Reading With Pictures: Comics That Make Kids Smarter

Josh Elder, drawn by Jim McClain

I first met Josh Elder in 2011 at C2E2 when he was selling his first Reading With Pictures book. When I told him and Trevor Mueller that I admired what they were doing and shared what my plans were for Solution Squad, Trevor hit me with his usual, "Don't tell me about your comic; SHOW me your comic." Trevor, I want to officially thank you for making me angry. What you said lit a fire under me. If you hadn’t said that to me that day, I might never have finished the book.

On February 29, 2012 (Radical’s birthday), My niece Rose and I launched the Solution Squad web comic, releasing a new page every week (or so). Even though we were brand new at this game, Cherry CapitalCon allowed us to table at their convention with nothing more than four pages of a web comic and a poster to sell, and that summer, Kids Read Comics was the second con to let us in. By this time, we were on page 10 of the 24-page story, and we had them printed out in a portfolio with a lot of empty sleeves in it. I sat in on Josh’s presentation there, and when I saw what his vision was for RWP’s next book The Graphic Textbook, I knew it was a great fit. It was exactly what we were already working on! I invited him down to our table, and showed him that our story was exactly what he had described in his talk. Unfortunately, our story didn’t fit the mold because first, it was going to be too long at 24 pages, while the Graphic Textbook featured 8-10 pages stories; and my intent was to use it for middle school instead of elementary, because identifying prime numbers at that time was a 7th grade Indiana standard. He was enthusiastic about it, however, and wished us luck and got a “maybe next time” if the graphic textbook got a sequel for middle school. I still backed the GraphicTextbook Kickstarter, though. I was very happy to see it happening.

In early 2013, our Solution Squad comic was finally done, and off to the printer it went. It was also accepted as one of ComiXology’s first Submit applicants, and it was released online to the public the same week as C2E2 was being held, and Rose and I were to be there in Artist Alley!

The big time! Having seen a digital copy of the comic, Josh asked me to present with him and Carol Tilley at C2E2 on Comics and the Common Core. I know I’ve told this story before (many, many times) but it bears repeating: It was the day my life changed forever. But what I haven’t mentioned is that in looking up the Common Core State Standards for my presentation, I was flabbergasted to find that identifying prime and composite numbers had been placed in fourth grade!

Later that summer, as a Kickstarter backer, I received a preview of the first completed math story that would be included in the Graphic Textbook. It was called, “Probamon: Gotta Know the Odds.” It was a Pokemon parody that was to ostensibly teach probability using an actual card game that was played with a rock-paper-scissors hierarchy. It was a great sendup! But I took one look at the actual math involved and contacted Josh immediately. The writer of the story had used probability and odds interchangeably throughout the whole thing. For those of you who don’t know, probability and odds are two different things. They are calculated and expressed quite differently. I told Josh that if he published this story this way, uncorrected, that teachers would eat him alive. At that point, he asked me to send him suggestions for changes to make the math right.

It was then that I met and worked with the brilliant Tracy Edmunds as an official math consultant. If I haven’t praised her enough on Facebook and Twitter, Tracy is an amazing person. I can’t say enough great things about her. Tracy and I have become good friends thanks to that experience. After we successfully banged out the changes that would make the story better and mathematically sound, I was invited to look at the rest of the math content. It was very exciting, being involved in something this big at this level, with virtually no experience in publishing. I did find a few more corrections to make to the other math stories, and I think they are better for it. I know Probamon is; “Gotta Chance ‘em All” is a much better subtitle than “Gotta Know the Odds!”

Because I had lettered my own book, Josh asked me to letter a few stories in the book. Woohoo! My name in the credits! The first story I lettered was Mike and Janet Lee’s “Special Delivery to Shangri-La.” I didn’t know at that time, But Janet was an Eisner Award winning artist. That’s like the Academy Awards for comics! My first job is lettering the art of an Oscar winner? Too much! Then I was making color corrections. Then I was adding titles to stories that didn’t have any. Yes, I edited Katie Cook. I can officially say that and I’m not even lying. Because I had done design work for my book, Josh then really hit me. He asked me to design the teachers guide that Tracy was editing that would go along with the book. See, I worked cheap. Honestly, I had no idea how much to charge. Besides, it was supposed to be a simple drag-and-drop design job.

