full of nightmares. Mad dogs, lightning bolts, whatever scares those kids. But, no matter how crowded the room gets, the kids don’t even seem to notice anything except their own, personal nightmare. I stand in the back and watch the room fill up with these awful things. I’m not really sure how it works. Believe me, I try not to ask questions. The simplest explanation is that my bosses are, for lack of a better word, demons.

I’m not sure if my three bosses are literally demons, I just know that they’re not human. They do look sort of human, at least that’s the appearance they take whenever they meet with me. But they don’t look quite right. For one thing, their skin and eyes have these sort of purple undertones that look unnatural. They also have a low pitch to their voice. I’m not certain a human larynx can produce that exact pitch. Actually, these descriptions don’t quite do them justice. Whenever they’re around, I get this feeling of uneasiness, like an instinct that tells me something is wrong. No humans could possibly mistake these guys for members of their own species. That’s probably why they need a human employee. I can sell tickets and book locations for them. If any of our customers had to interact with these guys, no one would ever come near Nightmare House.

I know what you’ve been wondering. When the kids face their nightmares, do they get hurt? Of course not. I’m not exactly the kindest soul you’ll ever meet, but I’m not a monster. My bosses just terrify them for ten minutes or so, then the nightmares disappear, and everyone runs out the exit and into the back lot where their parents are waiting. The first few times I saw it, I expected the kids to tell their parents everything that had just happened. Then the parents would call the police or something and I’d spend the rest of my days in prison for child endangerment. But the kids just talked about fake bats on strings, wax figures, garbled sound recordings from 1973, and all the other regular haunted house crap.

I guess Nightmare House puts some kind of spell on the kids so they don’t remember what happened. I don’t think the magic is perfect, though. When it’s over, the kids always look a little more rattled than they should. And we never get return customers. If I’m in town for a week I don’t see the same kids on Tuesday that I saw on Monday. The spell must not work on adults either. I go into that house with the kids every night and I’ve never seen any of my nightmares. I guess that’s why we only take kids and no adults. That’s another strange thing about Nightmare House. With any normal haunted house, you can be sure that some kid won’t go without one or both parents tagging along or there will be at least a dozen parents who won’t let their kids go in without a chaperone. But when families show up at Nightmare House, the kids just line up at the door and the parents wait at the exit as if it that was the only possible arrangement. Come to think of it, we never see any childless adults, teens or college students either. Like I said, don’t question it.

I think I’ve heard of spells like this before, but only in fiction, of course. They’re called glamour spells. They make people see or think things that aren’t real. As I recall, for the spell to work, the victim needs to be open to the suggestion first. Glamour spells can’t make you believe anything unless part of you wants to believe it. I guess these kids really want to believe that nothing horrible really happened to them.

You’re probably wondering why actual demons would bother using their magic to run a traveling sideshow. Simply put, fear is like food to them. If they stop scaring people they starve to death. I suppose in the olden days, demons would run around terrorizing humans to sustain themselves, instead of finding willing volunteers. That actually makes this whole operation seem a little less nasty, if you ask me. I mean, what other creature can eat without killing anything? These guys just mess with their victims for a few minutes then send them back, physically unscathed and able to go on with their lives. Heck, their only victims are people who are asking to be scared. Sure, it’s lousy that they only prey on children with this arrangement. And it would be better if they didn’t have to scare them quite so much. And, yes, it’s a little unscrupulous that we charge admission for the whole thing, but I have to get paid somehow. I can’t eat fear.

I don’t remember how I started working here. I probably started the way anyone takes any bad job: I convinced myself that I really needed work and I would only do it this for a little while. But then the years piled on, I really can’t remember how many, and now I’m not sure I could quit. I mean, I don’t think my bosses are dangerous, but I’m not looking forward to their reactions if I ever bring them a letter of resignation. And I’m not sure how I would find another job after this. The longest running job credit on my resume would read, “Haunted House Worker.” Add that to the disadvantage of starting a new career at my age. Actually, I’m not sure how old I am. That’s the kind of thing most people remember, isn’t it?

