A Place to Put Your Stuff...

Greetings once again from your friendly neighborhood Creative Knuckledragger. This is particularly a sad post for me to stoop to writing because the subject is, I feel, so dreadfully pedestrian and I really didn’t want this blog to delve into the mundane and ordinary. I mean, this is an art blog. An Illustration blog. A Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Gothic Horror and Comic book Illustration blog. A Knuckledragger blog! What the hell, right? But alas, I must blog about something and this is where we’re going this time, because I have to discuss what I’m currently going through. And what kind of a slob would I be if I didn’t share things with my audience, right? So here goes.

I’ve reached another milestone in my life, and one I thought I would have come to a lot sooner than my mid 40s. I’m moving my mother out of the house I grew up in. Packing our belongings and saying goodbye to a house I had lived in since I was about 2 and a half is not easy, but a necessary evil. And as I was ‘in the process’ of cleaning up the basement, my thoughts turned to the (roughly) southeast corner of the room, where I spent countless hours of my life doing a variety of interesting activities.

The southeast corner of the basement became my sort of thinking tank in the late 80s, when I recognized a need for solitude and an escape from the din of the ever-running television. Living in a house where the walls seemed paper thin, it just wasn’t good enough for me to simply go in my room and shut the door. I needed a place more secluded, and not for obvious reasons. After clearing off the floor and putting a lot of boxes back on their shelves, I completed the new space by pulling over two old, musty orange lounge chairs. These were upholstery projects of my mother’s, back when she studied upholstery in the mid 80s. Now there were going to be mine, I mused. The new ‘room’ was complete.

For a year or so, I read comics down there, ran the Nintendo Entertainment System, and often at times I just sat there listening to my Walkman, or thinking to myself. I was in my teens then, and adolescence is ever the emotional roller coaster, especially for the bullied and verbally abused. Though Ninjamania came to our modest little city in the mid 80s, my obsession with ninjas was reacquired from a friend we’ll call Tom. In summer of ‘89, Tom and I added pegboard to the walls of my little mock clubhouse and decorated it with our own homemade, improvised ninja weapons (mostly consisting of broom handles). We also used to run around in broad daylight clad in ninja garb. That was what led to the bullying, but I covered that chapter of my life in another blogpost entitled I Too Was Bullied, But I Did Something About It:

In 1990, ninjas were out and Taekwondo was in. I was taking lessons 2 to 3 times a week and loving it, and just like that, the southeast corner of the basement was becoming my at home dojo, where I had put duct tape on the floor to practice walking in fore balance and back balance, and improved upon my weaponry by actually ordering some martial arts weapons (mostly bokkens and a pair of butterfly knives) from a catalog in a martial arts magazine. I had also bought a punching bag and, despite high school and everything that came with it, I was loving being a martial artist.

I was bitten by the heavy music bug in fall of ‘90, but it didn’t become an obsession until ‘92. In 1992, I moved my improvised dojo over to the northeast corner of the basement and repurposed the southeast corner by putting up heavy metal posters from bands like Iron Maiden and painted various areas of them with fluorescent paint, to be illuminated by black lights. That part of the basement also became my jam area, for I got a used guitar for Xmas of ‘90, and bought a little Fender amp. The two were ever present in that area for a while before I decided what I really wanted to do was form a band.

In summer of ‘93, my cousin John and I started a band as an excuse to jam and attempt to make music together. By Fall of 1993, our band had four members, was called U-4-ia (named after Nirvana), and though we could barely produce anything other than a lot of noise, the hair grew longer, the clothes got darker, the amps got bigger and before you knew it, the southeast corner of the basement looked like the makings of a rock concert, complete with drums, microphones, effects pedals, black wires running and criss-crossing all over the floor, the whole deal. It was this emotional, angst ridden wild ride I feel so fortunate to have been a part of. But...

Though I feel I did most of the work on my own, it was a clashing of egos that ultimately cut our band in half by fall of ‘95, leaving my cousin and I, the original founding members. Then, due to creative differences, the band was completely over by summer of that year. In what could easily be called a fit of depression, I tore down and threw away all the rock posters, took out the black lights and put them away, the guitar cables were hung on the wall, and the effects pedals shelved. The dream had ended, and for a while, my guitars sat unused, near an unplugged amp in a dark corner of an unoccupied basement. I was working part time, but I still kept playing, and trying desperately to to put together a new band. In ‘98 I gave up on the dream of professionally making music, blaming the ‘Midwest mentality’ on my failures.

In 2002, I was back in college, happy with my life (for a change) and looking forward to becoming a self employed illustrator. The southeast corner of the basement was no longer important, and all the makings of artwork was being done on the black workbench in the northwest corner. It wasn’t until a little while ago, how much I realized the significance of the southwest corner. Everything in my life that had ever brought me happiness was through some kind of creative means. A place where I could be alone, read comics, listen to Iron Maiden on my Walkman, run the 8 bit Nintendo, all these things got my creative juices flowing, as did martial arts, making music and eventually making art. And now a new chapter begins. And the southwest corner of my mother’s basement, where I walled away so many chapters of my life is now left to the home’s next occupants. I hope it serves them well and that they get some creative inspiration from it, as I did.

Thanks for reading. If you haven’t done so already, feel free to follow us on social media: Cre8v Knuckledraggr on Pinterest, #cre8vknuckledraggr on Instagram, and The Creative Knuckledragger on Facebook (so far). Thanks again. Be safe and have a fantastic summer! (Image below)

SLiM

It's always hard to say goodbye. The duct tape is still there from the posters and cardboard CD covers I had on the walls. The concrete walls have a fair amount of dents and scratches on them from ninja staff practice. And there's still residue on the floor from putting down duct tape to practice my martial arts stances. In 2007 I decorated this part of the basement to look like a pagan altar, and made a short horror film on my Sony Hi8.

Barbaric, but With Pants on, For a Change

Belated Summer Solstice, everybody! I do not know what it is about this time of year, but I often have a knockdown drag-out fight with procrastination, and almost always around this same time of year. I start off the year well enough, working hard and efficiently on the projects and personal tasks I have at hand, and yet every year, around this time I start to slip and slide, get lazy, sleep in more often, and eventually quit working on everything! GRRR! It is as though I put myself on Summer vacation. Well this year I have resolved to stop doing it...hopefully.

There seem to be two minds on the subject of self motivation. One side claims it does not exist and you simply have to have the discipline to get out of bed in the morning, start moving your body, splash cold water on your face, jam in those ear buds and pump some high tempo music at a considerable volume, while pouring yourself a hot cup o’ Joe! To show up instead of sleeping in, basically. The other side insinuates that one can self motivate, and if one has trouble in this area, listening to motivational speakers, plundering YouTube for motivational videos, buying / reading self-help books and yes, even attending seminars will help.

I found out, from subscribing to Improvement Pill on YouTube, that what you really need is an Internal Locus of Control. In other words, if you convince yourself that you and you alone are in control of your own life and that the only thing that is going to produce results is hard work, then you will have no problem with doing what you are supposed to be doing, instead of procrastinating, playing video games, sleeping in and just plain ol’ being lazy.