Tracy and I had collaborated so much, that they invited me to come along as the co-editor of the teachers guide!  As a reward for my hard work, Josh told me that since identifying prime numbers was a fourth grade standard, they could squeeze a shorter version of my Solution Squad story into the book. There wouldn’t be any pay involved. That budget had already been spent. But the opportunity to have our comic published in an anthology was a huge opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up. I used the introductory pages of the story and ended it with a gag that I really didn’t care for, but I got it down to eight pages. When a preview of the whole book went out to backers, I got personally roasted by a critic. That was not a fun day, let me tell you. When AndrewsMcMeel Publishing came along and agreed to publish the book for Reading With Pictures, because then there was no true limit to how many pages were going to go into the book. They were adding a G-Man story to the front of it as well as a new cover, and Josh gave me the happy news that my WHOLE story could be included in the book, instead of the chopped up, not-that-funny intro story. Tracy and I immediately replaced the substandard lesson plan I had for the short story and put the much more complete lesson I was proud of for the prime number sieve. That was a happy, happy day! And as a bonus, I now had a 24-page story in the center of a book filled with 8-10 page stories, and my lettering count went through the roof! I lettered Mike and Janet’s story, my story, and two of Josh’s stories, for a total of 54 pages!

Tracy and I worked tirelessly for months putting together the teachers guide. It was supposed to be a drag-and-drop design job. It wasn’t. By the time we were ready to go, I had put over 200 hours into my work. I didn’t even see my family in November 2013. I even pulled an all-nighter one night on deadline. Teaching on no sleep? Good times. Never again. The good news for me was that since AMP had actual designers, someone would take my beginner InDesign work and make it look good!

In the end, Reading With Pictures: Comics That Make Kids Smarter is a work that I’m proud to have been a part of. The first time I held a physical copy in my hands in Las Vegas at the American Library Association Annual Conference, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. I found the AMP booth, and it was there on a book stand; one preview copy. At the end of the convention, I went home with that copy.

It was at that convention that I met some of the big leaguers in educational comics. I was on a panel with Gene Luen Yang and Nathan Hale, both of whom later agreed to provide cover blurbs for me. But it was watching Josh do a book signing that really fired me up. I was asked to stand aside and talk to teachers as they stood in line to have a copy of the preview guide signed by him. I admit, I was jealous after the hundreds of hourse I had worked on the book. But it was completely understandable. This was his baby. He raised the money, put the team together and everything. But suddenly I wanted a book that I could sign with my name on it, too. And once I saw the way that real publishers treat their talent, I knew I wanted to be part of that world!

It’s a point of personal pride now to see Reading With Pictures: Comics That Make Kids Smarter in the hands of kids and parents. It wasn’t a blockbuster hit, but it’s in its third printing, and I still sell it proudly on my convention table. When Solution Squad isn’t what a customer wants, either because they don’t care for math or they have younger children, I have my backup plan in place: A book with four subject areas with charming stories about onomatopoeia,  figurative language, and action presidents! And it doesn’t hurt that G-Man is right on the cover.

Plus, it makes for a fun story when you tell people that your very first attempt at making a comic ended up in a hardcover book published worldwide by the same company that puts out Calvin & Hobbes! 

The Last Jedi

My thoughts on Star Wars The Last Jedi come from a very deep, personal place. I would appreciate not being called a hater, curmudgeon, etc. for expressing them. Spoilers ahead.

When I was 12 years old, Luke Skywalker was a hero to me. Star Wars was my favorite movie of all time. It still was until this past Friday. Luke came from the death of his family to follow Ben Kenobi on an adventure to find answers about his father and to become a Jedi Knight. He never strayed from the path of light, nor gave in to the cynicism of Han Solo. He believed in the Princess and the rebellion. He blew up the Death Star because that youthful optimism had even persuaded snarky Solo to return to the fray where he never wanted to be.

I wrote my own Star Wars adventures built around Luke and his X-Wing, travelling from place to place with Artoo, playing with a die-cast toy much like the one Luke had of his Skyhopper, to spark the imagination. When Splinter of the Mind’s Eye was released the following year as a stealth sequel, written just in case the studio wouldn’t give George Lucas the budget he required, Luke was the hero again with Leia and the droids at his side. There was no sign of Han Solo.

When I was 15, Luke trained to be a Jedi. Though he acted like a spoiled child at first, it was out of a sense of duty to his friends that he left his training early to go to their rescue, giving up everything he had worked so hard to attain and paying the price.

