The Vagabond Trust
Writers At Home In Migration

Watch the poop out. The Milky Marauders don’t show no moo-ther friggin’ mercy! This is the first Space Cow drawing by Mike Bunt, from our upcoming comic short, “Milkyway Marauders!”

And as far as 2012 goes… FIRST!

Good news everyone! I am going to have a second short comic story published in Gray Haven Comics’ anthology, The Gathering. Apparently they were impressed or something by the completed comic for Stitches (which is hitting comic shops in February by the way!!!). My second comic, Milky Way Marauders, will be printed in the May issue of The Gathering which is themed “Silver Age” (as in the comic book era) I must mention that this issue will be the first issue of the series that will be in colour :) This script will be shared at the next Vagabond Trust meeting!

The catch is… that I will not be working a second time with my talented buddy, Devin :( It seems the editor and art director at Gray Haven wanted to see how well we could work with others. So I’ve been assigned an artist and Dev has been assigned a *gasp* new writer to work with o_0 However it is only for this project. On the merit of Stitches, we have received a green light to do another project together later on in 2012. Yeah us!!!

Hey Vagabonds! As the post’s title says… this is your first look at my best bro, Devin and mine’s soon to be published short comic, “Stitches”! Damn he’s a good artist, ain’t he? These are the characters sketches for, Gusto, The Reaper and Mr. Taylin. I have the completed yet-to-be-inked art (which is due to the company, Dec. 1st) but we can’t leak it yet… for obvious reasons since it is being published. I can’t even begin to explain to how incredible and gratifying it is to see such an amazing accompaniment of art to a story I wrote!!! When you finally do see the finished art, I guarantee it will be astonishing and you will be wowed!!! (pppsssttt… come to my house and I’ll show you the artwork on my computer)

Check out our pretty pictures from Saturday’s reading at Scheherazade Books in Saint John. They’re on the right hand side of the page under “Vagabond Photos - Saint John”. Or if your mouse hand is feeling the burn… http://vagabondtrust.com/?page_id=647

To anyone in or around the Saint John area. To anyone who has friends in the Saint John area. Please make this go viral around the web :) Pretty please with some turnips on top ^_^ Free Admission & tons of indie-published ZINE freebies for everyone!!!

(I would like to first note that this is not directed at anybody within the Vagabond Trust. Chances are, none of this will apply to even a single person who reads it; I know most of the people who go on this site, and I can say that I can’t think of a single case where you guys were anything less than excellent at taking my harsh words like champions. I just felt like this was something I needed to get off my chest.)

I have never understood people who get pissy about being criticized.

Like, I tend to overthink stuff. Everyone overthinks stuff, but maybe I overthink different stuff from these people that I’m talking about. My point is, I don’t get why there’s such a massive gulf between my opinion on criticism and that of many others.

The other day I was reading an amateur bit of writing. I’m not going to link it or anything, but suffice to say, it was the sort of thing that is physically painful to write, and yet rewarding if you can accomplish it; sort of like winning a staring contest with God. This guy really understood what I call the “material” side of writing. He had interesting opinions. He could write interesting characters.

But what he really didn’t seem to get was what I call the “technical” side. Y’know, the crap you learn in high school English classes.

Now, I’m not stupid. I’m not a social moron… most of the time. I can be tactful, and I can be diplomatic. I didn’t immediately go to the guy and say, “Hey, I don’t understand how you passed Grade 8 Language Arts.” I started by saying that I liked the story, and I liked the characters, and I liked the way he put in a lot of detail.

But fuck, this thing was just walls of text. It was like, three or four big honking paragraphs. It looked like you could physically take these paragraphs and use them as roadblocks, or construction materials, or high-grade tank armor. And these walls of text were full of spelling mistakes, run-on sentences, and sins against grammar. The guy had no idea how quotation marks worked, and the concept of past and present tense was utterly foreign to him. Yes, the story he had to tell was great. But comprehending the story itself, amidst the war-torn-fucking-battlefield he made of the written word, was too difficult for most people to bother.

So I said to the guy, “I have some experience editing stories. I’m not a professional, and I’m not a published author, though I like to think of myself as a talented amateur writer, and I have actually spent considerable time studying what the ‘big names’ tend to do to hook the reader. If you like, I can try to help make your story more accessible.”

He agreed. He seemed to like the idea that I could wave a magic wand and draw the adoration of thousands upon thousands, just by swapping some words around. I suspect all the flattery may have gone to his head, too.