The only problem is that I have actually accomplished some things. I’m whittling away at the roleplaying game, I’m losing weight, trying to stay on my diet, putting on muscle, staying busy, I practically never...almost never...play video games anymore, and my mood and sleep patterns have improved because I’m eating more fruit and vegetables with my meals, and have dramatically cut down on sodium, sugar, gluten and soy. So I get into this mindset that I need a little reward.

So take a little reward, right? And I did. I went out, bought some junk food and gorged myself in front of the tube yesterday. And do you know what happened? I felt like shit, and did not want to do a single damn thing. And do you know what I did about that? I worked on my projects anyway!

My guy here needed an upgrade after I sketched out this humorous earlier take on watercolor paper, so I’ve taken some tracing paper, and began making improvements. A curious snarling expressing with eyes too large and way too effeminate hair (Fabio, anyone?) is now replaced with a cocksure expression, better shaped eyes and a rougher almost mullet haircut. His arms are too long, but that is nothing a little turd polish (Adobe Photoshop) cannot cure. And there you go. From zero to...well not quite hero. Let’s call it less than zero! Ha! They look a little like brothers. And I also had time to ink up a new critter! (Images below) Enjoy!

That’s it for now. If you haven’t done so already, you are more than welcome to follow us on social media. Cre8v Knuckledraggr on Pinterest, #cre8vknuckledraggr on Instagram and The Creative Knuckledragger on Facebook. Thanks again, be safe and have a great weekend! Happy Friday.

SLiM All Images Copyright © Stephen L. Morris 2020 All Rights Reserved

But Isn’t She...Pretty in...Gray??

 At the risk of modesty, this is probably the cutest little female character I’ve ever made. The improved version, that is. The original sketch was...not great. You see, when you draw a figure on 8.5” x 11” or 9” x 12” paper, your figure’s head is going to be fairly small. I found mine was way too small, and ended up with a distorted and unattractive face! I find 3” or larger is an ideal size for a good face, and it always helps to use a larger pad of paper. These days 8.5” x 11” or 9” x 12” is usually something I prefer to sketch on.

So obviously I re-worked the face a lot, though there’s still room for improvement. Sigh. The mouth on the original drawing was horrendous, so I made one from scratch using the mouse in Photoshop. In fact a lot of the new face was done by playing around with the Rectangular Marquee tool in PS. Don’t do it that way!!! Get yourself a Wacom tablet and draw everything the right way, correcting it all by hand. You’ll save yourself a ton of grief. It sucks being separated from my equipment, so I do a lot of making do.

For what it’s worth, at this point, the improved version is decent, minus the spidery line work, likely from the use of so old a scanner and Photoshop version. My computer has a newer version of PS, but won’t work with this house’s antiquated scanner. If I had Adobe Illustrator, I could make improved line work from scratch. But here we are.

Lastly, the texture for the wings is from a royalty free image of frosted glass. I simply created a symmetrical version of it in PS and brightened it up a bit. The finished result is the makings of a cute Fairy girl with a lousy haircut. Some day I shall have to learn how to draw women’s short, spiky, punky hairstyles. She does remind me a little bit of Sadie Sink, the actress that plays Max in Stranger Things. I don’t know why that is.

That’s it for now. If you haven’t done so already, you are more than welcome to follow us on social media. Cre8v Knuckledraggr on Pinterest, #cre8vknuckledraggr on Instagram and The Creative Knuckledragger on Facebook. Thanks again, be safe and have a great weekend! Happy Friday.

SLiM All Images (Below) are Copyright 

© Stephen L. Morris 2020 All Rights Reserved.

Superhuman Recurrences

Throughout my life, circumstances have placed me in this or that predicament where I was required to be stronger in some way, than I currently was. For example, the lesson I eventually learned from being bullied was that I had to be a tougher, faster, smarter and more confident kid than I was at the time. When I walked around with my shoulders slumped forward, looking like a victim, I looked like an easy target to bullies. That’s why I was bullied. And the lesson I learned from watching my loved ones die or go through life-threatening diseases required a different type of strength. I didn’t always necessarily need this strength for myself, but for those loved ones, and their family.

And every time I encountered these predicaments where I was required to be better than I was, the symbol of the Superman Shield was present in some way. It was in comic books, television, in the movies, in music, in video games, on t-shirts, ball caps, cereal boxes, in a cartoon, or a toy I collected, or a sticker I put on my Trapper Keeper. And the symbol of Superman was always there in some fashion.

Around 2001, I decided I had to have the Superman shield somewhere in my house or on my person at all times. It’s a philosophy I’m grateful to have adopted, though others might see me with a Superman shirt on and think “he likes the movies,” etc. I smile, but choose not to elaborate, because not everybody is going to get you and where you come from.

These days superheroes seem to be everywhere, so it's a small wonder of the difficulties we face on a daily basis. But without going through everything that has happened, I want to challenge each and every one of you to try as hard as you can to be better than you already are. Try your damnedest to be the best version of yourself you can be. And I know you can do it!!!! And when times are tough...when all hell breaks loose...when it seems like the end of days...look for the Superman logo in your life.

Be safe everybody, and thanks for reading! Link below.

SLiM

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superman_logo

The George Costanza of the Wizard Set (Metaphorically, Anyway)

So I think I may have finally figured out what I want my fantasy characters to look like. I was trained to draw realistically, but I’ve always loved cartooning and animation. More than not, I wish I had taken a couple of animation classes in college. This project is going to be populated with imagery of loose, humorous people, places and things, with just a smidge of realism, instead of how rpg’s are usually done, in my opinion, with a more serious and realistic style. If I do this humor thing, theoretically that should allow for my project to stand out among its copious peers. At least I hope that’s what will happen. This tabletop rpg is going to be something of a satire anyway, so it only stands to reason that the imagery should match the writing! Right? Right! Humorous writing and humorous characters. Sounds fun. Sounds entertaining. *Gulp* I hope.

Anyway, this guy is a sketch for one of the villains in one of my dungeons I’m working on, he’s a grubby, grouchy, weasel, pot-bellied slob of a necromancer whose creations are both hilarious (hopefully) and terrifying (also hopefully). My bungling, ill-tempered sorcerer is like George Costanza from Seinfeld, but with Coke bottle spectacles like Professor Frink (The Simpsons) or Professor Farnsworth (Futurama).

He has a scar on the end of his bulbous beak, bushy black eyebrows, a massive brush on his lip, and a scraggly ebon beard. The pot-bellied wizard’s hat looks like an Alchemist’s tent, and is adorned with what are supposed to be vulgar symbols and the gilded claws of dragons, the largest of which, resting on the top of the hat, is broken. When I’ve drawn the rest of him, his ensemble will be covered stains, crumbs, patches and stitch jobs.

I had a blast sketching this guy! Hope you got a kick out of him as well, because that’s all for this week! Thank you for reading, and be sure to follow us on social media: Cre8v Knuckledraggr on Pinterest, #cre8vknuckledraggr on Instagram and The Creative Knuckledragger on Facebook, as well as here on Blogger. Thanks again! In future we plan to broaden out social media horizons. Bye for now.