When I was 18, Luke rescued Han Solo, Leia, and Chewbacca from the clutches of Jabba the Hutt and returned to his master, only to find out that he knew everything he needed to know to become a Jedi and that he only needed to face Vader again to become one. At the end of the film and my childhood, Luke had redeemed his father, was at last a Jedi Knight, and the story possibilities were limitless.


I’m 53 now. I waited 35 years to see Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight. Just a few years ago, JJ Abrams spent an entire chapter of the saga with the characters desperately looking for Luke Skywalker. The dramatic ending where Rey offers him Luke his original lightsaber, the Jedi weapon that once belonged to his father…became a setup for a sight gag. In this film, Luke casually tosses the lightsaber over his shoulder and walks away. My reaction: What the actual f---?

I didn’t wait 35 years to see Luke Skywalker become a whiny hermit waiting to die on an effing island, turning his back on his sister, the cause she believed in, and the Force. I didn’t wait 35 years to see Luke Skywalker, hero of the rebellion, actually consider murdering his own nephew while he slept. I don’t know who Rian Johnson thinks Luke Skywalker was, but I sure as hell didn’t recognize him. Luke fought hard and risked everything to redeem Vader, but thought about murdering Ben Solo in his sleep? What? Pretty sure that’s not in the Jedi code.

I’ll say this: Mark Hamill played the heck out of that role. I’ve said this before: Mark Hamill is 10 times the actor Harrison Ford is. Harrison Ford is a movie star. He plays Harrison Ford in every movie he’s in. But Mark Hamill is an actor. It was a great performance. I just wish he’d been playing my Luke Skywalker instead of whoever that was on the screen.

Mark Hamill recently told someone on-camera that he wished that in that climactic scene at the end of The Force Awakens, that the lightsaber that Kylo Ren was trying to summon to his hand had flown right by him and into Luke’s hand instead of Rey’s. Can you imagine the cheers that would have gone up in the crowd when they realized that Han’s death had created a stir in the Force that both Luke and Leia had felt and that Luke had left his exile to come to her aid? The roar would have been deafening. THAT’S how you make a Star Wars movie. You give Luke his moment. You give people like me Luke’s moment. You don’t make him project himself across the galaxy using some heretofore unheard of Jedi power that a thousand generations of Jedi never exhibited and then have him die for no reason.

I know the idea was to pass the baton to the new generation of characters.  But I only got to see Luke receive it when I was a kid and then pass it off 35 years later without ever running with it. And that was a race I would have loved to have seen, even briefly.

I don't need to nitpick this movie. I can (trust me, I have more to say) but the only important point to me is that Luke Skywalker should have been more to this trilogy than a burned out whiny failure who finishes as a cheesy hologram who really died alone on a rock halfway across the galaxy. He deserved better and so do we.

Holidays

What is it about this time of year that gets me now? Is it that everyone concerned (except my brother) is gone now? I think it must be. My dad, my mom, my sister, my grandparents...all gone. Everyone I spent holidays with as a kid, except my brother (who doesn't remember much of it), is dead.

That's a lonely thought. But the wonders and the joy and the smells of the holiday are hardwired into my brain. It's colorful Oz compared to the dreary black and white days of Kansas in the every day nightmare of my childhood. Spending time with the people who loved me most for a glorious week, as opposed to being beaten, belittled, and berated every day. There was nothing better. I know for a fact that if I had not had those respites to look forward to, I wouldn't have made it out alive. Even now, I weep with joy at the happy memories.

My grandma baking batch after batch of cookies. Ice cream with chocolate syrup and peanut butter as a treat every night. Endless coloring books and comics and silly putty and drawing paper and colored pencils. Sleeping on the hide-a-bed in the living room. Trips to Cadillac and Traverse City, visiting the best bookstores in northern Michigan, and knowing that I'll be able to choose something new to take back and read in peace without being tortured for reading "those damn comic books" again. An oversized treasury comic bought for the extravagant sum of $1.00, hearing my grandpa chuckle, saying, "A dollar for a funny book? Jesus Christ, Ma," but knowing that he didn't care.

Riding snowmobiles for endless hours and warming up by the woodstove and drinking hot chocolate. Egg nog that I helped make from the time I was able to reach the counter while stepping on a stool, with freshly ground nutmeg.  Chocolate milk with dinner; the decadence! Getting our action figures out and playing to our hearts' content while my dad and grandparents sat around the table drinking coffee.

