WEEK ELEVEN: Manga Fantasy

This weeks assignment was based on a manga style to show fantasy.

I uploaded all the pages onto Google Docs so they would be all together.

Its a small comic based on an idea I had last summer due to the exclusion of some characters from a series. This was merely suppose to be a fanatical look at what they would be doing.

Basically kickin' ass and taking names!

CLICK HERE.

WEEK TWELVE: Submission guides

Here's the submission guide lines for  Drawn & Quarterly. (copy and pasta'ed from the site)

"Drawn & Quarterly

Submission Guidelines

Drawn & Quarterly welcomes submissions for consideration in a number of our publishing venues. We have a seasonal selection of general graphic novels, strip collections, and children's focused publications. We do not review scripts.

In the interest of keeping paper and postal costs to a minimum we no longer accept paper submissions, only electronic submissions. Here are the ways you can send your work to us, listed in order of preference:

1. E-mail a PDF sample of your project in progress. We will try to e-mail you an immediate, brief reply. PREFERRED.
   
   
2. E-mail us a website URL where you have already posted samples of your work. We will try to e-mail you an immediate, brief reply.
   
   
3. E-mail JPEGS of page samples, maximum 16 pages, no more than 1 MB in size each. We will try to e-mail you an immediate, brief reply.
   
   

E-mail website URLs, JPEGs or PDF samples of your work to: submissions@drawnandquarterly.com"

I noticed they typically only want completed pieces for their submissions. Especially true for the comics. They also tend to gear more towards Canadian artists as they are a Canadian based company. They do accept American artists but less so.

WEEK TEN: Mysteries

Mystery for Writing for comics

“Drowning in love.”

When Erin Matsuda’s teacher is murdered in a bathroom stall at the local café, Erin is determined to solve the case. Now if only the evidence would tell her what’s going on.

Summary:

·      Erin Matsuda and her two best friends are at a Café just hanging out before a movie starts.

·      They are briefly joined by one of their teachers who talks with them briefly before using the ret room accidently leaving her handbag on their table.

·      They wait for the teacher to return watching as 3 others use the restroom.

o   The 3 suspects.

·      20 minutes later they can’t wait any longer and the three discover the body of the teacher.

·      The cops arrive with Erin’s father, concerned over his daughter’s involvement.

·       She listens as they question the suspects. The last person to enter the bathroom was the ultimate suspect as his sleeves are wet. As they are about to be taken away, Erin declares that they have the wrong person and points to the second person to enter the rest room.

Solution:

·      A watch that’s water damaged to show the time of death.

·      Murderer tries to say that its been stopped for a while but Erin points out he gave the time to someone before going to the bathroom, there for his watch was working then but isn’t now.

o   Couldn’t have washed his hands, would have taken off watch.

Red herring:

·      The wet sleeves.

WEEK NINE: Break comic

So over spring break, I participated in the cartoon workshop. It was a great experience as I was able to learn quite a few things from both visiting artist.

Here's what I was able to do durring the workshop. Page 1 is complete at this point in time and the others are currently being finished.

 

 

 

WEEK SEVEN: Family Story

It may be hard to see, but the small comic is supose to show a small adventure half my family had when we went off the hiking path and ended up going down this steep slope. I was rather young and can really only remember handing on in chains of hands down to the next tree, having a lot of fun and then finally the kids of the group were slashing around in a stream.

So yea, silly.

WEEK SIX: Slice of Life

A teacher was getting really upset at his students. As my mother taught once upon a time, this was just more amusing to me.

WEEK FIVE: Self Portrait

I DONE GOOFED AND DIDN'T GET THIS SCANNED RIGHT. ITS SILLY AND REFLECTS A LOT OF MY DAILY ATTITUDE SO THAT WORKS I GUESS?

Link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B_9DOIIrvdIMUDlWM0tWUGFzXzA/edit?usp=sharing

WEEK FOUR: DREAM COMIC

Dreams don't always make sense. This one, while sort of embarrassing, at least makes sense in context that at the time I was watching a LOT of Rooster Teeth videos.

I originally had the picture but I guess it didn't work so I took it down. I STILL HAVE THE LINK HOWEVER.

LINK

The dream only gets weirder after that as Justin meets the people who do RWBY, accidentally insults someone in the crew, runs away, stays another night only to be invited to a party, finds out her uncle is weirdly there, makes up with Gavin and the RWBY people, and gets a job... But thankfully it was all too fuzzy in details to draw it as a comic.

THANKFULLY.

WEEK TWO: SCRIPT (currently not completed but first 7 pages)

THE NIGHT-BORN

By Jack London

CHARACTER NOTES

TREFETHAN: bald-headed and dewlapped, miner, He’s the one telling the whole story, 47 and old. “Grizzled mustache, the bald spot on his head, the puff-sacks under his eyes, the sagging cheeks, the heavy dewlap, the general tiredness and staleness and fatness, all the collapse and ruin of a man who had once been strong but who had lived too easily and too well.”

MILNER: miner. Around the same age as Trefethan.