SLiM  

All images (below) Copyright © Stephen L. Morris 2020  All Rights Reserved 

A Virtually Politics Free Zone. Pretty Close, Anyway

Are you sick and tired of all the politics, everywhere you go? Do you feel there is no escape from it? If this sounds anything at all like you, then look no further, for you’ve definitely come to the right place. Here at The Creative Knuckledragger, its Facebook page, Instagram and Pinterest accounts (so far), I am happy to tell you that, with very minimal exceptions, there will be no political posts. 

I say ‘minimal exceptions,’ because on the Facebook page (May 3rd), I made the decision to comment about the benefits of wearing a mask and gloves in public. I was prompted to do so, given the amount of people I’d seen without them. I won’t get into the propaganda and anti-propaganda surrounding the US.’s current crisis. What you choose to believe is up to you and you alone.

I am, and perhaps to some extent always will be a walking contradiction. I can’t help it. Sometimes I feel I just have to hop on that bandwagon. Sigh. That being said, I’m making the decision right here and now to post about this topic in order to let my followers know my intentions. I honestly believe this blog will be most interesting sans the political input.

...not much else to say on that subject, so this will be a shorter post than typical. Thanks for reading this blog. Look forward to the weekly post on Friday or Saturday.

😀

SLiM

Post Apocalyptic Cartoon Days Revisited

Once upon a time (around 2006 to be specific), I had this idea for a project I was going to work on outside of college. It was going to be a graphic novel; a post-apocalyptic, cartoony, Urban Vinyl thing in which a composite Romeo and a composite Juliet were a Mad Max-esque survivalist couple trapped in the all-too-cliche setting of demolished urban landscape and terrorized by cartoon bunnies and teddy bears.

Not Romeo was going to be this cocksure, persnickety, foolhardy tough guy character the likes of which an actor like Bruce Campbell might play, while Not Juliet was going to be his cool, collected agile equal, the likes of which Sandahl Bergman could play, much in the way she played Valeria in Conan the Barbarian (1982).

Again, it was that marriage of dead serious and yahoo (sometimes I'm Yahoo, other times I’m Serious) that really appealed to me, especially the thought of combining both a graphic novel and a product such as a toy line together. But sadly, after toiling away on it for a decade, I abandoned it in favor of other projects I had on the backburner.

After going through previous projects yesterday, I came across several of the renderings for the composite Romeo character and remembered thinking at the time how they were all horrible. I’ve always been far too hard on myself and far to critical of my work. Anyway, I fell in love all over again with this character, so I cleaned him up in Adobe Photoshop. Go on. Act surprised. I’ll wait.

I kept the idea that the couple would have this polar opposite Yin Yang thing going on, Not Romeo in white and Not Juliet in Black, etc. I also made him a little thinner, since I model myself for most of my male characters. I dig it!! Hope you do too.

The rifle is supposed to look like a cartoon. I was thinking in terms of simplifying and embellishing objects, like the Flintstones. I’m sorry I don’t have the original photo here for comparison. And I always liked that semi...almost goth quality he has, with the exaggerated Billy Idol spikes and the black junk under his eyes. The only other change I felt it needed was a new belt buckle, as the original didn’t seem to quite belong, so I gave him this sort of cartoon bullet for a belt buckle. (Images below).

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I’ll continue to have more frequent posts for my readers in the future. Your contributions matter a great deal to me, after all. They really do!!!! Bye for now.


SLiM All images copyright © Stephen L. Morris All rights reserved.

All images copyright © Stephen L. Morris All rights reserved.

All images copyright © Stephen L. Morris All rights reserved.

My Blu Ray DVD Wish List

What's up, readers? How are things in Lockdown/ Quarantine? Like I have to ask, right? I know. Me too. So  I had an idea to share my tastes in movies. Hope you like 'em!! These are in no particular order, just some things I would like to have!

Treasure Island (2012) – Now I appreciate that this version of Treasure plays remarkably fast and loose with the book, but I’d have to say, having watched it several times, that this is what gives the particular rendition of Treasure its charm. It is in many ways what I would call an historic masterpiece. For the folks that think Pirates of the Caribbean is realistic, it is so not. No to knock Pirates. They’re entertaining films, but historic pirates weren’t pretty people, nor were they ‘scoundrels who earn the approval of others,’ yet another used and literally abused movie theme. I mean I love a good swashbuckler movie as well as anybody, and we own several of them, including Yellowbeard, Sea Hawk, Captain Blood, Cutthroat Island, Don Juan (Errol Flynn), mot to mention several more we have yet to own such as Black Swan (Tyrone Power; 1942). But what makes Treasure Island unique, among such others in its genre, is its realism. The pirates in treasure are despicable, murderous criminals, led by the disabled swindler John Silver, played to the hilt by Eddie Izzard. Fantastic film. Really. Check it out!

The Devil Rides Out (1968) – Most of my followers probably hate old horror films like this Hammer Studios cult classic, but ever since I started taking electives at Flo Valley (St. Louis Community College: Florissant Valley campus), I developed a love for these vintage and chiefly British productions with such renowned actors as Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and Charles Gray (it’s just a jump to the left). My love for these films is of course thanks to a certain professor who ran them in class. They’re wonderful films and I already own many of them, but they’re not anything like today’s horror films, where everything seems to revolve around how much blood, violence, torture and nudity will fit into a 2.5 hour film. Not to knock new horror, I’m sure plenty of people prefer it nowadays, but I’ve long since outgrown Slashers, and I never was into ‘torture porn,’ as Stephen King coined it. I think I’ll stick with old horror and slow burners like The Witch (2015). But what really gets me in Devil Rides Out is the eerie appearance of Baphomet! That was strictly practical effects, and probably something many would consider campy, by today’s standards. Sure, it’s not CGI, but what great theater. Chilling entertainment!

Mad Monkey Kung Fu (1979) – Thanks to director and storyteller Robert Rodriguez, and his television channel El Rey, I have a newfound love and appreciation for martial arts films, exclusively Shaw Brothers Kung Fu films. Mad Monkey Kung Fu is a Chinese late ‘70’s work of art, and director and actor Lau Kar-leung is incredible as the youthful braggart framed for murder, beaten, crippled, and turned into a vengeful teacher of Monkey Kung Fu. Man, what a great movie! Kar-leung and actor Hsiao Ho are a wicked pair, together! And as always, there is that patented Shaw Brothers training sequence! What moves! That combined with Shaw Brothers choreography makes this film a jewel in the Shaw Brothers crown! Well, to me it does. Damn, I’m going to have to watch this again!! It’s a great, fun, popcorn-binging Kung Fu revenge film! Never misses a beat...or a beatdown!

The Shaolin Drunken Monk (1982) – Gordon Liu!!!!!!!! What a fantastic martial artist and actor. Admittedly, this film is typically considered a bust, but thanks to my appreciation of Jackie Chan’s portrayal of the intoxicated immortal throwback Lu Yan, in The Forbidden Kingdom (2008), I am now a Drunken Fist addict!!! For me, this film is all about actor Gordon Liu’s work as the title character! Great film, plenty of wicked fighting sequences and my personal fave, the awesome Drunken Monk training sequence! I just really dig this film!

