Surreal Estate: Spoof Central's Guide to Comics – Part Two

By Spoof Central
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Today, my little Zander Cannons, I’d like to talk about writing comics or more importantly why the comics industry only attracts people of lower IQs with a desire to write. Face it, if Mark Waid were any good he’d have been writing good best selling novels by now not airy fairying around like some porcine prima donna.

You know I’m right. I can see it in your eyes, luvvy.

But what about writers such as Kevin Smith, JMS, Bob Gale or that other fella?

Shit – every last one of them. Why do you think they’re here earning the crust that our pal Tony could be earning? The money is always nice when there’s industrial action hampering your normal income stream. And face it, you only really like Kevin Smith films because other people, the people who matter to you, like them and of course the irony here is they only like them because the girl with the pert breasts who sits behind him at the office is into Kevin Smith films and she only likes them because she’s heard you like them and vice versa and oh my God it’s how the world has tragedies!

So we scoured the Internet for a failed writer with little or no hope of ever getting work in the future and we came up with someone. However, we promised him we wouldn’t tell people it was him we interviewed in case it ruined further a good and perfectly ruined career already. So, no worries mate, this is just between thee and me.

The first question we asked our Mystery Comics Writer was: Have you ever wanted to be able to do real joined up writing or have you always been cursed with having to do those awful block capitals?

MCW: I think you’ll find that’s the letterer. I’m the person who thinks up what the peoples are going to say.

SC: So you draw them, then?

MCW: No that’s the artist.

SC: I don’t quite understand. How are you the writer if someone else puts the words in those balloons?

MCW: I invent those words.

SC: No you don’t. That first word bubble said, “Black Lightning withdrew his power rod and breathed a sigh of relief.” I’ve seen all of those words in other places including the bible and some porn films.

MCW: You’ve never seen them in that order before.

SC: Tony, you’re nitpicking now.

MCW: You said you wouldn’t mention my name?

SC: I lied. Now get on your knees bwoy!

[pause]

SC: OK. Tell me Tony, Isa Bella necessary ona bike-a?

MCW: You are so horrible.

SC: Is it true that you and Larry Hama used to have pretend-kung fu fights back in the days of the old bullpen?

MCW: No.

SC: You can tell me if you want. I know these things sometimes get steamy and you regret things that happened all the way home on the train until you finally break down in front of your wife and admit the whole sordid incident.

MCW: Comics writing...?

SC: What about it? This is more fun dontcha think? We can sit here and discuss the game, drink some beers, do what real men do, only quietly and with the curtains drawn.



And this appears to be the real problem facing comics writing today. When eleven comics writers are barricaded into a gay nightclub in Greenwich Village with only five dollars and a Vietnamese Pot Bellied pig for company, you know that times are pretty damned rough.

Why do you think that Alan Moore writes under his real name in the real world? Because if the comics world knew that Alan Moore was really John Grisham AND Barbara Cartland the strain would probably inflict mortal wounds on the Earth’s core. You see that wizened old man who wanders around the UK ranting about magic and sleeping with porn stars? He’s an actor. He’s made a perfectly good living pretending to be someone only 73 people and an echidna would recognise. But that’s because the Grisham/Cartland hybrid wants anonymity from the hordes of fawning fanboys that attend comics conventions.

Comics conventions – ahhh the aroma of stiff winkles and cheesy foreskins. The only place in the world where a 40-something fat bloke can send charges of sexual urge through the bodies of slightly dead skateboard freaks and kids who think that large fries are extra vegetables. We’ll cover comics conventions another week girls and boys because this week we’re talking about comics writers.

Or had you forgotten already?

Neil Gaiman has had his name changed and wears a dress. His Ann Rice novels are hugely successful.

Jim Shooter was moderately successful when he acted as Richard Kiel’s stunt double.

While Len Kaminski would like as many people as possible to forget his years as Bette Midler’s personal assistant and look-a-like.

Of course it’s not always the scrap heap for shite writers. Howard Mackie went on to become a famous male stripper and won an Oscar for his performance as Dame Isadora Duncan in X-Men 3: Colossus Undermines Nightcrawler’s Trust, in 2009.

What attracts shit writers to comics is the fact that most editors couldn’t edit their way out of a wet paper bag, whatever that might mean when it’s at home. Just how does one ‘edit’ his way out of a paper bag? I can’t even get my pathetic little head around that and bwoys let me tell you just how small my cranium really is.

So the point is, as we fast approach the halfway point in this fascinating contest, just what have we concluded and how have we reached those conclusions (and I hope you’re all reading this in a slightly fake American accent sounding like the guy who says, ‘And, yes. You too can win. One of these fabulous. Prizes!!!!’) Are comics writers actually any good and aren’t the people who want to be comics writers just a bit shit and they see writing comics as a way of not actually having to go out and earn a living for a change? Because that’s how I see it, Laura. Damned tootin’ I do. They’re all just a bit on the B minus side.

I’m getting to the stage in my sad pathetic existence where I want to get some fulfilment from my comics writing. I want existentialism and philosophy. I want Captain America having a black boyfriend with one leg while fighting a Baron Zemo that has relocated to Iraq and has forsaken his Hinterland origins.

Actually, that’s a damned lie and you know it. I don’t want that at all. I just wrote that down to try and get a cheap, topical laugh. Instead I probably ended up with an expensive tropical disease. What I want is for important issues to be dealt with, such as Batman: for or against foxhunting? Wonder Woman dealing with the urban decay inside our schools – her own way. Spider-Man dealing with issues that affect people like pensions and tax evasion. Hell yes, we should have comics that tell people that masturbation, however enjoyable, is just another stained sheet for your mother or wife to wash. Damn your eyes, Elvis. You’ll not confuse the issue with hits.

Just imagine Stan Lee on Drugs? Again?

Just imagine Stan Lee’s underpants?

Just imagine Stan Lee and Rita Coolidge singing a duet and drawn by Neal Adams?

But none of these are going to happen unless we actually stop faffing about and examine the issue at hand. Why are most comics writers failures in every other aspect of their lives? Just how many of the world’s top comics writers can run a mile in under 4 minutes? I think you’ll find there’s very few. Fewer still the number of comics writers who’ve built sand castles on the moon. Hah! How many comicbook writers have had sex with a famous film actress? Or Lassie? And let’s face it, the only people with any brains in this industry are milking it like a vampire sucks blood or a sperm bank does whatever necessary to continue the existence of mankind. Why do you think Warren Ellis spends most of his time wishing he wasn’t in this industry? He’s just a wee bit too clever for this industry but yards away from being anything other than a Neanderthal in the world of books.

So, after tying the Mystery Comics Writer up and beating him with hoses and burning the soles of his feet with cigarettes, we continued the interview with: You don’t think you’re so smart now, do you?

MCW: Please stop! It burns.

SC: Tell me the secret of constant failure?

MCW: Why are you so cruel? I supported you. I voted for you to stay on Superheronews when all the others wanted you to die horribly. It was me.

SC: You’ve got Mike Wieringo drawing it. You’ve got a chance to write it. The only drawback is that it’s a love scene between Ben Grimm and Mr Fantastic and baby the drawback is crunchy as well as full of dirty goodness. How would you handle it? If you know what I mean?

MCW: Please let me go. My wrists hurt and my eyes are sore.

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