Eduardo

In a perfect world, Eduardo Barreto would not have drawn my Union Station graphic novel. He would have been far too busy with work that paid better. He would have been widely recognized as a fantastic draftsman and storyteller, and his talents would have been in high demand. He would not have been on the radar screens of a first-time writer, a young editor or a small press comic book publisher.

Of course, the world is far from perfect, especially where my friend Eduardo Barreto was concerned. As it turns out, Ed was looking for work - any work that paid - just as we were looking for an artist for my historical fiction graphic novel about Kansas City's gangster heyday. My editor Jamie Rich asked me what I thought of Eduardo for the book. I kinda lost my shit. I had loved a lot of Ed's work through the years, but none more than his work with Gerard Jones on the excellent The Shadow Strikes comic. That book was wonderful on so many levels, not the least of which was Eduardo's ability to convincingly depict the same era Union Station would deal with. Right after I told Jamie that he should, in my opinion, sign Eduardo if at all possible, and that I would kiss him right on the mouth if he did so, I ran to my comic collection and thumbed through my issues of The Shadow Strikes. The work was as fantastic as I had remembered. I didn't know how the hell we could get so lucky as to possibly land that same artist for our book, but I knew I would now be crestfallen if we ended up with anyone else.

We got Eduardo, and I began to hear rumors has to why. I won't go into much detail because it doesn't matter. Suffice to say, Ed had apparently had a tough couple of years. He had some things fall apart in his personal life, and focusing on his work became a challenge. I gather that he handed in some jobs that were not up to par. I always tell people that the comics business is, in a way, pretty fair. Generally, editors don't care where you came from, where or if you were educated, or much else about your background. They want to see the work on the page. If it's good, and if you're somewhat reliable and not a huge pain in the ass, you will probably get work. There's a flip-side, though. As soon as the work on the page is not what the editor was hoping for, they tend to lose your number (these days it's an e-mail address they lose... just doesn't have the same ring to it somehow).

So, the brilliant Eduardo Barreto was looking for a way to reboot his career. Jamie, Oni Press, and myself were the beneficiaries. Soon after receiving the script for the first act of the book, brilliant thumbnails started showing up from Uruguay. Here are the first two pages of my script as Eduardo brought them to life:

That first page is over-tight for a thumbnail. I imagine Ed was working things out- finding his comfort zone. Already, on the second page, things start to get looser. The storytelling is incredible. Solid without being dull. The characters live in their environment. They're not just pasted in over some photo-referenced backgrounds. The stuff is alive in every way.

Ed would go onto to do a stellar job on the whole book. I think it led to more work for him. I hope so. I know Ed eventually landed a comic strip gig, which he worked on until his health started to fail.

I only met Eduardo in person one time, at a San Diego Comicon just as we were starting work on Union Station. He was completely gracious. We signed some ashcans at the Oni booth and went out for a lunch. We talked about doing another book. He liked WWII, and wanted to draw something set in the war. I was sure we'd find a way to work together again. It didn't happen. We'd exchange e-mails from time to time. Ed was always gracious. Always a pleasure to hear from. Always a model for how to be act like a professional... a gentleman.

The news of Eduardo's passing hit the same day we learned of Joe Simon's death. Joe Simon's work meant a lot to me, but his death didn't strike me as tragic. Joe lived to the age of 98, well-respected as a legend in his field. Ed is gone at 57, having enjoyed nowhere near the career or accolades his talent deserved. Losing Eduardo Barreto is a tragedy, because he deserved more. We deserved more.

Eduardo left behind a lot of amazing work, and he left behind a legacy of grace and kindness for those who knew him. I will be forever grateful that the world was imperfect enough to allow me to start my graphic novel career with such an amazing collaborator. Although I see the flaws in my own execution, I will always cherish that book. I'm proud that Ed and I got the chance to make something good together. All thanks to Ed, Jamie Rich, Joe Nozemack and everyone at Oni Press who made it possible.

Rest in peace, Eduardo.

Anj

The Fear of Making it Real

After something like five years of thinking about it, I finally started writing my next OGN (original graphic novel) this week. It's exciting and... a little terrifying.

I don't know how many creators feel this anxiousness when starting a project, but I doubt I'm alone. It's not that I don't think the project can be good. It's just the opposite. I know it can be good. I know it CAN BE very good. What scares the hell out of me is the possibility that I will somehow fail to make it as good as it can be.

I'm a good writer. I'm nowhere near a great one, but I have some talent and I work hard. I care about getting better. I take my craft seriously, particularly when the project is, like this one, something that is entirely my creation (At this point it is more or less my sole creation. That will soon change, as the artist is about to begin his part of the collaboration). Still, there is a difference between the potential of the project in my mind and the reality of the project on the page.

For example: A large part of Richard Matheson's brilliant book "What Dreams May Come" occurs in something like heaven. In this afterlife, history's great artists are busily and happily continuing to ply their craft. Now, though, without the tethers of real world concerns like paint, canvas and stone, the art flows directly from the artist's brain to creation. There is no middle man to screw the deal.