Outlaw King (2018) – Like many Gen X-ers I discovered my love for thematic war dramas through films like Braveheart (1995). Outlaw King is a sweeping epic film about the rise of Scottish king Robert I, popularly known as Robert the Bruce, who was crowned King of Scotland from 1306 until his death in 1329. Though this film is probably not very historically accurate, it makes up for it through the beautifully told saga of the recently married Robert and Elizabeth Bruce, both of whom fight very different battles against English tyranny, for Scottish independence. Long story short, if you like movies like Braveheart, were people get decapitated and run though often, you’ll like this one just as much. I think.

Voltron: Legendary Defender (the Complete Series) – I admit it. At first, I really didn’t want this semi-reboot series to exist! As is often the case among we Gen X-ers, I too grew up with what is best described as the patented 80s ‘made-for-children’ version of Voltron. That would be Voltron: Defender of the Universe, to be specific. Granted, it had been a long time since I had seen Defender of the Universe, and was largely relying on my childhood memories. When I found and purchased Defender of the Universe again, I came away still loving it, though the experience was a trifle bittersweet. When Netflix came into my life, I gave Legendary Defender a whirl, and...while I didn’t agree with every change they made, I can honestly say Legendary Defender is by far the best ‘westernized version’ of Beast King GoLion to this date! It is an extraordinary reboot, and one that was masterfully done, keeping true (mostly) to the original storyline and character archetypes, while adding all sorts of newly designed eye-candy gems for today’s Anime loving audience. I can’t wait to own the entire series!!

Now, if only I had a magic wand or an indispensable Genie that can fetch me all of these! Kidding! Kidding. 😂 Thanks for reading, stay safe and be well!! Later!

SLiM

Rock Guy Monster Dude Thing

Here we go again. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because the house’s other occupant binges TV reruns all day (not assigning blame), and I find myself watching more than my share of them. Or maybe it’s due to the elephant in the corner of the room. The one with a mask on his face, and nitrile exam gloves on his...feet. What? It could happen. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s this house itself. Or maybe it’s the city. But whatever the reason, whatever the cause, I find myself back in the past again. Like a broken record, constantly replaying that same fraction of a melody, over and over again.

Anyway, I was looking at previous images, and stumbled upon this humorous little gem. I sculpted this sort of meteorite character out of fluorescent green Super Sculpey on aluminum armature wire, back in Spring or Summer of 2007. My initial purpose was to create a figurine a small child might play with, such as the popular Imaginext line. I was also thinking about something kids could be somewhat rough with, such as wrestling figures. I clearly remember a Galoob line of WWF Thumb-wrestling figures kids could control, by sticking their thumb in the figure’s back! I think I was going for a similar pose. It’s a shame I didn’t work harder on it. I don’t know what possessed me to give it that...immovable arm-spike...thingy.

This week, I did the action figure blister card art in...you guessed it...Adobe Photoshop. You sound surprised. I also created a symmetrical version of the original sculpt in ‘Shop, considering the original was pretty much garbage. Added a loincloth (no, that’s not rock-guy pubic hair), gave it a harness and a nifty stone club, Posterized it, and created the background from scratch.

There are some shades of He-Man here, especially the Blue/Red-Violet sky. I dig it. Hope you do too. Anyhow, thanks for reading, as always. Stay safe and be well!!!! Images below. All images Copyright © Stephen L. Morris 2020

SLiM

Deconstructing A Haunted House

In 2006, while still in college, I started a project on my own, pretty much as an excuse to do it. Initially I had the idea of a haunted 12” dollhouse. This was before such things were available to the public, so no Monster High, just yet. It would have been wise to do a posh, spooky quasi Addams Family mansion, complete with all the bells and whistles one would come to expect, but I was troubled by that idea, because up to then I had never made anything so large.

Instead of being brave and trying to pull off the build of an actual mansion, I chose the easy path, opting for a simpler structure, that of a dilapidated farm house. I labored over the house off an on for several years, all the while with a faint idea in the back of my head. A story about a half-dead, crazed doctor / wizard, the last of a humble village that had been wiped out by the magic of an evil entity was a constant companion to the house’s construction. I had foreseen it as a stop-motion short film. It’s an idea I still love and still very much want to do, some day.

But the trouble with lofty dreams and ideals is they require a great deal of dedication and a massive work ethic. By 2008, I had neither of these, having recently discovered online gaming and consequently spent less and less time in pursuit of completion the house.

By 2012, I made the decision to move in with my recently widowed father to help him cops, and simultaneously escape my life in the Midwest. Part of this decision involved leaving the house behind, though I promised myself I would some day move it down to the Keys and finish the project.

Fast-forward to 2020, and here I am taking the house apart. It has been a bittersweet journey with this project, and I’m currently at a standstill. While I desperately want to keep it and move it to the Florida house, I fear that it wouldn’t survive, even if I’d mailed it. The other problem is I’ve changed, and the house is no longer a representation of myself as an artist. So here I am, trying to make a conscientious decision about a project I have long since outgrown, yet put a lot of time and labor into making. What to do?

If I mail it to myself, I risk the possibility of it being damaged or destroyed in the mailing. This build is little more than balsa wood and foamcore board, hot-glued together. The same could happen if I move it with the rest of our belongings. Though I suppose I could always make a new one.

If anybody’s got any ideas, I’m open to them. Thanks for reading, and here are some images of the house, in its various stages.

SLiM

What started out as foamcore board and balsa wood, slowly began to take shape.

While I never got to paint it, I at least managed to prime the house and film it with a colored light bulb (right). Despite it's simple construction, I always liked the way it looked.

Today's decision is a tough one, but I think I might have a way to save it, after all!

Early Childhood Inspiration

Occasionally people ask me “What made you decide you wanted to become an artist?” The truth is, throughout my life there have been a lot of influences. 

Though my artistic genes come from my grandmother, who was without doubt the most important artistic influence, I was additionally influenced by the works of such artists as Frank Frazetta, Boris Vallejo, Wendy Pini, Keith Parkinson, and Matt Wagner, to mention a few. However the absolute most important of my early childhood influences isn’t a person at all. It is instead an independent film released in 1977 by director George Lucas called Star Wars.

I came along in 1974, so I was obviously pretty little by ‘77 and ‘78 yet my memories of seeing that important piece of Science-Fantasy at the theater and the drive-in are so vivid in my mind, it’s like it happened yesterday. We went to the drive-in once every weekend the three of us-my Mom, my Dad and I. 

My Dad was instrumental in taking his only child to see Star Wars, and yet every time the movie got to the scene where the Rebel Alliance sends out its fighters to destroy the Death Star (the Battle of Yavin), my eyelids would begin to get heavy. 

I would struggle to stay awake but inevitably would fall asleep in the backseat before the movie was over, curled up in my Star Wars sheet, sound asleep on my Star Wars pillow in the back of our green Buick Regal. Apparently I would also fall asleep when we saw it at the theater, but I digress.