(Part Two will run on Wednesday, October 29) 

The Costume Dress

Each October, whenever my errands take me to the mall or anywhere reasonably close to a Halloween store, I like to take a look at the costumes. I usually put together my own Halloween outfits, but that doesn't stop me from checking out everyone else's potential costumes. I guess I like knowing what different people are into each year. 

Lately, I've noticed an odd trend in kid's costumes, specifically the costumes for girls. Designers have been dreaming up these outfits that are not actually costumes, but character themed dresses. For example, instead of dressing up as a My Little Pony character, girls can wear a dress in their pony's colors. The dress sports a tutu skirt, a T-shirt style top with a picture of the pony on it, and it comes with a head piece that features tiny ears and a little lock of puffy hair. Is the outfit pony inspired? Absolutely. Yet, no one will think that kid is actually dressed as a pony. Other characters to get the dress treatment are Hello Kitty, Sonic the Hedgehog, Pikachu, Batman, Spiderman, and all the Ninja Turtles.

This design choice begs the question: do little girls actually want character dresses or would they rather have more accurate costumes? Is this really the design that most girls prefer? Or is this design just cheaper to mass produce? Or are designers just incapable of imagining little girls wearing anything other than poofy dresses? I can't speak for kids today, but when I was a small child, I wanted to look like the character I was playing, and settling for a character-themed dress would have felt like a waste of a Halloween.

And yet…

When I was a teenager, I remember reading a short article in a gaming magazine about a Pokemon-themed ball gown. This was not a child's costume, this was formal attire for an extremely upperclass high society masquerade ball where everyone had to wear costume-themed gowns or tuxedos. If anyone arrived in a traditional costume the other guests would probably drop their monocles into their champagne glasses. And for what is was, the Pokemon gown was really nice. It was Pikachu yellow and it had little pokeball pins holding up the scalloped edges of the skirt. I don't know if it was the dress itself or the fact that someone had actually combined video games and women's formal attire, but I liked that dress. So it's not impossible for me to believe that some little girls would prefer the costume dress to a traditional costume.

Of course, the role of the costume dress may be something different altogether. My cousin, the mother of two young daughters, pointed out how often costumes double as play clothes these days. It's not unusual to see little girls wearing their Disney Princess gowns to the playground, Kids of all ages and genders wear costume-themed hoodies to school and such. Animal-ear hats have never been more popular. I'm a big fan of this costume-clothes trend. I think it helps kids express their interests while encouraging them to live up to the heroic attributes of the characters they take with them. (Or maybe I just like costume clothes. Either way.) So, if girls are planning on wearing these Halloween costumes year round, maybe parents are more comfortable putting them in a dress that can be mistaken for regular dang clothes instead of letting them run around the playground in a full Hello Kitty mask. My cousin even suggested that some parents are buying multiple costumes for their daughters - the actual costumes for Halloween night and the thematic dresses for everyday wear.

I guess the best thing I can say about costume dresses is that they give girls more choices, and choices are almost always a good thing. (Of course, the more effeminate, harder to design characters like My Little Pony and Hello Kitty seem to only exist in dress form, but that feels like a whole other issue, so I'm gonna move on.) My only big complaint is how many costume shops confusingly categorize the dresses as "girls' costumes" and everything else as "boys' costumes." I have noticed a few shops that designate their costumes as "kids' costumes" and "girls' costumes" which is more accurate (and, I imagine, these labels would sell more merchandise.) Personally, I would label them "kids' costumes" and "costume dresses." Then there would be no confusion.

Parents of daughters, if you haven't gone costume shopping yet this year, I strongly advise you to find out which version of the costume your kids wants before money changes hands. This is another precious opportunity for kids to choose how to express themselves, which is one of the best things* about Halloween.

*Aside from candy.

-Marj

www.lepusstudios.com

I Made an Animated Short

I made a short animated cartoon called Cookie Tree. It's about a stuffed turtle. You should watch it and share it with all your friends.