In the end, I sat down and looked at his story. I found at least one fundamental problem in – and this is only a slight exaggeration – every single sentence he wrote. I looked through it with a fine-toothed comb. I took his story, split it up into chunks, highlighting every error I found, giving a thorough explanation with why I thought it was an error, and offering an example of how I would change it. Some of it might have gotten a little preachy or patronizing, I worry, but it was necessary. I laid everything out in easy, simple, memorable language. I shifted words around. I fixed the punctuation. I ate his coal and shat out some serious diamonds.

It took me three hours to get through the first two “paragraphs” - half of his first chapter, as it turned out – and then decided to call it a day. I went back to him, asked him if he liked what I had done, and said that if he wanted me to do the rest I’d be glad to.

He then proceeded to question my sexuality, insult my parenthood, and assure me, in no uncertain terms, that he wished to do a wide variety of oddly specific things to my corpse.

I decided not to edit the rest of his chapter.

To put it bluntly, I don’t understand this anonymous writer’s mindset. I realize that some people just can’t deal with criticism; he was obviously one of them. What I don’t understand is WHY. Why can’t some people deal with the idea that they make mistakes? How is it that, even when help is readily available, some people can’t bring themselves to accept it, or even to acknowledge that they need help?

This isn’t limited to writing, of course. It’s just an example that stuck out in my head. All over the world, in every profession, in every hobby, there is at least one person afflicted by this stupid bullshit kind of pride. People like Uwe Boll, famous for making pants-shittingly-awful film adaptations of interactive media franchises. People like Kanye West, who sometimes DO deserve the highest praise, and yet still aren’t half as talented as they think they are. Because nobody’s perfect, and if you won’t accept your shortcomings, you can’t fix them.

What these people often don’t understand is that critics aren’t out to get them; not necessarily. Some people, I will admit, choose to criticize because of the twisted thrill they get from pointing out peoples’ failings. Some people claim to be critics, but spend their time throwing out barely-disguised insults instead. The true critics, though, are out to improve the medium, the work, and most of all, the creators themselves.

Humans are, as a whole, very bad at noticing where we go wrong. If we weren’t, we would spend a lot less time screwing up and a lot more time learning from experience. If we went through life without anyone to tell us where we go wrong, how would we know the right way to act? It’s like driving on a road with no roadsigns or guidelines. You could be going down a one-way street, and you’d never know without being smart enough to see a guy going in the opposite direction and realizing, “Holy crap, I should be doing what he’s doing.”

And giving criticism often isn’t easy. Sometimes you’ll see something that you don’t like, and you can’t figure out WHY you don’t like it. You have to put in the effort to examine it, and find out exactly what it is that needs improvement. Giving good criticism is hard work, and some people don’t get that critics wouldn’t waste their time on it if they didn’t want to see the subject improved.

I’m not going to act like it’s a completely selfish endeavour. I have fun editing other peoples’ work sometimes. I like exploring something with the intent to make it better. But I look at it as a puzzle, not an exercise of schadenfreude. I search for what’s wrong so that I can make it right, or give someone else the chance to make it right.

Because I want to see you succeed as much as you do. No one could make a living off of art if said art didn’t entertain. Believe it or not, I want to give you money for a good product as much as you want to make money off of it. And I wouldn’t be putting in the effort I am if I didn’t believe other people might feel the same way. I’m not pointing out your flaws because I hate you. I’m pointing them out because I trust it’s worth the effort to fix them. I believe that with just a bit of effort on my part and yours, your work can become something truly special.

Or maybe I’m just an asshole.

By now I believe everyone is familiar with my Candy Coma comic book script. The 2nd issue of what will hopefully be an ongoing series is currently underway and will be shared at a Vagabond meeting near you! soon… I guess that makes more sense or whatever. Unfortunately I’m still waiting on word from the lovely and talented, Gail Simone about the first issue script. However, plans for a submission to Dark Horse Comics (to get picked up for series) are coming along nicely :) Here is some evidence of this;

This is the “Candy Trinity” including, (from left to right); The eponymous character, Miss Candy Coma herself, her more evilier sugar twin, Carnevil Candy, and their sketchy, skeezy mutal arch-nemesis, The Candy-Man.