I remember every gift no matter how small. My dad's tradition was to give us Lifesavers storybooks and McDonald's gift certificates. The reason behind the gift certificates is so terrible: My mother and stepfather wouldn't let us eat very much at McDonald's so in order to allow Jeff and me to order what we wanted, he gave us gift certificates. It didn't work out. They just used them to order the usual and kept them. Yes, I know, even my holiday stories have darkness to them. Welcome to my world. But don't think for a moment that the thought wasn't appreciated. It most certainly was. We knew we were loved, if only for a while.

As I put this last paragraph down, I'm already crying at the thought of leaving each year. And not just tears rolling down my cheeks. We're talking the ugly cry. My grandpa would slip us each a dollar and kiss us goodbye. He wasn't exactly an affectionate man, but there was no doubt of his love. One of his favorite things in the world were cordial cherries and I made sure he got a box of them from me every single year. I think it was his favorite gift. By the time we got to the back door of the mud room, we were begging to stay. "Don't make us go back. Please! We'll be good." And my grandma would hold us close, and whisper, "I know you would. You'll be back soon, I promise. I love you." And she would have to leave the room before we saw her cry as well. Then my dad would hug us. I knew he didn't want to let us go. And with hindsight, I can't imagine the guilt he must have felt for causing this disruption not just for us, but for his own parents who didn't get to see us except for twice a year. It was not ideal. But in my darkest hours lying in bed at night back with my mother, I know we were loved for a short time every Christmas. That's why I'll always celebrate regardless of religion. It wasn't about Jesus or God for me. I got beatings in the name of God.

It was about family. It was about home. It was about love. And it was about hope.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is supposed to be about giving thanks to God. The problem is, I’m an atheist. The reasons why aren’t important at the moment. I still think it is  important to appreciate the people and things in our lives that make us who we are, and if we want to do it on a retailer-driven fourth Thursday of November, enacted by Congress in 1941, who am I to argue? First thing I'm thankful for? That I don't teach history. It's all shenanigans.

As anyone who knows me or has read my writing knows, I've had a troubled life, beginning with a seriously troubled childhood. That's okay. Since then, I've led a productive life, had a successful career, am married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and have a child who amazes me every single day with her talent, intelligence, and humor. We have a roof over our heads, cars to drive (usually more than one; not today, but still), and food on the table today. We're not buried under crushing debt (anymore) and we are able to provide our daughter with dance lessons, movies, dinners out once in a while, and the occasional trip to the theater. I'd call that a win on its own.

Yes, we've had a pretty horrific time since my mother died a year ago in August. We've had catastrophic financial disasters one after another that have wiped out any savings we had and then some. But is it the worst I've been through? HA! Let me put it this way, it won't stop me from retiring. I was always planning to work anyway. I just need to make the difference between my former salary and my pension. I'm pretty sure I can do that. Want to know what has seen me through the darkest of times these past few months besides my wife and daughter? You. There was a moment in April that was one of the greatest moments of my life. If I had to cast the Patronus charm right now, this

is the moment I would choose to draw from. The moment my Kickstarter reached its goal because I had the support of so many of you, I knew I could never retreat into the darkness again. I can't thank all of you enough, but this is certainly the day to do so. Without your support, my book would never have been financed. Even now, I'm looking for ways to capitalize on it and expand its reach in a tough market. But I wouldn't even be dreaming about it if not for all of you.

Have a happy Thanksgiving!

Separation

One of my friends is leaving the school system in which I have worked for the past 20 years. He’s not the first. He’s not even the 20^th. But he’s the one I never would have predicted. It’s been a long road to travel these past few years, but it’s time this school system and I separated, too.

It started 10 years ago when we adopted Sera. There was no adoption leave language in place in the contract. But because of the way the international adoption rules for China worked, both Magi and I had to travel to China to receive our child. Only one of us could take any kind of leave to do so, even though we both had lots of sick leave time saved up. We only get three personal business days per year, and if we have any left at the end of the year, it’s converted into sick leave. We found out at the last minute that one of us (me) was going to have to take two weeks of unpaid leave to make this trip. As you might imagine, that’s a bit of a hardship when you’re already trying to pay for an expensive adoption. So we appealed to the superintendent.