I've been working on and off on this short for about nine months. Here's the story of how Cookie Tree was made:

Cookie Tree started as a project for my animation class. I teach a weekend/summer class on Flash animation to kids, who generally find it difficult, but rewarding. Years ago, some of my students started complaining that making movies in the time allotted was impossible. To prove that it was, indeed, possible, I started making animated shorts along with them. During the school year, the students have, roughly eight hours each month to work on their art in the computer studio. So I would give myself eight hours each month to work on my animations at home. At the beginning of each class, the students could check my work and measure my progress. (I have no plans to post those early shorts online, as I am equal parts proud and ashamed of them.) In the end, the experiment was met with overwhelming indifference. It seems that the students were not really concerned with how possible the assignments were. They just liked complaining. So I ended the experiment.

Fast forward to last November. This year's group of students were different. They might actually appreciate seeing a movie get made. Plus, it had been a long time since I animated anything and I thought it would be good for me to try it again. I had been wanting to make a good short for myself and for my web audiences. Animation class might be a good excuse to make myself start something. I decided to announce the project as soon as I finished the concept sketches.

Coming up with a concept was simple. Each year, our project director gives the students a theme - a broad topic for their art. This year's theme was The Life of a Toy. So I decided to make a short about a stuffed bear who has to go on a short quest through his family's back yard. Only I didn't know what he was questing for or why. 

The rest of the story came to my one evening as I was watching my one-year-old nephew. He was sitting in a bouncy chair, holding a small plush toy. Not surprisingly, he dropped the little animal and it fell to the ground below his feet. The poor kid started stretching a fussing as he hopelessly tried to pick up his little friend. As I handed it back to him, I thought about how frustrated he must have been to have something that he wanted go just barely beyond his grasp. I realized that was what my story was missing. The stuffed animal in my film should be helping a baby. The toy could come to life when only his kid was around and help him do thing that babies can't quite do for themselves. Since my nephew has an impressive collection of plush turtles, the bear became a turtle instead.

First concept drawings

After the kid went home, I finished the concept sketches, most of the storyboard and, later, the animatic. I presented them to my students the following week. This pre-production stuff carried over to the final project pretty faithfully. 

Here's page one of the storyboard, which was later scanned and turned into an animatic. The frame where the turtle wipes his nose was dropped. So was the cookie close up (you can see that frame is maked with an "X") Everything else is in the final film.

Even though the movie would only run for three minutes, it was an ambitious concept for one person to animate alone. I remember joking that I might one day be showing a newly finished film to a confused, fourteen-year-old nephew, who would ask "Why did you make me a baby?" And I, bitter from 13 years of animation, would reply, "because shut yer mouth, that's why."

Now that I was ready to start making the actual short, I figured it would be best to begin with the backgrounds. I decided that as long as I was challenging myself, I would really push myself outside of my comfort zone. Usually, when I animate, I draw the character frames by hand and then create the backgrounds digitally. This time, I decided to do the opposite - paint the backgrounds and draw the characters directly in Flash. I started painting the backgrounds shortly after Christmas. I used watercolor pencils for a clean but sketchy look. I had just received a set of rendering markers for Christmas, which I used to add the outlines. Since I was limiting the time I could spend on the project each week, the backgrounds took about a month.

One of the hand-painted backgrounds. The short used fourteen different backgrounds and five painted branches.

Character animation went quickly at first. I placed the backgrounds, drew rough shapes to represent each character, then gradually replaced each rough shape with a finished character made from shapes and lines. That gave me the clean look I wanted, but it was a little tedious and made fluid movements difficult, especially on the human characters. If I ever make another short in this fashion, I'll probably use the digital paint brush for characters outlines.

By the time spring classes had ended, I had finished all the turtle animations, some of the baby animations, and none of the father animations. I squeezed in a voice recording session with my brother-in-law so the movie would be slightly coherent when showed it to my students, with the promise that it would be finished by the time summer classes started up in July. At this point, the limited time rule had also gone out the window and I was giving this project all the time I wanted. (Well, maybe not all the time I wanted. I still finished my comics and went to work and stuff.)

