I am looking forward to this year’s 24-Hour Comics Day, kicking off world-wide this Saturday, October 6th. I want to approach it from many sides. As I always do, I will include the hotel I’m staying at. This year it is the Mayflower Park Hotel. As a lot of my regular readers know, I like to include sketches in my observations as much as possible, whether for a book, travel, hotel review, or whatever it might be.
24-Hour Comics Day 2018
I will have my comics-making coincide with the internationally observed 24-Hour Comics Day. I will start drawing from 10 am on Saturday and continue from there to 10 am on Sunday. There are a bunch of guidelines to this activity. The goal is to create a 24-page narrative in sequential art. If you finish early, great. Or you can take a detour from that goal and work on whatever comics project you like. There are other variations, like creating two 12-page comics. I will attempt to do as much as possible, leave the process open-ended.
Okay, with all that said, I anticipate doing a lot of drawing. I foresee doing a lot of full-on comics as well as creating a bunch of drawings that I will end up in need of a proper comics framework at a later date or may end up just standing alone, as is. And, suffice it to say, I intend to honor my gracious host, the Mayflower Park Hotel.
GEORGE’S RUN, my graphic novel work-in-progress, is humming along. These sort of hand-made-with-care items take time, especially since I’m doing everything. People who know and understand, they understand. What I dearly wish is, in fact, to get this work not only completed but uploaded, printed, and hard-wired onto as many minds as possible.
Hand-drawn lettering completed on this page.
I can do a number of things. I can start showing this to the world as a webcomic, either here and/or at a separate venue. A show of hands for everyone who supports that move. Okay. I can also self-publish, which is certainly an attractive option. And I can also make just the right love match with that certain publisher I might click with.
Always studying pages as they progress.
Anyway, folks have asked, and I just wanted to provide an update. I hope you like this small batch of teaser images. I also just got a pedicure and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to show that off too. Why not, right?
Always looking at work from different vantage points.
I’ve learned quite a lot from this and I don’t regret one moment. Next year will be the 60th anniversary of the very first episode to be broadcast of “The Twilight Zone,” on October 2, 1959. That was “Where Is Everybody?” That is a very good question to ask as I seek to stoke interest in what should be a very worthwhile project.
Here is the second part to my recent 24-hour comics marathon at Palladian, a Kimpton hotel. The work neatly fell into three sections. In this part, we shift focus a bit to talking about myth byway of Hollywood.
What if you had a special 24 hours to lift up your creative spirit? That’s how I feel about the annual 24-Hour Comics Day. It is observed around the world by a multitude of diehard fans and seasoned cartoonists.
Henry Chamberlain loves 24-Hour Comics Day!
This last weekend, October 7-8, was 24-Hour Comics Day. It all began on a dare back in 1990 when two cartoonists entered into sort of a duel: Scott McCloud (Understanding Comics) challenged Stephen Bissette (Swamp Thing) to complete a comics narrative within the span of 24 hours. Since then, countless others have taken up the freaky fight. It has become a personal quest for me too! This year, I took up the challenge in my room at the Kimpton Palladian Hotel.
Drawing into the night.
These kind of activities that pull us out of our everyday existence are essential. I cannot help but seek them out. I need to be placed out of my element from time to time, as often as possible, when you get down to it. I have my methods. And the 24HCD is one of them! I hope you enjoy the movie I created. Yes, I put together a movie while I was also creating comics while I was also intoxicated by wine, coffee, and the overall luxurious experience of the Palladian. Also, it was quite nice being just walking distance from Pike Place Market. By the way, I got to meet the legendary Pike Place Market busker, Jonny Hahn!
And this will not be the last of this sort of thing! More on its way. I welcome any feedback you may have. You can leave a comment here or you know how you can reach me too.
I really appreciate the insightful review by Stacey E. Bryan of my graphic novel, “Alice in New York.” Stacey is the author of the humorous supernatural thriller, “Day for Night.” Her review is a wonderful boost of acknowledgement. All of us writers and artists strive for just this sort of connection.
The Big Apple. For a lot of people, those four words would mean little or nothing. But for me personally, it means a lot, because I was living there in 1989. The Twin Towers were still intact. Our country hadn’t turned that strange corner yet and started accelerating down a slippery slope into the 24-7 fear-mongering which has left us in the mess we’re in today.
When you’re in a mess, there’s no room for magic. But in 1989, in New York City, the old gods, the old ways, were still intact, and this is the year and the setting where Henry Chamberlain captured that feeling tenderly and bravely with his graphic novel “Alice in New York.” […]
Cyclists in Seattle are in a highly awkward position.