My parents got such a kick out of their little son trying, in his own special way, to explain why the family had to go and see Star Wars again the next weekend, since I had fallen asleep and didn’t get to see the end of the movie. It was clear to them the movie held some importance to me. I eventually got to see the entire film from start to end, which coincided as my Mom often jokes with the same time she got tired of going to see it every Friday or Saturday!

When we talk about it now my Dad often says “It opened a window for you.” I couldn’t agree more. I can watch the special editions of Star Wars, or the other chapters in the six episode Star Wars saga, or some of the many countless spoofs that have been made of the film, but nothing will ever compare to the I-270 Drive-In in ’77 and ’78. For me that’s the ultimate Star Wars experience. So it wasn’t long after that I began to draw what I imagined and what I remembered.

Best Laid Plans of the Quarantined

So I’ve been at work on these plans, or wannabe blueprints if you will, for a prop build I’ve wanted to do for quite a while now. And when I say prop build, I ain’t talking about propellers, folks. I’m talking about props. Y’know? Like the kind in a movie?

I was inspired to design an ‘engine gun,’ or a gun that partly or at least aesthetically resembled an engine, like a V8 (engine), for example. Sigh. Aesthetically. Another word that gets thrown around way to much!! Note to self: do not use the word aesthetically anymore. Carrying on.

I got the inspiration for this from Peanut M&M’s, of all things. I was buying these little M&M’s canisters. I had accumulated a little stack of the cute squat, yellow tubs, and started thinking about what I could do with them. After playing around with them a bit, an idea for a gun with an engine motif came to me.

Steampunk, you say? Heh, heh. No. This is yet another of today’s terms that has reached terminal acceptance. In order to stand out, one must actually...stand out. And I’m also going to take the time to shoot down all car nuts, gear-heads, motor heads, and whatever else you call yourselves. Nothing against you dudes and dudettes, but if you think I’m actually building a working machine that looks like an engine, or a prop made of car parts etc, also heh-heh, no.

Don’t know how it’s going to be yet, just know that it will. Got a lot to do from here. More elements to add, things to scale up or down, color schemes and textures to decide on. I’m nowhere near done, but I wanted to share anyway, to keep my weekly blog posting...thing...going. So...thanks for listening to my demented rantings. Later.

Below is version current of said build, subject to change.

SLiM

Sorta looks like a flamethrower, at this point.

Further Expediting the Results

Getting back to the plans for the model, for the tavern I hope one day to build, so I can photograph it, run the pics out to the library for Xeroxes, slip-sheet said Xeroxes and do a (fingers crossed) nice illustration for the scene I’ve written *pant, pant,* I’d have to say I believe I’ve made some improvements. 

Here is the original post, for those who came in late:

https://tckdart.blogspot.com/2020/01/expediting-results.html

In the original version, the texture for the dining area’s floor was way too bright and clashy, so after desperately trying to improve the kitchen’s floor texture, I had the notion to flip the two, and wouldn’t you know it, after a handful of gradients, and playing around with lightness, hue and saturation, I finally got somewhere.

I never liked the original texture for the bar stools, which to me looked like I had simply added a color, so I played around with the original texture (which came from Gettyimages), and tried making it look like green billiard table felt. The problem with this was, when I reduced the text, the finished result looked like a row of peas, lined up at the bar! It wasn’t too hard to turn that green billiard felt into a red-violet felt, the result of course is much more pleasing to ye olde peepers.

The original crates are outta there, replaced by better ones, the staircase width was lessened, I gave it an outer wall texture complete with wood paneling, and a significantly more fitting texture, I think, for the fireplaces. The first texture for the bar was a bit naive.

In Photoshop, I’d went into the Filters menu, selected Render, and had a go at Fibers, thinking the end result would look like ivory. Sadly, I’m still using the same textures for the new bar, tables and chairs, plus kitchen furniture, so eventually I must take my own pictures of finished wood and make them look like tables and so forth. The yellow things are supposed to be candlesticks, though the texture for them is not great. I even added a layer of dirt, spill and drip marks. If you’re wondering what all that is on the left, it is supposed to be windows and a long, narrow bench.

However, the whole build is very static, so what I must do from here is try to give the map the feel of something that is lived in. The stairs also suggest that there is more than one level to the tavern, and the other level in the scene I wrote had stairs going up. Those stairs look like they’re going down, so I think I’ll need to add a second staircase. Eventually, we will see levels one (cellar) and three (storage and living quarters).

Have a gander, won’t ya!! (Images Below) Thanks for reading. Be well.

SLiM

I've come a long way, and still have a long way to go, but I think I've made some wise choices here. The bottom version is the swanky new and improved tavern, complete with dance floor. LOL!!

Knuckles That Touch The Ground. . .

When I was in college, I was instructed to come up with both a letterhead and a logo that visually described my style of art, for a project in Graphic Design. What I turned in was a disaster, but every failure in life is a learning lesson, and failure in general is a form of learning. I love the people who say they never mess up. If you never make a mistake, how can you ever expect to learn anything? You have to grow.

Anyway, back in college (here I go again with the frickin’ past), I began taking an interest in the making of horror films. I had fallen in love with several Hammer Studios films, and was investing a lot of time and energy into these vintage classics, learning everything I could about how they were made. When the time came, I was certain without a doubt that I had to buy a video camera and start making films of my own. I needed to create a logo for my productions that fit the type of stories I was trying to tell. In the process of trying to come up with a good name, I sat down and went through the art I had accumulated in college, up to that point, looking for something inspiring. I had had quite a bit of schooling under my belt at the time.

What I noticed was that I had inadvertently developed a tendency to create things that were crude and unrefined. Early on, I was a very frustrated student, because I would watch my peers working on the same projects in the class we were in. I felt they were creating immaculate, iconic works of art, while my take on the project was sloppy, naive, poorly designed and lacking in many ways.

This is not me being overly critical and self deprecating of my work (this time). This was the truth. A grander portion of my inability to create quality works of art, back then, had largely to do with me insisting on drawing everything out of memory, without the aid of photo scrap, and without use of a light table or an Artograph. Another problem was my dependency on caffeine.

Not to knock the stuff, but if you’re anything like I was and you want to become a skilled artist, let alone one whose work demonstrates a strong understanding of design, color theory, proportion and perspective, then you might want to curb your caffeine habits. These days I keep it down to a cup of coffee a day, rarely more. I find it keeps my eyes open and I can somehow manage to relax while I work on my projects, without nervously scribbling my through it.

My point, and yes I do have one, when I sat down to create my own personal logo for this blog, I reflected on the lessons I learned in college, and how I struggled to make my art look the way I’d envisioned it. Basically, the Creative Knuckledragger is a nod to that early time in college, before meeting a certain charismatic illustration teacher, and before making the decision to take nearly every single class he taught. 

