Kobul never liked missions. Kobul never liked new place. Missions on new place were boring. Missions always had lots of waiting and watching. Never enough hunting. Kobul was a hunter. Kobul was best hunter. Kobul was strong. Kobul was fast. Kobul was smart.
Big two arm pink thing was with Kobul on rooftop. Ghost thing told Kobul and him to watch for food on roof. Food attacked Kobul all the time. Kobul was never hurt. Kobul always would win. But Kobul was never allowed to eat food that attack Kobul. It angered Kobul. On old place, Kobul would eat all the food that tried to hurt Kobul or people that looked like Kobul. Sometimes people that looked like Kobul was food. Sometimes people weren’t. It was always up to those people. Read the rest of this entry
I struggled with this one for a while. This kind of character is not very easy to write.
The halls were empty. It was both positive and negative.
On the plus side, I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone. I went full force, connecting my line to the metal door frames and zipping along at near light-speed. But finding no one meant I had to travel from room to room, and continue looking. No one in the training center, no one in the recreation rooms, no one in the command center. I was never given access to the announcement system. I could just seep into the interface, but I’d be scolded. Fortyseven isn’t a harsh leader normally, but he can be a little frightening when he wishes to.
Damn it to stasis. Read the rest of this entry
This one starts and ends a little differently. But hang in there, it does go somewhere.
My stories this year are character focused instead of plot focused. I end each story only when the reader can get a grasp for a part of the character and form an opinion about them.
You never quite understand how structurally resistant a wall can be until you’re knocked through one. The base was built to last through fires, raids, and even area damage bombs. It was not, however, meant to take a four hundred pound Restioxian woman sent through the air at high speed. The same can’t be said the other way around. My people aren’t likely to be brought down by this kind of damage. Even if it did take me a moment to get back up.
“Very good. You’re getting the hang of it.” Read the rest of this entry
Warning. The following story contains:
Foul language. Allusions to desired sex. An unfortunately likable asshole.
It didn’t get dark there. It got purple. Deep purple, so purple that everything else either looks too blue or too red depending on whether it’s after midnight or not. I walked up beside him just as he was starting to turn a little red. He was against the sky, standing in behind the railings of the sniper platform. He’d been there all day.
“Hey, sorry about… ya know.”
It took the kid a while to respond. He was still getting over the shock of the whole thing. New people, new job, new planet. Shit can be tough.
“Yeah…” Read the rest of this entry
Well, well, well… Here we are again. It’s MAY. It’s StoryADay! And I’m late, as usual.
The point is that I’m doing it.
I like doing themed collections. Last year, I wrote of death. I wrote nearly 70,000 words of death in 30 days. This year, I will write of heroes. No, I’m not going to go all heavy handed and write thirty stories about real heroes from everyday life. I’m a comic book geek… and because I’m doing the writing (and not you), I am going to write about what I want!
I have created a fictional world called Hypostatica. What this world is about and how heroes are incorporated will be shown in the writing.
My goal: To write 30 stories by the end of this month… not necessarily one per day, but averaged out, I should be good. I have no length goal. Things are getting pretty real in other areas of my life and… wait… why am I rationalizing to you? For that matter, why am I personifying the not-a-single-person who is reading this?
Wow, I’ve invalidated my entire life with that last sentence, so I’ll act like I never wrote it! Yay ignorance!
Keep watching…er…reading… er… not reading? Ah, hell. My stories are coming soon. I’m out.
My wife has just informed me that may now has 31 days… When did this happen? I was not at this meeting. I do not appreciate it when existence changes without my knowledge, let alone my say-so.
The #1 reason why a small comic publisher will fail:
Poor marketing strategies. They rely on the book to sell itself.