BARDWELL: The guy who pretty much starts TREFETHAN entire rant and gets stuck along for the ride.

LUCY: she’s never named in the story sadly but considering she’s the only female character it makes it a bit easier. I LIED HER NAME IS LUCY WHAT DO YOU KNOW. Strong willed and determined. Has an accent.

Page 1 (2 panels

Panel One: Show the outside of the old Alta Inyo Club, probably in the more roguish parts of San Fran so look for reference on the older run down places. The setting for the year is 1910 so it’s relatively old and before both world wars so instead of cars show a cable car. Also maybe some rebuilding after the huge fire 4 years earlier.

Panel Two: A look through and open window, I’m picturing more of a bar scene than club. Lots of people drinking but its all tense and no speech bubbles.

Page 2 (4 panels)

Panel One: Close up on the 3 leads and maybe a random Bartender. After all, someone has to be refilling those drinks. MILNER and BARDWELL are amused at TREFETHAN’s pink completion as he takes another sip.

Panel two: Focusing a panel on TREFETHAN’s face now.

TREFETHAN: It was in 1898--I was thirty-five then… Yes, I know you are adding it up. You're right. I'm forty-seven now; look ten years more; and the doctors say--damn the doctors anyway

Panel Three: Black creeps in behind the panel as it shows a much younger TREFETHAN (use description below).

TREFETHAN’s words go in a box during a flashback: But I was young. . . once. I was young twelve years ago, and I had hair on top of my head, and my stomach was lean as a runner's, and the longest day was none too long for me. I was a husky back there in '98. You remember me, Milner. You knew me then. Wasn't I a pretty good bit of all right?

Panel 4: go back to present day TREFETHAN who is a much more broken man.

TREFETHAN: Well, look at me now. That's what the Goldstead did to me--God knows how many millions, but nothing left in my soul... nor in my veins. The good red blood is gone. I am a jellyfish, a huge, gross mass of oscillating protoplasm, a—a…"

Page 3 (3 panels)

Panel one: TREFETHAN takes a long drink as the other two look on.

Panel two: MORE FLASHBACKS. Show black.

BOX TREFETHAN: Women looked at me then; and turned their heads to look a second time. Strange that I never married. But the girl. That's what I started to tell you about. I met her a thousand miles from anywhere, and then some. And she quoted to me those very words of Thoreau that Bardwell quoted a moment ago--the ones about the day-born gods and the night-born.

Panel 3: Huge picture of the western lands aka the rockies. LANDSCAPPEEE.

BOX TREFETHAN: It was after I had made my locations on Goldstead--and didn't know what a treasure-pot that that trip creek was going to prove--that I made that trip east over the Rockies, angling across to the Great Up North there the Rockies are something more than a back-bone. They are a boundary, a dividing line, a wall impregnable and unscalable. There is no intercourse across them, though, on occasion, from the early days, wandering trappers have crossed them, though more were lost by the way than ever came through. And that was precisely why I tackled the job. It was a traverse any man would be proud to make. I am prouder of it right now than anything else I have ever done.

TREFETHAN BOX (bottom of the page):"It is an unknown land. Great stretches of it have never been explored. There are big valleys there where the white man has never set foot, and Indian tribes as primitive as ten thousand years ... almost, for they have had some contact with the whites. Parties of them come out once in a while to trade, and that is all. Even the Hudson Bay Company failed to find them and farm them.

Page 4: (ONE PANEL)

Panel one: ANOTHER DETAILED LANDSCAPE SO DESCRIBED BELOW.

BOX TREFETHAN: And now the girl. I was coming up a stream--you'd call it a river in California--uncharted--and unnamed. It was a noble valley, now shut in by high canyon walls, and again opening out into beautiful stretches, wide and long, with pasture shoulder-high in the bottoms, meadows dotted with flowers, and with clumps of timberspruce--virgin and magnificent. The dogs were packing on their backs, and were sore-footed and played out; while I was looking for any bunch of Indians to get sleds and drivers from and go on with the first snow. It was late fall, but the way those flowers persisted surprised me. I was supposed to be in sub-arctic America, and high up among the buttresses of the Rockies, and yet there was that everlasting spread of flowers. Some day the white settlers will be in there and growing wheat down all that valley.

Page 5: (4 Panels)

Panel one: FLASH BACK. MORE MOUNTAINNNSSSS this time with Dogs and Native Americans. COOL.

BOX TREFETHAN: And then I lifted a smoke, and heard the barking of the dogs--Indian dogs--and came into camp.

Panel two: INDIAN CAMP.

BOX TREFETHAN: There must have been five hundred of them, proper Indians at that, and I could see by the jerking-frames that the fall hunting had been good.

PANEL THREE: MEETING LUCY WHO APPARENTLY HAS A NAME. COOL.

BOX TREFETHAN: And then I met her--Lucy. That was her name. Sign language--that was all we could talk with, till they led me to a big fly--you know, half a tent, open on the one side where a campfire burned.

PANEL FOUR: INSIDE TENT, Full scene pic with both of them.