Our superintendent back then was an amazing man. Some of my friends had worked with him for decades and told me so. I had no reason to doubt them, and they were quite correct. He found a way for me to bend the sick leave rules since it is often true that children show signs of illness immediately following an adoption. I would use my three personal days first, and then go to sick leave after that, to ostensibly attend to the sick child. He didn’t have to do this, but he did. And for that, we will be forever in his debt. We would have been loyal to the school system in perpetuity, had it not been for the actions of one of his underlings.

Magi was going to stay home with Sera for the rest of the school year using the Family Medical Leave Act, which allows a parent to use six weeks of accumulated leave to care for a new child. Since spring break was in the middle of this period, we didn’t count it, and she had just enough that she would not have to return to school for a week. But the personnel director at that time decided that spring break counted as one of the six weeks, and so she was only allowed to take five weeks of accumulated leave and would either have to return to school for one week or take a week off, unpaid. She took the week unpaid, putting a lot of the financial burden we thought we had escaped right back on us. We thought about going over her head, but the superintendent had already been kind to us. We didn’t want to push our luck. What did the school system gain by this? They didn’t have to pay out for five days of leave she had earned. And they lost our loyalty. We had personal loyalty to the superintendent, but professional loyalty to the school system was gone.

Someone I know and am very close to was up for a new job a few years ago. At first, she was the perfect applicant for the job. In fact, she was the only qualified applicant in the entire process. She had a teaching license and years of experience in the field to back her up. During her interview, she was asked questions that are illegal to ask in a job interview. Not just unethical, mind you, but illegal. She knew that because she used to interview people for jobs all the time and knew the law. She didn’t get the job, and it was re-posted without some of the requirements that she alone had had, like having a teaching license. The job description now also included the ability to lift and sustain 50-pound weights. Ironic, since she now has the job and has never had to lift anything that weighs close to 50 pounds. She fought this illegal and unethical practice with the union’s help and she got the job. The person who was preventing her from getting the job has now admitted he was wrong for doing so. She went on to become teacher of the year at her new school, too. So, you know, there’s that.

The writing was clearly on the wall when I won the Lilly Endowment Teacher Creativity Fellowship in 2014. Only 100 teachers statewide win this award (there are almost 60,000 teachers just in the public schools alone), at that time a $10,000 fellowship. And I was one of two from our school system to win it. Neither of us was recognized by the school system for this achievement. It was only when one of my friends wrote to the local newspaper about it that any attention was paid at all. I was interviewed by the newspaper and then on television. Only after that was there a single blurb on the school’s website about it. There is no evidence of it at all now. You can’t even find it by searching.

When I was transferred to another school against my will, that was the last straw. I’ve written enough about that elsewhere, and I’ve come to terms with it. But it was still wrong on every possible level. Lie after lie was told.

The point is that for 18 years I sacrificed for my school and my students, serving on and chairing committee after committee, initiating programs, managing after school programs, working Sundays to organize testing schedules and the like. Magi has given up countless hours in her position, doing unpaid and thankless (literally) work for her school. And now here we are, corporate cogs in the machine. I’m still having trouble with it. Schools aren’t supposed to work that way. They’re supposed to be like how the former superintendent did things. You make things work for your people because you want people to work harder for you. Unfortunately, it’s to the point now where it’s more like his personnel director treated us: as a way to save the system $500 in sub pay to make her advancement path clearer. I’m glad she never advanced a single level more.

When I watch these people celebrate the national-level success of a school on camera, while knowing full well their plans are to tear that school apart in the next three years…when I witness lies told directly to the school board…when I see other friends chewed up and spit out by the system they bled for…

It’s time to separate myself from it. I’ll do my time, shut my door and teach my kids, and start cutting ties, one by one. This makes me so ridiculously sad.

It’s not supposed to work this way. And it doesn’t.

"Data"

I just re-read this article after four years, and it's not just still true but DOUBLY true. Every last word. Years later and we are STILL pumping money into testing systems and using the tests in ways that even their designers say are inappropriate. We are evaluating art teachers and music teachers by their students' language arts test scores. We have become slaves to "data" that has no validity whatsoever. We test using math questions that have seven answer choices and up to four of them may be correct. If you miss one, you get the whole question wrong. We test proficiency in adding integers by requiring students to know every possible way to express the question instead of simply asking if they can do it reliably in A mathematically valid way.

