The Wound Man is a medical diagram that first showed up in the Fourteenth Century. It is meant to be something of a how-to manual for surgeons; designed to show every malady the human body could encounter, it was often the index page of the texts in which it appeared,
Hello. It's been a minute, hasn't it? I've been so swamped I took a bit of an unexpected hiatus from writing to you. I feel guilty sitting down to noodle with one of these letters when there are fires that need put out. But
Wrote the below a good few years ago on a trip to Rome, and found it in my files today. I still quite like it, and I'm still playing catch up after NYCC; so here you go. The room in which John Keats died is a claustrophobic box.
If you're looking to understand and study character, I'd highly recommend entering the savage world of UK Channel 4's Come Dine With Me. For the non-Brits: Come Dine With Me is a reality TV show in which four or five (depending on the season)
What's even worth saying? Writer's block does not exist, but tell me that at 2 am the day before a deadline- when the pile of scenes in front of me refuses to accrue into a story and I'm all out of Malbec- and I
Continuity in comic book worlds is an endlessly thorny subject, with hundreds of different valid takes. There are readers who would prefer everything be set in stone. That a superhero's stories (cos let's face it, we're mainly talking about that) should be tick-off-able on
Last Friday DC announced Batman: Dark Patterns. This is very much a passion project, the book I've wanted to make since I started working with DC. 12 issues of Batman solving grisly, street level crimes. I've been quietly working on it with editor Arianna Turturro for
I've been thinking about longer form story structures recently. The nature of the current comics market leans towards the miniseries, so that's primarily what I've written over the last few years. Four-to-six issues and done, then on to the next thing. The amount of
Hello. This is coming to you far later than I would have liked, but periods of intensive work tend to send me into a lockdown mode which leaves little room for much else. Now here I am, coming up for air. Hoping the surface world is still where I left
I think of the writers who made me want to write. Many of them seem to have died in ways that resemble their works and preoccupations. Samuel Beckett wrote often of people who found their selves whittled away. Going blind, unable to move, to speak, losing sensation and coherence. Beckett
Woke from a short spell of sleep paralysis. Dreaming I was in bed with my wife, looked up to see the reflection of two indistinct figures pacing towards us. Before I could turn and see them for real, they were dragging me from the bed, tangled in the sheet so
"Techno-optimism is the metallic silver frosting on the deep-baked cake of sadness on which we chew like a cud in a doomed bid to ignore the loudly howling void." Enjoyed this sentence on why Silicon Valley tech bros act the way they do from Dominic Pettman and Eugene