I feel something like that when I start a book. in my mind, this new project has vast potential. That potential is about to meet the reality of the page. I may be able to fulfill most of the potential I see in my mind, but I'll never be able to nail 100% of it. Even though I have written a very tight outline of this book... even though I have played out the scenes in my mind a dozen times, I'm not smart enough to have anticipated every obstacle I will encounter when actually writing the script.

The first twenty-two pages of the script is done. It's good. I know it's good. It was still hard to hit that send button... hard to officially begin the process of transforming my grand vision to a inevitably slightly-less-grand book.

The good news? My grand vision exists only in my head, and it's probably only grand to me. You can all read the book when it comes out. It'll be real, and pretty fucking good.

Anj

My Coen List

Sick. Bored. Trapped in my studio. So, I decided to rank the films of my favorite filmmakers.

Keep in mind that this is all very relative. I like all of Joel and Ethan's work. Maybe later, when I have the energy of something more than a gnat, I'll come back and elaborate. Oh, and for sticklers who may want to bust my balls about Paris je t'aime, I'm only talking features.

In my own humble opinion, from my favorite down.

Fargo
No Country For Old Men
Miller's Crossing
The Big Lebowski
Barton Fink
O Brother, Where Art Thou
The Hudsucker Proxy
Blood Simple
Raising Arizona
The Man Who Wasn't There
Intolerable Cruelty
Burn After Reading
A Serious Man
The Ladykillers

Anj

So, there is this guy named Tony Salmons. He's a genius in the truest sense of the word. His artwork is bold, visionary, consistently surprising, and unique. Unfortunately, his career doesn't measure up to his talent. There isn't enough work out there. There is no defining run on a solid comic book you can point to and say, "This is Tony Salmons." It's an issue here, an aborted mini-series there, a collection of brilliant pinups scattered across the web... and so on.

Now, I should pause to stress that, for all I know, Tony has a rich and satisfying career as a storyboard artist, character designer, etc. I hope so. Selfishly, thought, I wish there were more Tony Salmons comic books. Tony is one of those rare artists who just see and do things differently. Everything he draws, he draws in a way that I have never seen before. There is exceptional value in that. It may well make Tony's life harder. For most editors, it's just easier to hire the known commodity. But, again, I'm veering into conjecture about another man's life. There's more than enough of that online already.

The batman piece you see above hangs in my studio. It hangs where I can see it while I'm sitting at the computer where I make my living as a writer. That is no accident. This exceptional piece has been hanging in my studio for several years. I have spent hours staring at it. I have shown it to scores of visitors, and I am still nowhere near tired of it. The whole piece is so vibrant, so dynamic, so surprising... it's so goddamn interesting.

I could go on and on about this drawing. I think it's better, though, to just let you soak it up. Just look at it. Really look at it. Think about what all the players are going through in this piece. It's really a whole story in one image.

This drawing in particular, and Tony Salmons' work in general, genuinely inspire me. I'm not a genius. I have a little talent, some smarts, and I work at getting better. It's easy to envy the talent of guys like Tony Salmons, but I don't think I'd trade places with him. I think life is more challenging for true visionaries, and mine is plenty challenging enough already, thank you.

Anj

Oh, Hollywood

So, one day you're sitting in Kansas and you have an idea to write a graphic novel (a long comic book) about the Union Station massacre, and the next day you're sitting in a hotel bar in Hollywood, getting drunk and wondering what the meeting with the directors will be like the next day.

It's not that simple, of course, and it doesn't really happen overnight. Looking back, though, it can almost seem that sudden.

I want to write graphic novels. It's what I'm passionate about. I want to write big fat comic books about things that speak to me... about people that I know and who I feel are interesting enough that other people should know them too. The thing is, it's hard to make a living doing this. There are folks who manage it. Some of them manage it spectacularly. In general, though, the books don't sell well enough to support their creators. We need some help. The most conspicuous form this help takes is that of a check from a movie studio. And so, while I just want to write my little comic book thingies, I end up riding the highs and lows of the movie business.


Some days I feel lucky about the way my Hollywood dealings have gone. Some days, not so much. On my more cynical days I can't get over the fact that I had a brilliant idea for a film and then executed that idea very well (I'm very much my own worst critic, but I do believe that Capote In Kansas is a very good book) only to miss out on reaping any financial benefit from the movie business by a few months. On my sunnier days, I rejoice in the fact that my first graphic novel (Union Station) still has hopes in Hollywood and the fact that my third graphic novel (Ciudad) has been optioned and led me to that hotel bar in West Hollywood.

It is both grand and depressing that the comic book business is so tied to Hollywood. It is the source of much bitching and hand-wringing, but the fact is that comic books are wildly unpopular in this country, and we need the help. I'm like any other poor bastard. I want things to be easier for my family. I want to be free of stress about how next month's bills are going to be paid. So, I eagerly jump onto the little comic book moon that orbits the movie business. I cross every digit I can manage to cross when the wonderful people I work with release a great movie like Scott Pilgrim. I suffer when the world isn't cool enough to go see Scott Pilgrim in droves. I wait by the phone. I wonder if the stories I'm passionate about telling will appeal to some faceless studio executive. I wait for the mailman, who is surely bringing my big fat Hollywood check today!

In short, I do the work I want to do. I make graphic novels. I make them on my own terms, for the most part. And then, I set my gaze on the western horizon and... wait. Such is the comic biz!

Anj