The absurdity of the entire system right now is painfully obvious to those with enough experience and knowledge to see it. I got dinged once on an evaluation because I didn't have language arts writing prompt "data" on my wall. Never mind that I wasn't told that it was a criterion used to evaluate me ahead of time. I'M A MATH TEACHER. I'm at risk of not being considered a highly effective math teacher because I don't have writing prompt "data" from the language arts department that most math teachers (I'm an exception) aren't even qualified to evaluate in the first place? The scoring rubric was so vague that nothing useful could come from it. And I DO know how to evaluate grammar and spelling. If you want me to evaluate their writing, I'll do it. And I'll do it correctly. But a checklist item to indicate whether they used the three vocabulary words you explicitly told them to use? THAT'S NOT WRITING DATA. It's compliance data, as is the use of exactly three paragraphs. I literally have to count the times they indented and check the box. And someone thinks that posting this information on the board with a score attributed to each student makes me a better math teacher.

This isn't data we're collecting, any more than literally counting beans in Kindergarten was accounting. It's not even as good as the empirical data I gather from walking around my classroom while students are working to check their understanding. There's no serious mathematical analysis going on. There are no standard deviations being measured. I would like to challenge everyone in every school administration, local, statewide, and national, to define an outlier or even interquartile range without looking it up. And if they can't do it, they should STOP TALKING ABOUT DATA. Because that's basic, and I mean BASIC statistics. It's an Algebra II standard here in Indiana. If you're not even up to using high school math, then stop using it to adversely affect the learning of my students and the livelihoods of my colleagues and me.

I've been told to watch what I say on Facebook. I do. I carefully consider my words and edit them numerous times to make sure I am not misrepresenting myself or the truth. But, okay, I'll post it here on my old blog instead. Data proves that it's not Facebook.

The Gift

My mother died two weeks ago today. I hadn't spoken to her in nine years. When I heard that she was ill, I was surprised to learn that she had recently moved back to Michigan after years in Utah and Arizona. She has asked some of my relatives not to say anything to me about the move. I visited her on Friday the 12th, and she died as I pulled into the parking garage at the hospital on Saturday the 13th. That may sound quick, but I assure you that it wasn't. My experience with cancer to this point involves the victim writhing in pain for days until they die. My father died that way, and my mother's last days were no exception. I'm beginning to think that the cancer deaths I have read about from other survivors about their relatives dying peacefully in their sleep are complete fiction.

My mother and I were estranged for several reasons. First, she was an alcoholic and inflicted emotional pain without a second thought. If she felt wronged in any way, she would hit you where she knew she could do the most harm. She wielded the precision of a surgeon. I swore, in writing, when my wife and I adopted our daughter that my mother would have no contact with her. Second, she was a gambling addict. She once borrowed $500 from me and then filed bankruptcy, listing me as a creditor. How did I find this out? Via a letter from her lawyer. Third, for five years she allowed me, from ages 7 to 12, to be beaten by a man that she married without lifting a finger to protect me. He beat me, punched me, kicked me, and once pulled my fingernail off with a pair of pliers. And that's just the physical abuse. She at least did me the small favor of allowing me to go live with my father after my 12th birthday, because, in her words, "I thought he was going to kill you." I'm going to spare you the most gruesome details. Just understand that I (and my brother, too) went through things that no child should ever have to experience, and no child on my watch ever will again.

Although after I went to live with my father my life was relatively normal, the effects of abuse are long-lasting and if they're not dealt with, they will come back and bite you. I grew up cynical, sarcastic, unwilling and sometimes unable to trust people, especially when religion was involved. The oft-quoted, "Spare the rod, spoil the child" was one of my stepfather's favorite lines. Every day, I fight a war inside myself. So far, I've won most of the battles. The ones I have lost have been costly, especially in terms of friends and family I have alienated. I can't overemphasize how important my friends are to me. Those of you who've stuck with me have my most heartfelt thanks. You have no idea of the depth of my fondness for you.

Now, my mother's house is my responsibility. No one else wants to deal with it, and it falls to me to see that her heirs receive fair shares of whatever is left of her estate after her creditors have been paid. There won't be much, but I'll be darned if I'll just let the bank take everything. So far, I have gone through all of her papers, finding no will. I've sorted through photographs and every shred of paper that my late sister ever touched. My mother kept everything to do with her and her youngest son. There was nothing among my mother's things to do with my brother or me, her sons. We found a few scraps among my sister's things. That sounds about right. Yet here I am, doing my familial duty. Would that my mother had had that same sense of duty.