And these days, I’m deliberately trying to be crude. I think. Anyway, below is the precursor, if you will, to the blog’s title. I dunno why Neo-Barbarism, I just know that basically it was in the same vein. I'm still not sure why I went with the Celtic cross, but I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. I had taken the photo in a cemetery I visited on a family trip to Springfield, Illinois. Many's an Adobe Photoshop took place. Go ahead. Act Surprised. 

Thanks for reading.

SLiM

Live in the Now

I have a confession to make. Lately, I find myself stuck in a bit of a rut. To be specific, I am stuck in the past. Yesteryear has become a sad, tired old rerun, and it’s on every stinking channel. You see, a family crisis I prefer to keep to myself has brought me back to a place I never again wanted to revisit, and yet often find myself being drawn back to, proverbially kicking and screaming all the way! A place where every street, every shopping center, every business, and every building and every plot of land holds a particular memory. It’s as if I find myself in a vast cemetery, and I know every single gravestone, every tomb, every marker, every everything, right down to the grounds keeper's dwelling, and the towering centenary trees.

There is where I used to take martial arts lessons. There is where I went to junior high, but they’ve now changed the name and it’s presently a middle school. Here is where I worked my first job. It’s a parking lot now, and the new building was built behind it. The movie theater is now a boarded up shell of a building, surrounded by a tall fence. The toy store where I bought all my Star Wars, Masters of the Universe, Joe, Transformers, you name it, is a daycare center now. Almost every day, I drive past the house, where my friend from high school lived. He used to play drums in our band. He died rather tragically, a few years ago.

My pediatrician’s office is now a Dentist’s office. There’s my grade school, down the street from where my sitter lived, further down the street from which is where we held cub scout meetings. There’s the used bookstore my dad and I loved. Pop used to walk in and buy a mint’s worth of dated paperbacks, and I always made a killing in comic books, the back issue selection of which was rather astounding, for a little Podunk town like ours! The place where I used to buy Ral Partha and D & D miniatures is a parking lot. The used CD store where I bought many hard-to-find albums and traded in old VHS is gone, along with the local Blockbuster video.

See what I mean? If I were a character in a roleplaying game, I would swear I’ve descended into the Realm of Shadow, and am being tormented by ghostly reflections and spectral figures of the past. Thankfully, that’s not the case.

Often, we dwell on the past out of fear, guilt and regret. We take things for granted while they’re happening, but when that chapter of life is over, we miss it. Maybe we didn’t appreciate it at the time, and now it’s gone. And don’t fall into the nostalgia trap, folks. I mean sure, break out the trusty family photo album and take a trip down memory lane with the kinfolk, every now and then. Just don’t get stuck there! Because nostalgia can easily become an excuse that says that you would rather go back in time and have things be like that time-frame again, than do the best you can with what you’ve got today to get through “this thing we call life.” And at risk of further sounding like a classic 80s Billboard number, or a Dear John letter, I’m going to up and share with you the only way out of the Nostalgia dungeon.

Instead of focusing on all the things that didn’t turn out the way you would have liked, center on the lessons you have learned. Remember that what’s done is done, there ain’t no going back, and even if you could go back in time to change it all, it wouldn’t be the same. I think it was the character Oogway, in Kung Fu Panda (2008) that said (paraphrasing) yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why we call it the present. So live in the now, man! And live well.

So...in light of lessons learned I shall now share with you a lesson I learned...Lorelei. I don’t know why I wanted to call her Lorelei. When working in Adobe Photoshop, I often give the file a name, even if it may not totally fit. And I never liked this project very much either, but I suppose at the time, I felt I had to demonstrate that I too could be the standard stereotype for my profession, by sitting around drawing beautiful shapely goils with big boobies and big badonks. Cliche much? I agree.

Don’t get me wrong, I dig that art too. I like a great Frazetta painting, like Goblin Queen, for instance. Also works by such renowned artists as Frank Cho, Jim Balent, and of course it only stands to reason that I better drop Boris Vallejo and Julie Bell’s names as well. Truth is there are far too many great graphic artists out there, so I guess I better stop naming names, or we’ll be here forever! But after this attempt at ‘pin up art,’ for lack of a better term, I decided that style wasn’t really my forte. I choose to never say never, but I think I’ll stick with cartooning cute and creepy characters, and Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Gothic Horror art, for now. Maybe if I actually get some skill, I’ll change my mind, but what I do now seems to be what I’m best at.

So, getting back to Lorelei, the oldest versions start on the left and go to the newest on the right, in the collage. I did the pale one with a red outfit and blue eyes recently. I still don’t quite know why. Nostalgia, perhaps.

Since this was a personal project, I had originally borrowed an image from an issue of Maxim, at the time, though I’ve obviously elaborated quite a bit. I used Sharpie and a Prismacolor black marker on tracing paper. The model was ascending a staircase, while turning and observing the camera, so her left arm wasn’t in the shot. Right then and there, it should have been common sense to get a different image, but I insisted on polishing away at that turd, like I always do. I copied her right arm in Photoshop, placed it on her left side, and gooned her left hand. And you can tell. So...there you have it. Do as I say not as I do. Start with a GOOD image, take your time and be deliberate, or don’t bother, as one of my illustration teachers often observed. You’re welcome. 

Thank you for reading, and I hope you find my little joke amusing. I could never decide between an R rating or a PG-13 rating, so I did both. The stars are a deliberate pun, based on the usual opinion, regarding nudity.

SLiM

I Too Was Bullied, But I Did Something About It

Growing up in the 80s and 90s was a lot tougher for kids than today. We didn’t have #MarcMero to talk to us, there were no such things as #StopBullying #EndBullying #MakeItStop or the heartbreaking and seemingly ubiquitous reports of #ChildSuicide back then, and if there had been such things, I would honestly say I really don’t remember them. What I do remember is being told to deal with my own problems. I didn’t have any volunteer, nonprofit or government funded organizations to help me. I had my parents and my grandparents to tell me how to deal with it, but in the end, the rest was up to me. Nobody was going to fight my battles for me.

And what my family advised me were things we now consider cliché, like ‘hit him back,’ ‘punch him in the nose,’ or ‘if he gets a rock, you go get a brick,’ etc. The problem with all of that was that I really did not want to hit anybody. I was afraid. I was terribly afraid of getting hit and afraid of hurting someone. The root of my problems had greatly to do with my self-esteem and how I carried myself. My posture. If you walked around skulking, your shoulders slumped forward and frequently ducking your head, you were going to get bullied. I had been bullied sporadically, and throughout my childhood. All were pretty traumatic at the time, but the story I shall now relate was the one that permanently changed my life.

It was fall of 1989. I was 15 and in the 8th grade, and it was the start of a new year at school. It was early October, and I rode my bike to and from school, because the weather was still warm and pleasant, and our junior high was less than 5 miles away from my house. A fellow that I was acquainted with lived two doors up from me. We played often, when we were younger, and despite his temper and his tendency towards hitting people, I considered him a friend. We will call him Scott.

When we got out of school on this fateful October afternoon, I hopped on my 15-speed navy blue mountain bike and began the trip to home, keenly aware that Scott, his cousin whom I’ll call Kevin, and another neighborhood boy I’ll call Chris were watching me and followed somewhat closely behind me on their bikes, Scott and Chris on BMX bikes, still the rage in my town, despite the coming of skateboard mania a few years earlier, and Kevin on a borrowed 10-speed.