Of course, every project like this has at least one set back, and mine came about four weeks before the film was due. My computer had started running slow and was becoming a little unreliable. In June, it actually destroyed an Urban Underbrush comic, which I grudgingly re-colored hours before it posted. Then it stopped opening the Flash editor, which is kind of important when you're making a Flash movie. I couldn't tell if it was the computer or the Flash program that had gone bad on me, so I took my computer to the shop, where it was diagnosed with faulty sensors. (I already told that story here.) A three-day repair job ended up taking more than a week. I would never have finished on time if my sister, Emily, hadn't lent me her laptop. I was pretty close to the end of the short, so it only took one night of computer-borrowing. I was never happier to stay up all night working on something.

So the animation was finished, but the film had no music. My sister Liz, the musician of the family, had offered to write the music. (I'm making her something in return. I can't talk about it yet, but it will be awesome.) However, since the action scenes have no sound effects, the music had to compliment the actions. The music had to match the timing of the animation, which meant that Liz couldn't even start the music until all the animation was finished. I gave Liz a version of the film and told her that the movie didn't need to debut on the first day of class. As long as it was finished before the first week was up, we'd be okay. We also looked at a few shorts and discussed what the tone of the piece should be. Liz is great to work with. She adds her own ideas, but she also really listens to what I had in mind. The music took Liz a few days, but she nailed it. The movie ended up with a score that feels like a blend of classic pop, video game soundtracks, and storybook themes. I guess that's about right.

I did a little adjustments to the animation to make sure everything was clear, threw in the rest of the sounds (birds chirping and baby crying) and hit the publish buttons.

The movie was presented to my class on July 11. Of course, by this point, it was much more than a teaching tool. I had planned on posting it online to share with my family, friends, and internet followers. A few of my cousins have already seen it before it went live. But it was nice to have my class as a jumping-off point. If I didn't have a reason to make this film, even a reason that I, myself, had invented, I would probably never had finished, possibly never had started.

Thanks to everyone who helped make the film and thanks to those of you who watched it. You make my work possible.

-Marj

www.lepusstudios.com

Voices

Last weekend, I went to Anthrocon (Pittsburgh's furry convention) and got a hug from a stranger who I've known all my life.

I usually visit the con on Sundays to check out the dealers and bug Chris Paulsen. This year, I bought a full attending pass and went every day.

Because this year, they were doing panels and autographs with cartoon voice actors.

This summer, the guests of honor were the amazing Lee Tockar and (wait for it…) the legendary Mr. Jim Cummings! 

Lee Tockar is best known for performing characters for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic and Transformers Beast Wars. He's also a driving force behind FanBuilt, a community for creative people (which all of you creative people should go check out.)

Now, if you don't know Jim Cummings, I can't possibly explain how awesome he is in the space provided. I'll summarize by telling you that he's best known as the voices of Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, The Tasmanian Devil, and roughly 25% of the Disney Afternoon characters from the 80's and 90's. (Then, I'll urge you to google him and learn more.) There are few people on earth that I would be more interested in meeting than Jim Cummings. As soon as I found out about this year's guests, I bought a weekend pass on the spot - fearing that once word got out that Jim Cummings and Lee Tockar would be visiting Anthrocon, all admission passes would instantly sell out and I'd be left cursing myself for my hesitation.