In the past few years, I have been at peace with my childhood. I have worked to become a positive force in my classroom. I wish I had been for more of my career, but honestly, I did the best I could. Being a father forced me to take a good, long look at my behavior and make a big adjustment. I wish I'd done it sooner. Am I a great teacher/person? God, no. But I do okay with the tools I have. Every day I reflect on the stupid and careless things I have said. I never let anything go. I hold onto every mistake so I don't make them again. I know I'm supposed to forgive myself. Trust me, I know how that's supposed to work, but that's not how I'm wired. I was conditioned from age seven to not make mistakes for fear of being beaten. It's a survival instinct developed over a long period of time. It's not going away. I just make do as best I can and for a while, I was doing okay.

All my thoughts of progress and well-being went out the window the day my mother died. Going through her house with the stench of cigarette smoke and cases of beer still on the dining room floor and finding gambling receipts and photos of the man who beat me just sent that feeling of accomplishment right out the window. For the past two weeks, I have dreamed every night of that time. I wake up in cold sweats, and actually have to remove my soaked t-shirt so I can go back to sleep for a little longer. I've been averaging six hours or less for a while now. And tomorrow, it's back to that house again after a week away. I have to take care of it until it's sold. We're going to have an estate sale next weekend to clear out the garage sale crap that she filled it with. Whatever doesn't sell goes to Goodwill or the dump. We have the important papers and family photos. I hope to hell the place sells fast so I can put this behind me again and get back to what's important. That's an equally frustrating part of this. I haven't been able to focus on my comics work while this has been going on. I'm hoping I can learn to compartmentalize it so I can keep making progress at least.

My brother and I have had a running joke for a while that the abuse we suffered is "the gift that keeps on giving." I could have done without this final gift.

Batman v. Superman

Oh, the feels. That's what the kids say these days, isn't it, when they're talking about powerful emotions? Because that's what the Batman v. Superman trailers have been bringing out of me.

There are many, many reasons why Batman and Superman are important to me. I've written about it numerous times here on this very blog. They were childhood heroes who served as role models for me when I had none in the real world. They were like surrogate fathers. Maybe that's a bad thing, or maybe it's good. Even though I don't care for this phrase too much, it is what it is. I understand there's room for more than one interpretation of iconic characters. But seeing them on the screen this way never fails to make me mourn for the way they used to be. And seeing fan reaction so overwhelmingly bloodthirsty and hungry for violence between two beloved characters makes me feel very old.

I've written a number of times about how comics kept my hopes alive during the period in which I was abused, but I don't think I've committed to writing how they helped me come out of it. I went to live with my father during the Christmas break immediately following my 12th birthday. My mother gave me the choice of who I wanted to live with because she (and these are her words) thought that my stepfather was eventually going to kill me. It took 0.02 seconds to make that decision and looking back, I probably hurt her feelings with the speed at which I blurted out, "I want to live with Dad."

A few weeks later, my stuff was packed into a few boxes (we lived in a trailer; I didn't own much) and we were driving to the lower peninsula to move me in. My dad had said that he was living in a bi-level house with his new wife and her two daughters. We had the address and we looked up and down the country road that it indicated, and found no house. Eventually, we stopped for directions at a cement block basement with no house above it, protruding from a hill. It had lights on. Turned out that this was it! My mother looked around, and was mortified. There were few windows, no carpeting, but a few area rugs scattered around. None of the rooms had doors except the bathroom, but all had simple curtains drawn across the partitions. She was angry at my dad for lying, but turned to me and whispered, "Are you sure you want to live here?" I nodded quickly, hoping she wouldn't change her mind. In my head I was thinking, Are you kidding? I'd live in a rabbit hole if it meant not getting beaten every day. And so, life began again. I was away from my little brother and sister for the first time since they were born, but I was looking forward to a new life without being hit.

