This is an all-blogs' bulletin. I did not die. I am not ignoring your emails. I just had a shitty couple of days.

Bachelor party was awesome. Paintball, shots of absinthe, gambling (I came out $230 ahead), bars, strippers – everything a bachelor party should be. Except I did end up sharing a bed with a dude but it was a big bed, I knew the dude since the 2nd grade, and I didn’t want to sleep on the floor.

No complaints.

Got five hours of sleep and hit the road to go back to DC. The plan was to drop three of my people off, relax for two hours, and then drive to Durham.

Car broke down on the Jersey Turnpike. We were able to get it to a rest area. Transmission is dead. Just shot to fuck. It only drives in first and even then it’s making fucked up noises. We can’t even push it backwards when it’s in neutral.

AAA isn’t allowed to service the Turnpike so I needed to get a non AAA tow truck company. After waiting an hour they hitched me up and towed me two miles, off the turnpike. They charged me plenty of money.

Call a AAA tow truck. Wait an hour and a half. They pick us up (bigger cab, thankfully) and drive us over 120 miles to DC. Traffic, rain – all that good stuff. Since I don’t have AAA-plus (I upgraded yesterday, however), it ended up costing me four dollars a mile plus all the tolls. Towing, tolls, and tip ended up running me about $560 dollars (The driver was the bomb, he even managed to back-in park my car (which didn’t move backwards) so I can get another tow truck to pick it up later. It’s now 9PM and I still have a five hour ride to Durham ahead of me and no working car.

I got to Enterprise by National Airport and rent a car. I’m so pissed that I just get the premier car to cheer me up – it’s a Jeep Commando and, honestly, it’s pretty fucking sweet.

By the time I get home, pack, take care of some shit and get to bed it’s midnight on the button.

I wake up at 3AM and get on the road by 3:30AM. I’m fighting to stay awake.

Get to Durham at 8:30 and my class starts at 8:45. I sit through 8 hours of classes, in the front row because I got there so late, and struggle to keep my eyes open.

And now here I am. I have about a hundred emails to get to but all of your fuckers are waiting until at least tomorrow. I’m going to shower, go buy a steak, eat it, watch Heroes and Studio 60, probably pop one a couple of times, and go to bed by 11:30 at the latest.

Got class tomorrow starting at 9.

I know, you all want a new story. I'll do one, eventually. I had more important things to do, honestly, like make a quiz.



Go take it and see if you're more Gary Sinise than me!

I'll put a story up this week. Promise.

Maybe. Maybe I promise.

Within my first year at TAO we moved from our run-down offices in McLean, Virginia to a swankier setup in Reston. Further west, cheaper real estate. I was now taking two trains and a bus to work which was a pain in the ass but we had a much nicer spread and there were better lunch options/happy hour bars nearby. One of the new lunch joints was this Korean deli right in the lobby of our building – I’d go there almost every day for some breakfast and once or twice a week for lunch.

I was in the deli eating a cheese omelet, talking with my boy, Max, when the first plane hit.

The deli always had NPR playing over the radio. I remember the report first stating that a plane crashed into one of the twin towers; that the details weren’t known yet – the reporter was talking about the time a plane crashed into the Empire State Building and saying that that was on a foggy day. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky on this morning, everyone thought it was an accident. Max and I, both native New Yorkers, listened intently but not overly worried. We both admitted that it was fucked up but in that boyish way – the one where we have a little smile on our face because the whole scenario seemed unreal. Like it wasn’t really happening. We were picturing the monologue Dave Letterman would eventually give once they found out the pilot was drunk – we harkened back to the jokes we whispered as pre-teens when the Challenger blew up.

As of that morning, we still dealt with tragedy by making light of it and thanking God that it wasn’t happening to us.

And then the second plane hit.

We weren’t smiling anymore. We weren’t talking about bullshit prop-jobs flown by millionaire playboys with too many gin and tonics coursing through their veins. I remember Max saying it first, “This isn’t an accident.”

We cleared our trays and went up to the office.

Our coworkers were already setting up TVs and radios in several offices – huddling around them. I ran into an office and saw the images on the TV for the first time – the smoking buildings. Bob, my boss, asked me if I had any family working in the Trade Center. Shit sinks in – my entire family lives in New York. A lot of my friends, too. I run to the phone and begin dialing but no-one is answering; I’m getting “all circuits are busy” messages. Calling my dad’s cell. The home line. Whoever’s phone number I remembered. But nothing was getting through.

So I start shooting out emails and frantically checking to see if anyone responded. Going back and forth between my office (which had a radio) and the office next door (where there was a TV). I didn’t even try to call Robin – she was at work – started her new job in Washington DC about two weeks ago – and the day’s events didn’t really concern her.

But then the plane hit the Pentagon and I couldn’t get in touch with her, either.