It was a beautiful day, and I was trying to focus on it, instead of the growing threat of an attack. As I pedaled down a neighborhood road that connected with a main street in our neighborhood, I was certain of Scott’s plans for another confrontation. The day before, he had confronted me on the street, claiming that I had been saying things about him behind his back. While this was not technically true, I calmly explained that I considered him a friend and would not say bad or false things about him. The truth was we hadn’t hung out together or played video games together, or done anything together in at least a whole summer. He was angry with me for some reason, and I was smart enough to stay inside, or otherwise avoid him. Anxiety quickly crept into my mind, raising my heart rate. I began to pedal faster, abruptly saying goodbye to a grade school acquaintance I saw and had briefly slowed down to chat with. I needed to put as much distance as possible between me and the three hostiles and I needed to do it fast!

But sure enough, once I got on the sidewalk adjacent to one of the main roads of our subdivision, Kevin sped up and began harassing me by bumping the front tire of his 10-speed into the back tire of my bike, the gear of which was set for a flatter grade of pavement, for I was not yet mountain bike savvy. This action, though it wasn’t physically hurting me or my bike, really stressed me out. Now our subdivision was mostly uphill, I’d say, and I was emotionally stressed and pre-asthmatic on a mountain bike I didn’t know how to fully utilize! This wasn’t turning out good. Then, Kevin sped up and tried to block me.

Forced to stop, I quickly sped up and changed direction, heading towards the sidewalk on the other side of the road, my tormentor close behind. We quickly came upon our street, Kevin taunting me all the way, half the time trying to pull me off my bike or cut in front and block me off. It was a wicked uphill climb, and I had nothing left, having spent most of my energy trying to get away. I remember making it about a third of the way up from the house, before I had to walk my bike, but instead I tried to run the bike up the hill out of fear and panic, all the while thinking ‘why can’t they just leave me alone?,’ and ‘I hate this stupid bike, why couldn’t my dad have gotten me a faster bike?’ In truth, it wasn’t my fault, my pursuers faults, the bike’s fault or my parents’ fault. It was just life. And it was an event that I was forced to participate in until conclusion, like it or not.

When I finally made it to my house, Kevin pulled my black Jansport backpack off my back and, before he tossed it up onto the roof, opened it, spilled out its contents, and kept my Trapper Keeper. While I watched in terror as Scott dismounted his BMX and approached me on foot, Kevin blocked me from unlocking my front door.

This is the part that really makes me angry. Kevin put his hand on my doorknob, therefore I couldn’t get in, and when I would try to pull his hand off the knob, he resisted. I was at least two years older, bigger and quite a bit taller than him. All I had to do was kick him in his fellas, and I would have been able to escape. Getting back to it, I used to rest my bike against the outer windowsill next to the front door. This time it was slumped awkwardly against the wall, the paint job probably scraped, or so I mused at the time.

Chris stood at the gate of our carport to visit with our excitable German Shepherd mix Brandy, who was oblivious to the bullying. Scott got in my face with the same claim that I had been saying suggestive things about him behind his back. Despite my denials, the verbal threats continued until I agreed to keep my mouth shut, even though I hadn’t said much. Scott wasn’t apparently aware of what little I had said about him, as he simply made it all up in order to bully me. When Kevin finally let go of the doorknob, I quickly rushed to it, unlocked it and dashed in, deserting my bike and my lost backpack. As they walked away, Kevin bragged to Scott, saying he thought I was gonna cry, and what a pussy I was. They all had a good laugh, as I quickly shut the door, for fear they would come back...and they always come back. Meanwhile I sobbed as I made my way to the back door to let Brandy in. I could hear them tearing up my homework, cheering as they did so.

Back then, I and a younger friend were both heavy into ninja movies and martial arts, and though neither of us actually knew martial arts, we collected and made ninja weapons, and ran about our street in broad daylight, wearing ninja costumes and carrying broom handles covered in grip tape as improvised Bo staves. Yes, I was a late bloomer. Go on. Act surprised. I’ll call this friend Tom.

The terrorizing began again, this time with several different neighbors and one fellow from school who lived further back in our subdivision, all banging on the door, prompting me to come out. I had come out early to rescue my bike, thankfully unharmed, though I had a tough time getting the door closed and locked. ‘When will this day be over?,’ I thought. I broke down and called my mom, who was busy at her computer analyst job. As I complained about what was happening, her only reply at first was that I had to handle it. ‘Oh, I’ll handle it all right,’ I sarcastically quipped as I hung up. I immediately ran downstairs, quickly loaded up on ninja gear and phoned Tom for backup.

Tom arrived a while after I got off the phone with him, using the secret knock we had agreed on and I quickly let him in the house. Frankly, he looked about as scared as I was, and repeatedly tried to calm me down, saying he didn’t think it was a good idea to confront them, as I was loading up my ninja gear. I refused, and was insistent that we confront them and that it had to end today. Apparently Tom had called his mother and informed her of my plans, Tom’s mom called me and immediately afterward she called my mom, and before you knew it, the police had arrived in my driveway.

After telling the officer what had been going on, the officer dictated an arrangement between myself and Scott, who had just happened to be on the street when the policeman arrived. The agreement was that Scott was to leave me alone, or the police would come back. Scott and I shook hands and before he left for his home, he was kind enough to help me get my backpack off the roof. While this seemed to quell the tribe of troublemakers, in the long run it made the situation worse.

Things got so bad, I grew morbidly afraid to be caught alone, outside. I would not take the trash out, worrying that Scott would be there waiting to deliver a beat down. I would run the cans out as fast as I could, no later than 9:30 PM and dash back in the house. My grandpa began picking me up from school, lecturing me all the way home, telling me that all my interest in martial arts was antagonizing my tormentors. Something had to be done, so my mom began asking her coworkers about their experiences with bullying. The idea that martial arts lessons were needed was already a subject in our household, given my love for ninja stuff and martial arts movie heroes like Bruce Lee and Jean Claude Van Damme. But now I actually had an excuse to take them. My mom went to three schools, before settling on one in the town next door to ours, the rate affordable, and the staff friendly and intelligent.

I enrolled at American Karate School, then located in Hazelwood Missouri. The style my school taught was American Freestyle Tae Kwon Do. It’s central focus was traditional; techniques that had been passed down for an estimated thousand or better years, and meant to teach discipline, honor, humility, integrity, patience, kindness and balance. American Karate also taught practical techniques, and these were borrowed from other styles such as Aikido, Judo, Kung Fu, and so on, much in the way Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do borrows from such styles. So in that sense, I really learned the best of both worlds: traditional and practical. Our school also taught Point Fighting, a non-full contact form of sport martial arts.