I need to tell you some stories from my shady past before any tales from this weekend will make sense. First of all, I have never aspired to be a voice actor and I'm very comfortable with my place at the drawing table. Yet, when I turned fourteen and actually started reading the credits of cartoon shows, I found myself remembering the actors' names rather easily. In the beginning, I was only interested in creators. I wanted to know who to admire for making these great stories, great art, and (above all else) great characters. But most cartoons have big teams of people to take credit for any ideas. It was impossible for me to know exactly who to put at the top of that pedestal. But if I knew who the actors were, then I always had one individual name that I could place on each character - or at least, that version of that character. So I started learning everything I could about voice actors. Keep in mind that there was no proper internet back then, so if you were a "voice chaser" (which was a stupid name people once used to describe fans of voice actors) you had to learn to identify them by the sound of their voice and glean the occasional write-up from newspapers and kids' magazine interviews. And these people were fascinating. They all seemed to have amazing lives, kind hearts, and great humor. (They're pretty much what you wish Hollywood actors were like.) Don't get me wrong, I had great fun learning about cartoon creators. But that was always a little academic, as I knew I was doing research for my own future projects. Learning about voice actors was pure indulgence.

In 1997, a year before I graduated high school, I drew my first serious comic book. It was an eight page book called Small Town Showdown, and it featured the first appearances of Cassidy, Maxwell, Vincent, Clayton, Blair, and Leslie. (Clive appeared almost a year later in a comic called Flip Side.) For reasons that even I can't fully comprehend, I used an old publicity photo of Jim Cummings as the model for Vincent. As the years went on, Jim and Vincent both changed in appearance. Perhaps the only common features remaining are the wide noses and some fly-away hair (although Vincent's hair is much messier now.)

Early version of Vincent and the photo I borrowed for reference

Of course, teenage me could never imagine Jim Cummings ever, ever, ever finding out about this. But adult me, who was trying to think of a way to tell Mr. Cummings how much he has meant to me, I couldn't think of any other story to tell. So, I thought up an "elevator pitch" version of the events listed above, wrote it on the back of an Urban Underbrush postcard (yes, I have those) and brought it with me to present to Mr. Cummings at the convention. I usually don't get nervous at these things anymore (heck, I once sang karaoke in front of the National Cartoonist Society) but in that autograph line, I was feeling anxiety like I hadn't felt in years. Finally, when my turn came, I awkwardly told Jim my story and handed him my postcard. Jim thanked me graciously and shook my hand. Then he changed his mind about ending with a handshake and gave me a hug. And here, I had been thinking a handshake was too much to hope for.

That's Jim on the left and me on the right, in case you were confused.

In the afternoon/evening, I attended all of the voice actor panels. Of course, both guests were funny and charming and everything was alright with the world.

The next day, things got weird.

On Saturday morning, I was ready to attend Jim Cumming's second panel (the Second Cummings) and my sister Liz came with me this time. The panel was late to get started, so, to keep the crowd busy Robert Bourke,  the moderator, asked if there were any artists in the audience who would be willing to try and draw Jim Cummings.

Liz immediately started shaking my arm and emphatically whispered "You have to do this! Everything has lead to you doing this." Then she handed me a sharpie, which she apparently produced from thin air. I expected four or five people to draw caricatures, but (surprise) I was the only person who accepted the challenge. I ran my 90 second caricature to the front of the room. The moderator thanked me and held up my drawing to the crowd and I waved and bowed while they applauded and it was all pretty funny. 

Unfortunately, they had to postpone the panel, due to the late start. Fortunately when it started up at it's new time, both Jim Cummings and Lee Tockar were able to attend together. 

Me and Lee Tockar. I'm on the left this time.

Again, it was a fun show, but just as things were wrapping up, the moderator stood up and said, "Yesterday, one of the fans drew Jim's portrait and we wanted to present it to him." And he carefully produced my increasingly sketchy-looking drawing and passed it to Jim. Then the moderator asked, "The person who drew this, is she here?" And I had to stand up. And everyone applauded. And, for the briefest of seconds, the world stopped spinning.

As I recall those moments went something like this:

Jim: Thank you. You drew this?

Me: Yeah, I, sort of gave you some art on Friday too.

Jim: I remember.

Me: I suppose I'm your regular portrait artist now.

Jim: I suppose you are.

Lee: I get one of those too, right?

Me: Sure.