We didn’t have cell phones at the time. I was trying to call her office but getting busy signals and error messages. Robin’s parents somehow got in touch with me – got through to my office line – and they were asking me if Robin’s alright. I told them I was trying to call her but I wasn’t having any luck. I told them that she’s probably fine, her office isn’t near the Pentagon or the Capitol – she was in Northwest DC and there’s nothing but apartment buildings up there.

I hear Max scream my name from the office next door.

I go inside to see a cloud a smoke and a message across the bottom of the screen that says one of the towers possibly collapsed. The room was silent.

The second tower collapsed and that’s when I started crying.

I grew up in Red Hook – directly across the water from The Towers – you could see them from almost any block in my neighborhood. I’d bring dates up to the roof of our building and we’d watch the sunset over the Manhattan skyline and the Towers were always right there. Sitting up there with my father on the 4th of July and watching the fireworks reflected off of them.

There has never been anything more real in my life than when those towers collapsed.

I’ve been through a lot of deaths. Those of you who’ve read this site last year know about all of them. My Uncle Alex, my Godfather, died of complications due to AIDS when I was in college. My cousin Steven – not even a teenager – also died as a result of the AIDS virus. My Uncle Michael, my confirmation sponsor, died two days after Christmas when his liver shut down. Nanny and Uncle Joe both died from emphysema.

But there has never been anything more crushing in my life, more shocking, than when those towers collapsed.

I finally get in touch with Robin. The news down here in DC was going ape shit. We’re hearing rumors of truck bombs going off outside the State Department building and snipers on the Washington Monument taking out suicide bombers on the lawn. Everyone is freaking out. Reports are leaking in about a plane crashing in Philadelphia – it turns out that one is true.

I’m calling Robin every thirty minutes while trying to get in touch with my parents. It takes about four hours but I finally talk to them – my mom’s crying and I can hardly get a word out of her. I find out everyone’s alright – my only relative who worked at the Trade Center was still on his way to work when the first plane hit. He was stuck on a bus in the Battery Tunnel – he climbed out of the window and walked to my parent’s house.

All of my relatives who worked in Manhattan were either at my parent’s house or on their way there. We were the only ones within walking distance of Manhattan – if you take the tunnel we’re only several miles from the Trade Center.

My mom was in the neighborhood when the first plane hit. My father was actually in Brooklyn Heights – right at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge – drinking a coffee – he heard and saw the plane hit, you couldn’t get a clearer view of the attack from Brooklyn. He went to pick Elizabeth up at school immediately.

My parents were telling me that there were papers all over the neighborhood from the towers – they drifted across the river and peppered our streets and back yard. They still have a stack of charred documents and post-it notes they picked up. They can’t bring themselves to get rid of it.

I started hearing from my friends, as well. Everyone was ok and walking back to Brooklyn.

The news was settling down. There was no bomb at the State Building. No suicide bombers on the Mall. Robin tells me she’s going to start walking back to the apartment.

There was this guy Ralph from my job – he was a real douchebag. I’m sitting in my office with a coworker, listening to the radio, and he comes in with a work-related question. My coworker just kind of looks at this guy and tries to answer. I wanted to say something, you know – I really despised this guy and I wanted to call him a cunt and remind him that we’re currently under attack – that people are dying and suffering and worrying right now.

But I held my tongue. I knew if I got started I would have knocked him out. Someone would have had to of pulled me off of him. I was too angry to get into a fight with anybody.

At around 3PM Max tells me he’s going to try and drive home. We both live in DC – all of the major bridges are closed off but we take a back way – Chain Bridge down through Embassy Row. It was surreal – every embassy had sentries standing out front – there were police everywhere and checkpoints at major intersections.

Max drops me off at home. Robin’s already there, watching the television. I go straight to my balcony – we were in Southwest at the time and I could see the Pentagon smolder from out there. The streets were empty – dead quite. Everyone was inside, in front of their televisions. I was watching the Pentagon burn and feeling helpless.

Our phone rings. Robin’s grandfather passed away. He’s been sick – Robin’s mother tells her that they wouldn’t let him watch the news – they hid the day’s events from him because they didn’t want him to see what was happening to his country. He was a WWII vet – he lost a brother in the war – and his last days shouldn’t be spent seeing all of this.

Robin wanted to go to Boston the next day – take a train. I agreed at first but as the day went on, I realized it was impossible. The planes were grounded – the trains weren’t even running and when they got back up everyone trapped away from home was going to try and get home. I had to tell Robin this. It was hard – she was saying she’ll go without me – but she eventually comes around and realizes that I’m right. Maybe I was being chicken-shit; part of me still feels like she blames me for missing her grandfather’s funeral. I think I’d blame her if it was the other way around.

Chicken-shit. That’s what I became after September 11th. I was a bleeding heart liberal before the attack. Now all I wanted was blood. I cheered when we bombed Afghanistan. We went out and bought our first car to help support the American economy. We bought cell phones so if we were attacked again; we had a means of communicating with each other. I supported the war with Iraq. I supported the Patriot Act.