The phenomenal artist (who produced these in a single night by the way) is a friend of Lorrie’s named, Jen Smith. Check out her site to see more of her art; http://www.pinkgundollhouse.net/main2.html

The style is obviously anime inspired, but that certainly suits the story. I have to say they do look perfect as if, Jen had a window into my mind. Guess I did good job writing the character descriptions! I’m not sure if Jen is going to do anymore art for the pitch package, or if she has time, but I’d totally give her a job if I had that power!

You may know Jordan Trethewey as the author of Painfully Awkward, a collection of short stories. But what you may not know is that Jordan has a painfully awkward past. As a young man, Jordan fought goats.

Growing up in the wilds of Nova Scotia, Jordan spent much of his time like any boy would. He ran, and jumped, and climbed, and laughed at dick and fart jokes. And, like the other Nova Scotian boys, he dreaded the springtime. He would shake, and he would cry, and he would pray that he would live to see the summer.

But, as the last of the snow was melting, and Jordan was but eight years old, early one morning he gathered with his family and his neighbours, in the centre of New Germany. One by one, the New Germans drew slips of paper from a miniature golden canoe. As the church bells struck noon, everyone in the village unfolded their papers, and Jordan found that his carried the mark: a crudely drawn penis in blue ink.

Jordan shat his pants, loud as cannon-fire.

This later became known as the shit heard ’round Lunenburg county. Windows were reported broken as far away as Chester. My cousin in Windsor says he felt the earth shake, but he’s a fucking liar anyway so I wouldn’t listen to him. Plus he owes me twenty bucks.

Anyway, Jordan was that year’s goat fighter. He would receive no training, no supplies, not even any words of encouragement. He was given seventeen minutes to say goodbye to his family, who were already trying to get used to the idea of life without him. Then he was ushered off into the woods, to stand alone against the coming goat invasion.

No one knows when, or why, the goats started coming to New Germany each year. But, as far back as anyone could remember, the goats attacked the town at about 1:30 in the afternoon on the day the last of the snow melted. One time the grocer tried to bring in some snow from deep in the woods, but the goats killed him and ate his whole family. It’s like they knew he was trying to fuck with them, and they just don’t stand for that.

Jordan was scared, and his pants were full, and he could hear the goats crashing through the forest. He saw the king of the goats coming straight for him. He’d given up on hope, and tried to brace for the impact. A quick death would’ve been nice. But he pussied out at the last second and side-stepped the king of the goats. Then, something deep in his lizard brain took hold, and his little left hand darted out, catching the goat king square in the sack. The goat king hit the ground, and Jordan drop-kicked him in the throat.

His hope restored, Jordan took off his mittens and let them dangle from the string that ran through his coat sleeves. He cracked his knuckles, and ran into the oncoming herd. To this day he swears to have no recollection of what must have been an epic battle. All that we know, is that the goats were seen hobbling late the next day near Cherry Hill, before they waded into the ocean, never to return to New Germany.

When Jordan walked back into town, he was greeted by the most enthusiastic applause that he has ever received in his life. He waved his arms and called for silence. He asked all of the New Germans to form a single-file line, and once they had, he proceeded to tell every one of them, individually, what a total dick they were. Then he went home, had a tall glass of grape juice, and played Nintendo until bed time.

The landmark, over-sized, 25th issue of Mind Bloating (& Everything Along With It) is officially done! It is currently available for FREE pickup at Westminster Books (445 King Street) & Backstreet Records (384 Queen Street).

It features the poetry, prose and artwork of;

Mary Green
Mike Romard
Jeannette Spohn
Kyle B. Peters
Nicole Veerman
Jordan Stewart
& Corenski Nowlan (moi)

Pick it up! Read it! Tell your artsy friends! SUBMIT for the next issue!

corenski@hotmail.com

Herbert The Cow Productions (ie: Me, my fellow Vagabonds & all my friends whom I rope into indie book binding slave labour) has had one of its busiest years in 2011!

A glued spine-most professionalesque book yet, Painfully Awkward, a collection of short stories by founding Trust member the Cannonball Captain himself, Jordan Trethewey!

The fourth full length poetry chapbook, Runes/Ruins by Corenski Nowlan (moi)

+ a very, very special surprise… courtesy of HTCP’s original, flagship publication, Mind Bloating (& Everything Along With It)

BE AT WESTMINSTER BOOKS, (445 King Street) WEDNESDAY @ 7 PM!!!

There will be socializing, reading, books for sale, & ziney freebies galore! No one will leave empty handed or empty hearted!