TREFETHAN: It was all of moose-skins, this fly--moose-skins, smoke-cured, hand-rubbed, and golden-brown. Under it everything was neat and orderly as no Indian camp ever was. The bed was laid on fresh spruce boughs. There were furs galore, and on top of all was a robe of swanskins--white swan-skins--I have never seen anything like that robe.

Page 6: (3 panels)

Panel 1: FULL PAGE LUCY.

BOX TREFETHAN: And on top of it, sitting cross-legged, was Lucy. She was nut-brown. I have called her a girl. But she was not. She was a woman, a nut-brown woman, an Amazon, a full-blooded, full-bodied woman, and royal ripe.

Panel 2: Small and at the bottomish…

BOX TREFETHAN: And her eyes were blue.

BOX TREFETHAN: That's what took me off my feet--her eyes--blue, not China blue, but deep blue, like the sea and sky all melted into one, and very wise. More than that, they had laughter in them--warm laughter, sun-warm and human, very human, and . . . shall I say feminine? They were. They were a woman's eyes, a proper woman's eyes. You know what that means. Can I say more? Also, in those blue eyes were, at the same time, a wild unrest, a wistful yearning, and a repose, an absolute repose, a sort of all-wise and philosophical calm.

Panel 3: BACK TO THE PRESENT WHERE WERE GET A SHOT OF TREFETHAN. WOO.

TREFETHAN: You fellows think I am screwed. I'm not. This is only my fifth since dinner. I am dead sober. I am solemn. I sit here now side by side with my sacred youth. It is not I--'old' Trefethan--that talks; it is my youth, and it is my youth that says those were the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen--so very calm, so very restless; so very wise, so very curious; so very old, so very young; so satisfied and yet yearning so wistfully. Boys, I can't describe them. When I have told you about her, you may know better for yourselves.

Page 7 (4 panels)

PANEL ONE: BACK IN TIMEEE AGAIN. LUCY holding out her hand to TREFETHAN.

LUCY: Stranger, I'm real glad to see you.

BOX TREFETHAN: I leave it to you--that sharp, frontier, Western tang of speech. Picture my sensations. It was a woman, a white woman, but that tang! It was amazing that it should be a white woman, here, beyond the last boundary of the world--but the tang. I tell you, it hurt. It was like the stab of a flatted note. And yet, let me tell you, that woman was a poet. You shall see."

PANEL 2: A MONTOGE OF EVERYTHING LUCY IS DOING BELOW. HOW FUN.

BOX TREFETHAN: She dismissed the Indians. And, by Jove, they went. They took her orders and followed her blind. She was hi-yu skookam chief. She told the bucks to make a camp for me and to take care of my dogs. And they did, too. And they knew enough not to get away with as much as a moccasin-lace of my outfit. She was a regular She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, and I want to tell you it chilled me to the marrow, sent those little thrills Marathoning up and down my spinal column, meeting a white woman out there at the head of a tribe of savages a thousand miles the other side of No Man's Land.

Panel 3: Just a picture of Lucy. No need to be complicated. Maybe gesturing for TREFETHAN to sit next to her?

LUCY: Stranger, I reckon you're sure the first white that ever set foot in this valley. Set down an' talk a spell, and then we'll have a bite to eat. Which way might you be comin’?

Panel 4: The two siting there chatting as described below.

BOX TREFETHAN: There it was, that tang again. But from now to the end of the yarn I want you to forget it. I tell you I forgot it, sitting there on the edge of that swan-skin robe and listening and looking at the most wonderful woman that ever stepped out of the pages of Thoreau or of any other man's book.

WEEK ONEEE

I have to say, I think my first impression was dismal when I saw who was producing these comics, DC. Recently the company has rarely done anything I'm pleased with so the natural intrust has been building for some time unless its recommended and typically not part of the reboot.

It was a breather when I realize all of the stories were created during the 80s. That was a decent time for DC publishing, right before they got a little crazy in the 90s.

None of the titles were familiar to me on the other hand. I had never read any of them before in novel form. I can at least assume that in these 50 page comics that some things would be left out from the novel it originated.

Hell of Earth was first, written by the man who also wrote Psycho, Robert Block. It was interesting, primarily splitting the space available on the page into blocks which was the style for the entire block. the art wasn't incredible realistic staying rather simple and exaggerated. The colors were mostly muted the entire time to fit the dark mood the entire story had.

Next was Nightwings by Robert Silversburg. It seemed very much like a fantasy just by the first page. It's style greatly reminds me of the Prince Valent comics that had come out for decades. It not only had a similar style but the feel from the colors also felt similar. Very bright never going particularly dark. It was a fantasy mixed with some science fiction.

The last I looked at was Frost and Fire. I want to say it was almost the strangest of the 3 but I think Hell on Earth still wins that. It feels, similarly to Nightwings, like a fantasy mixed with scifi. Panels were often put on top of another to add more to each page. The text seemed a bit better than Nightwings on the other hand where that felt more telling instead of showing.