(The panel continues while I sketch Lee Tockar)

In the days that followed, I've told that story to friends, relatives, grocery store check-out clerks, people at the bus stop (which was weird, as I never actually took a bus anywhere) and anyone else I've encountered. And it still doesn't seem real. Because this is not the kind of thing that actually happens to people. This is the kind of thing that happens to people in self-indulgent Mary Sue daydream fantasies that we make up to amuse themselves while the wait in line to glimpse our heroes in panels or autograph sessions. We never expect these things to happen.

But, sometimes they do.

-Marj

www.lepusstudios.com

Crash and Consequences

So here's how it is:

Thanks to some computer trouble, Draconis Wicked is going to have to take a short break. However, starting next week (Monday, July 7) Urban Underbrush will update on Mondays and Thursdays until Draconis returns on August 4.

Or, if you ever wanted to write a guest comic to help me get back on track, I probably wouldn't say "no" to one of those.

That should be all the info you need, but if you're interested in the long version, read below:


I've been busy lately, but it's been a good kind of busy. In addition to making comics, I've been preparing to teach my annual summer art classes, getting ready for a big family wedding, and making some art for one of the auctions at Anthrocon (Pittsburgh's Furry Convention). Not an impossible amount of work, but a fuller plate than I'm used to.

Still, this has been one of the worst times for computer trouble. So imagine my surprise when my computer started running slow and wouldn't open all of my art programs. When restarts, advice from online forums, and voodoo failed to fix it, I took my computer back to the store where it was quickly diagnosed with failing hard drive sensors. It's kind of like my hard drive had a terminal illness. It was going to gradually work less and less until it stopped altogether. (At least it gave me some warning so I could back up all my data.) To complicate things even further, my computer was a custom model, built to my specifications, which meant that it took the Apple Store five days to get the special parts they needed to replace the malfunctioning pieces. (At least it's still under warranty.)

If that wasn't enough, my printer/scanner seemed to have some kind of suicide pact with my hard drive, because it promptly stopped working forever as soon as the hard drive glitch was discovered.

Now this Murphy's Law-proving technology incident is finally getting resolved, but I'm still about to start teaching my two-week computer art class and I've been unable to create a buffer of comics to get me through those weeks, as I've done every other summer.

I've looked at this problem from every possible angle, and the only solution seems to be that I stop production of Draconis Wicked comics until summer classes are over, then give myself another two weeks to get caught up again.

However I can ramp up production of Urban Underbrush comics and fill the void. This is possible because:

1. Urban Underbrush is much quicker to color than Draconis Wicked.
2. Urban Underbrush already has a buffer of comics stashed away, as I was able to keep working on Underbrush, even when the computer was failing.

While we wait for Draconis to come back, I'll try to keep posting about all the other wonderful stuff I've been up to that's been helping to make this situation so difficult.

Management appreciates your cooperation. 

-Marj

www.lepusstudios.com

Comic "Stripped," Part Two: My Response

In my last blog entry, I reviewed Stripped a documentary on comic strips by cartoonist/film maker, Dave Kellett, and cinematographer, Fred Schroeder.

As I had mentioned previously, I’ve decided to write two responses to Stripped, a straightforward review, and a personal response. This is part two.

I have a lot of respect for Dave Kellett. His comic strip, Sheldon, was the first webcomic I ever followed (I believe I picked it up around 2005). So in 2011, when Dave announced that he would be making a documentary on comic strips, I was intrigued. I followed the project on twitter and threw in a few bucks for the Kickstarter campaign. I even shared the project on Facebook, Twitter, and on my blog (for whatever that was worth.)

As other followers and supporters of Stripped already know, the documentary was supposed to take only a year or two to complete. It was also supposed to be a much simpler project. But, as I’ve said before, sometimes the worst enemy to a good idea is a better idea. And as Dave and Fred gained more support, they quickly realized that they could surpass their original vision and build something truly remarkable. But it would take a lot more work and little more time. Being such good community builders, as well as conscientious businessmen, Dave and Fred promptly informed their followers that the projected deadline for Stripped’s release was being pushed back in order to make a better product. They were so professional and non-flaky about the delay that I can’t imagine anyone felt offended by the decision.