I quickly learned that practical martial arts differed greatly from what I saw in the movies. There was no rushing in, fists and feet flying, fancy kicks and mid-air techniques, resulting in whipping twenty three or better opponents at once, as they all just stood there and let the hero beat them. Martial arts is a deceptive dance between two individuals, and a dance that can easily be compared to the game of Chess, but in the end, it is not strategy that wins, but pre-strategy. Pre-visualizing a technique and executing that move with meaning and without hesitation.

In every real martial arts school, the first lesson is always avoidance, often referred to as ‘walk, talk or run.’ In other words, talk them out of it, walk away, or run away. The second lesson is a common series of self defense maneuvers, sometimes referred to has ‘cross his eyes and buckle his knees,’ in other words a patented Moe, Larry and Curly poke in the eyes, followed by a swift kick to the family jewels. Lesson 2 is used only when lesson 1 doesn't work. The remaining of the practical lessons are often an extension of lesson 2, and include blocks, kicks, punches, holds, sweeps, flips, take-downs, you name it. And a martial artist’s skill is always for defense, never to attack. Usually, Hollywood gets that part right. Usually.

Looking back on it all, I maintain the opinion that firstly, I learned how to defend myself. Not how to fight. The difference? I think it was Daniel Larusso himself that claimed he didn’t want to fight. When Miyagi asked him why he was bothering to learn Karate, Daniel replied “So I don’t have to fight.” This was the same, in my case.

When word got out that I was taking Karate lessons, everybody left me alone. There was still talk. There was always the talk, but our Tae Kwon Do school brought me confidence in the knowledge that I could handle myself in a situation like the one that got me into karate lessons in the first place.

I would continue to study American Freestyle Tae Kwon Do for another two years, though unfortunately I dropped out after getting my third degree brown belt. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret dropping out, instead of staying in and getting my black belt. It’s one of my life’s biggest regrets. In ‘95, I watched two of my class mates receive their hard-earned black belts, thinking ‘damn, I should be up there with them.’

Everybody wants to abolish bullying, but I think that it was a good thing I was bullied. It forced me to focus on the weaker components of my personality, eventually deciding to enroll in Karate lessons, which in turn not only taught me self defense, but gave me greater self confidence, courage, strength and muscles, gave me many new friends, and a haven of like-minded people who had been through similar experiences. It made me a better person in many ways. And all because I was bullied. I think, instead of getting rid of bullies, we need to start ridding ourselves of low self esteem. Get your children self defense lessons. It’s the key to a better life for them and for you.

Thanks for reading. Find a martial arts community near you, and take a trial membership. It’s a great workout and a worthwhile experience. Below is the last class picture I had taken. It is from summer of 1992. I had just turned 18, and had put on around 5 or so pounds of baby fat, largely from having taken the summer off to look for a job. I would start my first job shortly after. I would never go back to American Karate again, except to watch two of my friends earn their black belts.

SLiM

My 18 year old, acne-laden, badass self!

Making Dreams

It was 2014. I was unemployed and living with my widowed father in Key Largo, Florida. I had recently discovered Pinterest and was enjoying the addictive experience of making pin boards on my Kindle Fire. I made many pin boards back then. There was a board for everything I was interested in: illustration, sculpture, miniature roleplaying dioramas, gaming miniatures, fencing, martial arts, comic books, you name it. It was a nice little distraction at that time, and I was only too happy to waste away the day, procrastinating with the app and others.

As for artwork, the fact was I had been working on a pet project for a graphic novel (original story and characters) since 2006, an idea that had originally come to me while I was still in college, and not yet as knowledgeable of the tried-and-true illustrative skills I was learning. The problem with this project was my heart was not in it. I needed inspiration and I needed it bad. I also needed an assignment I could fully get behind. Something that was real, that was me, and that I felt I could actually prosper from creating.

One day, my dad and I decided we really needed to ‘get off the rock,’ so we journeyed from the Florida Keys to Ft. Lauderdale for a change of scenery and a nice leisurely shopping experience. I was heavy into comic books, collectibles, video games, and occasionally making artwork with the degree I had earned in college. Now don’t get me wrong. The Florida Keys are an amazing place to visit and to live in, but there’s just not much there in the way of businesses.

During our travels that day, we found our way into a comic book shop called Past, Present and Future Comics (this is the one on University drive in Davie Florida). There, I was once-again bitten by the miniature figurines bug, when I saw a stimulating selection of Reaper BONES miniatures. Elves, dwarves, orcs, goblins, werefolk, skeletons and all manner of beasties glared defiantly back at me, as if to say, “go ahead. I dare you to paint me.” So I snatched up a modest pile of them, paid for them, bought some Delta and Folklore paints, went home and set to work painting miniatures. In the act of revisiting such a long favored childhood past time, I recalled being a lot better at this task. I also recalled seeing the details a lot better.

I had first discovered roleplaying in 1983, when everything was fresh and new. In other words, it was a long time before any epic fantasy movie trilogies based on an acclaimed book series were a commonplace occurrence that nearly everyone took for granted. I was 9 years old, then. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi was coming in May, but on spring break of ‘83 in Missouri, everything on my mind had to do with the animated Dungeons and Dragons series and the LJN line of D & D action figures.

It was thanks to the unintentional efforts of a neighbor about 4 years older than me, that I discovered a newfound love for the fantasy genre through Dungeons and Dragons. Almost immediately, I stopped going to the toy store for 3 & ¾” action figures, and began going to Epic Gallery (RIP) in Hazelwood Missouri to spend my allowance on pewter fantasy miniatures and Testors enamel paints. 

For me, it was never about playing the games themselves. That was always a little too much for my right brain to process (though I would go on to play my fair share of D & D in my teens). Instead, the detail of my tiny metal figurines and the imagery that adorned every cover that bore the letters TSR was what really grabbed me. Once I bought Monster Manual, I would sit for hours, just looking at all the ink drawings, admiring the work, occasionally reading about each creature. Hmm. Black ink on white paper. There must’ve been some influence there.

Now I had several goblin archers and a smattering of orc soldiers in front of me, some with green paint on their heads and arms, others with painted boots and armor. (I know. You’re supposed to prime them first.) As I stared at the figurines, positioning them into poses of battle, an idea came to me. I remembered that childhood dream to create my own roleplaying game, complete with custom characters, custom maps, custom rules, custom everything. Maybe now was the time, I thought. Yup. Now was most definitely the time.

I knew I wanted to do something that was similar to what I had grown up with, and I knew I wanted it to have a less serious tone. It needed to be that patented blend of fifty percent bat-sh** crazy, and fifty percent dead serious, with (hopefully) unexpected character races, (hopefully) unique character classes, and a dramatic change in the utilization of stats. 

It definitely needed stats, just a different and perhaps more simplified way of going about it. The idea that the rules had to be difficult to learn, and that was the challenge didn’t interest me at all. Instead, I decided to create something that my audience will hopefully find fun and entertaining.

Little by little the ideas came rushing to me, and when they did, I jotted them down. Over a course of ‘ouch’ number of years, the project gradually took shape. The experience of writing, drawing and otherwise constructing this rpg has been a blast. With luck, I should be finished at the end of this year!

Below is a copy of my rpg's first character sheet, hilarious though it is. Cheers.

SLiM