It took some time getting used to a whole new family. My new stepmother was interesting. She was generally pretty nice to me. She had four kids. Two daughters who lived with her, ages 17 and 16, and two sons who lived with their father, ages 14 and 13. So I went from being the oldest in the family to being the youngest. One of the first things I did as a symbol of my new freedom was buy comic books. If we behaved in church on Sunday (which I always did, being eager to please) we received 50 cents, which we could spend at the small general store in town. My stepsisters always bought cigarettes (I told you my stepmother was interesting) and I bought my first comic book ever with my own money. It was a tough choice that first time out, but it was a choice of simple economics. I bought Justice League of America #140. It was a 50-cent Giant, and it had all of my favorite characters in one book. It felt like I was getting away with something sneaky, but it was also liberating because my dad fully supported it. The story had Green Lantern being captured by and taken offworld to face charges that he had destroyed a whole planet.

Of course the Justice League came to his defense. That's what they do. During their investigation in the following issue, Superman and Batman are paired off with one of the Guardians of the Universe, and while they're in space, the Guardian questions the pairing. Batman simply responds by saying, "Superman and I have been friends for a long time. We're the world's finest team."

I have one page of original comic book art left from my collection. That's the one I still own. It symbolizes freedom to me; vindication; a return to the way things should have turned out for me. I survived my abusive situation in part because of Batman and Superman, and they've been with me ever since. Over the years, especially since the Crisis on Infinite Earths and subsequently the Man of Steel mini-series rebooted the relationship between the two heroes, and Frank Miller's Dark Knight put them at odds, they've fought over and over and over again. No matter how stupid or contrived the circumstance, whether mind-control or Kryptonite or (shudder) politics, I just never buy into it. They worked together without incident for decades, thrilling millions of kids like me. And now it looks like they'll clash because Lex Luthor tricks them into it.

When someone tells the new audience that "this isn't your father's Batman and Superman," they're damned right.

Old Wounds #2 and #3

Yes, I am Russell Lissau's friend. But as Russell will be the first to tell you, I will tell a friend when I don't like something that they've done. I'm told it's a rare trait, and it might explain why I don't have that many close friends. That said, Old Wounds #2 and #3 are great!

I reviewed #1 here. This is a superhero story in setting, but it's more of a detective story, for which I am always a sucker. A former superhero's ex-wife is murdered by the same MO that put the former hero out of action years ago, and now he's the target.

In issues 2 and 3, Michael Lane goes on the search for his ex-wife's killer. Everyone around him seems to be a target and everyone who knows his secret has an attempt made on their lives. And at the end of issue #3, we think we know who the killer is. I say "we think we know," because I've been fooled before. There has been enough groundwork laid to still provide some doubt. It's effective, because now I have to persuade Russell to let me see #4 ahead of its release as well!

The execution of the story is excellent. Russell is a great writer, and we're kept guessing right along with the former Night Hunter, Michael Lane. But what I really noticed in reading these past two issues in quick succession was that the art style is changing. It was much cleaner in the first issue and as the story progressed, it started getting sketchier. This can happen when deadlines loom, but I've also seen it happen as the chaos in the story begins to leak into the art, as in David Mazzuchelli's art in Daredevil #227-233. I think the effect really works here, even if it was incidental.

There are a lot of comics out there to read that are flashier, but I am finding this story far more engaging than one of last week's books, the new JLA #1 with art by Bryan Hitch. It was flashy, but it was big and loud and dumb. Old Wounds is none of those things.

Old Wounds #3 is in stores now.

Collecting

In a recent article in The Atlantic, it was claimed that experiences trump materialistic rewards. I buy that.

When I was 19 years old and had a little disposable income for the first time in my life, I bought every comic book that Marvel and DC put out, and some selected independent titles as well. I was a collector. I carefully handled every comic, then put it in a bag with an acid-free backing board.

Thirty-one years later, I still buy comics, but I only buy what I like, and once they're available digitally on sale, I'll get rid of the floppy issues if they're worth anything. I would rather have all of my comics available to read on my iPad than to have physical copies that I have to haul with me on vacations and on planes and trains when I'm on business trips, which I take often now. Life has changed.

Back then, I started collecting superhero action figures, too. I was given the first Batman and Superman Super Powers figures, and I bought the rest. And the Secret Wars figures. All of them. I even worked at Toys R Us, and chose my figures from the cases when they were brought out to the floor. There were few enough of the figures back then, that I could keep up. There's no way I could do that now. I'd love to collect the Mego-like World's Greatest Heroes figures, but investing in my own business supersedes that want.

Then in my late 20s and early 30s, it was Magic The Gathering cards, and then other card games, