So, it seems that my next project at Marvel is locked. I’m planning 12 issues, on the assumption that the Profit & Loss equations will give me at least that. (I don’t sell singles like the boys in the clubhouse, but I do move a lot of trade paperbacks, and that gives me an edge.)
This is a series that I devised, rather than “created,” like NEXTWAVE. “Created,” to me, always implies making something from whole cloth, or as near to it as possible. My contracted role at Marvel is to work with Marvel’s company-owned library. So I devise something using material from the vaults. It’s not something I could do full-time without going insane, but it’s interesting work, well-rewarded, and I like Joe Quesada and Dan Buckley immensely. And I also get to write for artists like Stuart Immonen, which is a bit like a screenwriter getting to write words for their favourite actors to say. I got to write Stuart Immonen drawing a woman killing broccoli men with a guitar. It’s not so bad.
The first script for this new thing is in, and the editor and I are talking about artists right now. It’s not much like anything Marvel are doing right now. But, after the nightmares we had on ASTONISHING X-MEN that had me writing four different arcs simultaneously at one point to keep the book moving, I need a change.
I’m guessing we’ll have an artist trapped and placed in a cage within the next few weeks, and an actual announcement will happen shortly after.
This was really a nothing post, except it kind of illustrates how boringly most comics are put together. It should really be a sort of Paul Schraderesque “well, we did a pile of cocaine the size of Sally Field, and then it turned out it was actually just Sally Field covered in cocaine, so we all did her, even Robert Towne’s dog, and then we ramraided a store and stole twelve typewriters, and then Peter Boyle beat us all unconscious and shoved peyote down our throats, and when we came to he was gone and there was just the typewriters and a loaded gun, so we menaced all the typewriters with the gun until one of them shat out the script we wanted, and somehow three weeks had gone by, and John Milius came by with a surfboard and a harpoon gun and said ‘let’s find us an artist’ and…”