Seattle would like to be considered a first-rate bicycle-friendly city. Unfortunately, it’s just not up there with Copenhagen or Amsterdam. Not even close. We locals are facing a lot of problems. There’s a huge push to get cyclists on the roads despite intolerant car drivers. We have a poor infrastructure for cars let alone bicycles. We have the City of Seattle with ill-conceived solutions including confusing and impractical bike lanes. We have a city official, Scott Kubly, who used his influence to have the City of Seattle buy a failing bike-sharing system, Pronto Bikes. Cyclists in Seattle are in a highly awkward position. They are risking their own lives to pursue their cycling passion in a city ill-equipped to accommodate them. And, given what they go through, they feel entitled: they push right on through, jump onto sidewalks when they feel a need, and make life for pedestrians just a bit more stressful and even dangerous. I have many fond memories of riding a bicycle. I have fond memories of once driving a car in Seattle–not anymore. Seattle has a long way to go before it can call itself a cyclist paradise.
Mack Stuckey’s Guide to the Center of the Universe
A Kickstarter campaign has been launched (ends 8/28) for the illustrated novel, “Mack Stuckey’s Guide to the Center of the Universe,” a dark satire set in Seattle. This isn’t your “Sleepless in Seattle” or “Singles.” Join the campaign right here.
MACK STUCKEY’S GUIDE TO THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE
MACK STUCKEY’S GUIDE TO THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE is a new project that I want to share with you. It is an illustrated novel by Jennifer Daydreamer and Henry Chamberlain. This is a dark comedy about Seattle that will be coming out later this year. More details to follow. Here is a synopsis along with an excerpt.
What It’s About:
Seattle, 2014. Mack Stuckey is stuck in a rut. He’s twenty-three-years-old, still lives at home, hates his job and has no girlfriend.
Mack is a blue collar type with a penchant for books. He’s from a family of fishermen and lives in a neighborhood called Ballard. He has to work in Fremont, a tech hub, where he’s a lowly security guard at the giant game conglomerate, Game Needle.
Mack stumbles into a friendship with the suave Devon Rush, one of the high-powered suits at Game Needle. Things are looking up in his life until he realizes Devon’s new romantic conquest is the girl he’s falling for, none other than the beautiful Jupiter Fellows.
Jupiter is one of Fremont’s most alluring hippies. As the two guys compete for her, Mack’s life becomes a roller coaster. Before they know it, Jupiter cajoles Mack and Devon to partake in a threesome.
Mack Stuckey’s Guide to the Center of the Universe is a dark comedy exploring the new realities in our economic times. There’s plenty of sex and foul language, therefore, FOR MATURE READERS ONLY.
Mack Stuckey stuck in a rut.
The siren sounds. I stare at the bridge. The skies, the mountains, the waters, are all a thick painted grey. I run, head down, as if the clouds are pressing against me. Shadows descend. My vision darkens. I know a storm will hit.
Washington State is a tease. The truth is it does not rain much here; we are just taunted with pregnant skies for months on end. And, yes, you will hear this fact about the weather in every Tom and Dick book out there about Seattle. But most of you don’t read, so I’m filling you in.
It’s grey most of the year and when the rain decides to happen it happens in annoying spurts as its usually polite fucking rain. Like it will start to rain in the evening when most people are lucky enough to be home from work. Or it will rain like hell in the middle of the night, where you are warm and dry and can hear the motherfucker lighting and all, from the safety of your home.
If you’re lucky and your roof doesn’t leak, you can enjoy thinking of all the greenery and how the rain is, you know, a supernatural phenomenon, because the pounding on your rooftop and on the ground, is FUCK YEAH UNBELIVABLE.
It gets your mind spinning at night, a rain to meet head on with in a forest, like you’re Indiana Jones. But you’re not Indiana Jones. You’re a fat lazy twenty-three-year-old fuck, a bear, lying in bed, in your mom’s old faded blue home, fantasizing about Indiana fucking Jones, running and slipping and jumping in the jungle and the rain and all. You’re wide awake from drinking too much coffee that day and therefore you’re an irresponsible lazy ass northern bear not getting enough sleep for the job you gotta go to tomorrow.
But, right here, right now, on top of the Aurora Bridge while I frantically blow my whistle as uncaring cars drive by puffing exhaust into my face, the rain turns the oil on the road into nasty slick circles which makes me slip.
I go down.
The cops descend on me, lift me up off the ground, chide me that I’m not one of them and then nudge me along back to my job. I’m not one of them alright.
I’m a lousy security guard. Deflated, I walk back to work in a downpour.