On a flight to Florida I saw a man in full Muslim dress make his way to the bathroom. He was in there for a while so I reported him to the flight attendant. The flight attendants knocked on the door until he came out and then searched the bathroom.

Chicken-shit.

It’s really fucked up how easily I was manipulated – how easy a lot of us were manipulated. I had the fear for a long time. I was checking the news non-stop – hitting refresh every ten minutes at work in case something happened. It’s not until I got a hold of myself – until the fear left – that I realized how much I helped fuck things up. There’s no redemption at that point – I can rally against the administration and make fun of Fox News all I want but no matter how much I lash out I know I’m only trying to cover up my own mistakes.

I can look back at September 11th now and see it for it was. The worst attack to ever happen to this country. The most heartbreaking and terrifying morning of my life. An event that made me realize how much I love my friends, family – Robin – and how I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them.

I realize how helpless and insignificant we are – how our lives are controlled and manipulated by people with more power than us, on both sides. And it’s better to love the ones in my life than to spend time wondering when powerful men were going to kill me.

Labels: mitc

Everyone's doing it, I noticed Fossen doing it first.



In case you have no idea what that's in reference to, read the most read story on the MITC.
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Here’s a little fact none of you know, I sort-of-kind-of came up with the idea behind Civil War. Yup, it was my second horrible pitch I sent into Epic back when I first decided to make comics.

It was called “The Legislation”. Essentially, all of the superheroes (and some of the villains), began to feel inadequate – everything they were doing to “serve and protect” wasn’t really accomplishing anything. So, one-by-one, they started running for public office in order to serve the greater good. The Legislation kicked off at a time where everyone in the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government had superpowers.

But all they ever did was fight each other. The book opened on Magneto and Havok sitting towards the back of the Capitol (out of costume, of course) while Northstar filibustered some bill. Havok has enough so he stands up and blasts Northstar. Next thing you know a huge battle breaks out and the heroes destroy the Capitol. Again. The first issue ends with the Silver Surfer coming back to earth to enlist the help of the heroes only to discover that he needs to make them remember who they really are first.

It is, without a doubt, the worst idea ever that has ever been pitched to Marvel.

And I got my rejection letter within two weeks (before I got my rejection letter for Ask).

Let me backtrack a bit. What motivated me to submit a superhero story was reading a thread on X-Fan where the then-Epic submissions editor, Stephanie Moore, said that they were more inclined to green-light stories that feature their existing intellectual property. So this is what I came up with. Super Senators.

At least this time I sent the pitch to my boy Guam so he can look it over firs. Guam, I should add, never read or wrote a comic script in his life. He read it and told me he didn’t get it. So I changed a couple of things and sent it in without showing it to anyone else. You know, because there just wasn’t TIME to show anyone. They were getting MILLIONS of submissions a day. MILLIONS! And I need to get mine in ASAP. I was overnighting these submissions, no shit, hoping I’d get the edge over a couple of cats.

I still have the rejection letter at home (I have all my rejection letters). I forgot to include a self-addressed stamped envelope with my submissions (because I was in a rush to get it out) and the folks at Marvel were nice enough to supply their own envelope (with Spider-Man on it) and postage. They wrote “Re: The Legislation” on the envelope. Typical form letter, nothing exciting. Addressed to "Writer”. You can see it for yourself:



It inspired me, though. I pretty much realized after sending this in that it’s really not what they were looking for. What anyone was looking for, really. But the fact that I got rejected for this, first – before Ask - that inspired me. So I set out to write my third and final pitch for Epic – a one-shot called “Turk” about a supporting character in Daredevil. I’d get into it today, but it is way too delicious to tack onto the end of a story. Next week you’ll hear all about Turk, I’ll even post the script.

But let me spend a little time talking about what the home life was like – I thought I was going to be the biggest comic writer of all time. ASK was going to be approved, I knew it. Despite the fact that there were no Marvel characters in it and it was way heavy on captions and I plotted and wrote it in a single day I thought that this was it. My fucking ticket to a dream I held for all of three weeks.

Robin put up with me. “Ok, love. Don’t quit your job yet.” It’s funny what our women put up with – I try to wonder how I’d respond if Robin came to me telling me she wanted to be something along the lines of “comic writer” – how I’d respond. I’m a dick, so I’d probably say, “As long as you spend your own money.”

Anyway, Robin put up with a lot of me and my “comic shit”. Nodding and smiling the whole time. I’m making money in it now, though, so she can say, “I’ve believed in you from the start.” And that’s a good position for her to be in.

She still won’t let me quit my day job, though.

Labels: mitc

It gets a "Most Original Project Of The Year!" Factor of ten out of ten. Check it out.

There's a story coming tomorrow, by the way.

Labels: news

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