Personally, I am very grateful for the delay. Because while I was following the film’s progress in the abstract, cloudy realm of social media, I was also out in the real world, learning and having experiences. And these experiences would make Stripped much, much dearer to me.

First of all, while Stripped was being made, I learned a bit about filmmaking. Back in 2011, I was making a few animated shorts, partly to show my animation students and partly to satisfy my own artistic interests. I was also doing some film editing and archiving for my job as a technology assistant at a university. Of course, comparing my projects to an independent film is a bit like comparing a grocery list to a best-selling novel. But my own little experiences gave me an idea of how a cartoonist’s skill set and a filmmaker’s skill set could fit together.

Then my sister, Liz, got involved with an indy film in the area. I had very little to do with her job, aside from lending her some props and helping her dye a few costumes to the perfect shade of imitation filth. But from the few projects I assisted with, and mostly from Liz’s stories, I learned just how hard it is to make a movie, especially when you’re a small studio. When Stripped began I remember one of the directors tweeting this bit of trivia: only one in five indy film projects is ever completed. I was amazed that the number was so small. How could people start a project so labor intensive and not finish? How could they just waste whatever time, money, and passion they had already spent? But, by the time Liz’s job was over, and I had a better understanding of the process, I was amazed that as many as one in five films were finished. And my admiration of Stripped grew.

Also, while Stripped was still in progress, I got to meet a number of cartoonists who would be featured in the film. I met Stephan Pastis when he gave a lecture at the Pittsburgh Toonseum. I ran into Shaenon Garrity at a karaoke party the night before the 2013 Rueben Awards. Two days later, I talked to almost a dozen more Stripped cartoonists at the Pittsburgh Comic Arts Festival. (I still treasure that turtle Patrick McDonnell drew in honor of my Noko.) Many of these cartoonists even asked me about my own work. Some of them gave me autographs and sketches. One of them may have called me “sexy” (It was Dan Piraro and he probably says that to all the ladies. ...still…)

Aside from the artists I met in person over the years, I can’t even count the number of featured cartoonists who occasionally responded to me on twitter on in message boards.

I didn’t even notice how many of these little experiences – these brushes with famous people – I had accumulated until I saw Stripped. Suddenly, so many faces looked familiar. Instead of watching the interviews and thinking, “So that’s what that guy looks like.” I was thinking,“Hey, I remember that guy.” At this point I was feeling so involved, I was starting to feel like a part of the movie.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I was a part of the movie.

In Chapter Seven of Stripped, there’s a neat little discussion about how cartoonists use social media to interact with their audiences. To illustrate that concept, the documentary shows a screen capture of Brad Guigar’s twitter feed. And they just happened to have taken that image from a day when I responded to one of Brad’s tweets. So, in that screen cap, you can very clearly see my full name and the Lepus Studios logo (my twitter avatar) in the actual movie.

You can spot this at exactly 56 minutes into the film.

When I first saw my own name and artwork on the screen, it didn’t quite sink in right away. A part of my brain was saying “It’s a tweet from you on a screen. You see this all the time.” But then, another part of my brain was saying, “No, this time it’s different and it's more important. Wake up and figure out why is this is different.” Then it sunk in. I was a part of Stripped. I don’t want to get too egotistical about my accidental inclusion. It’s a bit like being an extra in a movie. It’s cool to see yourself there, but you have no delusions about being a star. Still, this documentary is monumental and I am honored to have been included in some small way.

Over the years, it was very cool to watch the making of Stripped and to have been given the opportunity to watch it's journey along side my own journeys as a cartoonist. For me, one of the most inspiring moments of the film was when Bill Watterson points out that an audience doesn’t need to give an artist it’s time, so the artist must reward it’s audience for whatever time is given.

Between 2011 and now, plus the time spent actually watching the film, any time I gave Stripped was time well spent.

-Marjorie Rishel
  www.lepusstudios.com