Nothing sells itself. This is the world that consumers have created by demanding better products. Competition arises and consumers fall into confusion about which one to buy. Poor, dishonest marketing strategies have pushed the consumer to distrust the companies that create the products they buy on a regular basis. Moronic consumer practices (like buying something packaged in a box with a person of a certain race on it) have led to unreliable sales projections. So here we are, in a constant battle between companies trying to gauge their buyers and buyers bitching endlessly about the air in the top of a Lay’s potato chip bag.
Most artists and writers of comic books would say they’re different. They’d say this because comic books are a combination of art and literature; a closely relatable product near to the reader.
That reason is bullshit.
Comic books ARE different. They are an entirely different breed. But that’s because they ARE the package. In a comic book, you’re actually buying the theme; the message of the book. The art and story are the vehicle but the biggest reason why a fan stays with a title is that they are touched by something in the message.
But packaging on a product does little to sell it. Great art will, of course bring in people. (Horrible art will drive the masses away like they’re escaping from the london riots.) But it’s not enough. Great artwork cannot mask a sophomoric story. They may make initial sales by piquing curiosity. Those numbers will most assuredly fall if the great hero with the beautifully rendered city-scapes turns out to be as one dimensional as the paper you so desperately flip through to find a single goddamn redeeming quality for him.
But no one will get to see the art if you’re hidden away somewhere on the internet or in the back of some comic shop.
Marketing strategies are inherently important to any publisher. So much so that the marketing budget of a comic book publisher should be one third or more of its total budget.
Advertisements must be engaging. They must be interesting and relatively on target. They don’t have to tell the whole story of each book… but they do have to give the audience some idea about the overall feel.
These are old characters. They were created by Aaron and a few friends when they were in highschool. The original creations have changed over the years… For instance, MAX, used to be a large cybernetic duck. Yeah… ‘What the hell?’ is right.
It wasn’t looking good.
The ramps were blocked. Lazarus could see the traffic from the corner of his eye. His short, spiked, multicolored faux hawk was being torn apart in the wind. They were speeding in one direction, he was facing the other. He blinked, holding tight to the grips in his hands.
“Uh, hey boss, thay’s a prollum, huh?”
MAX shrugged the racist dialect.
“Here’s an idea, pipsqueak, you stick to what you’re doing and I’ll worry about the shit in front of us, kay?”
MAX’s face was calm. It was immoveable.
The interconnecting metal pieces could barely articulate speech. He hadn’t shown the stress when he’d noticed the lack of an exit strategy after this surprise chase started. He saw the other cars a long time ago. He had the benefit of driving, of being positioned in a forward facing direction, of being equipped with digital visual units. He was also not currently firing two large rotary pistols at the odd silvery, slithering creature chasing them. Read the rest of this entry
This is a shorter story. Aaron’s writing from experience, this has happened to him fourteen times… always over a slinky.
Rotyo was a great man. He was a general of a great army, holding their ground against the invaders coming from another moon. He led the charge against them.
He was struck down in the first wave by one of his own. He was betrayed by a high ranking officer, a man named Koyl.
Rotyo was both dead and alive.
Rotyo was dead. Rotyo’s body, however, was alive. It’s difficult to explain this. Life is strange. Read the rest of this entry
To further complicate things, Aaron has decided to undertake the challenge from Storyaday.org and will be writing an entire short story each day for the month of May. These stories will be unedited and completely random.
It brought the burning sickness up to his throat. In his advanced age, he couldn’t do much more than exist. His strength had left him years ago. His sharpness was dull. His brightness dimmed. The green jeweled ring on his finger still shimmered. It remained unchanged, mocking him with his own reflection in its faceted sides.
He’d been a specimen. He’d been perfect in most accounts. He was athletic and handsome. At the age of nineteen, he developed an invention. It was simple enough, just a pair of glasses with transparent screens in them. He’d worked to develop it with a few friends at a local college.
They spent countless hours adding features to the seemingly simple device. In a year’s time, he had investors. He’d made his first million before he could celebrate at a bar.
It doesn’t stop here. Read the rest of this entry