|to die with music|
More heists tonight. Some guys take their girlfriends to the movies. Mine plays pointwoman.
Now in my possession: Al Franken's new one, The Truth (with jokes), from Hastings; then two graphic novels, Warren Ellis' Ministry of Space collection and the 15th anniversary edition of Grant Morrison's Arkham Asylum motherfucker, both from Barnes and Noble.
As always, all stolen.
I'm just now done with Ministry of Space, and I'm left thinking I might start writing something, maybe comics, and it's all going to be Warren Ellis' fault. The man can take a thought, a line, or an afternoon sit-down with a stack of old books and comics, and come up some time later with a story that will put you on your ass. How does he do it? How do any of them do it?
It's simple. They make stories of themselves.
Read anything Ellis has ever written, and you'll discover it's not just the characters talking to you, it's him. He gives his little cretins words from his own mouth, dreams from his own head, and causes from his own heart. He lets them do the talking, because he knows nobody would listen to him. Spider Jerusalem and Miranda Zero and Sir John Dashwood and Detective Fell and Michael Jones and even fucking Cathcart Zen. They're all bits of him given their own little worlds in which to live, over which he reigns.
And it's not just Ellis doing it either. All the writers worth reading make the characters they themselves would have been, under specific circumstances. Morrison, Neil Gaiman, Jhonen goddamn Vasquez, Mark Millar. All of them, plugging themselves into the crucible and creating their microcosms. I might be over-romanticizing it, but these creators make gods of themselves on a daily basis.
Sounds alright to me.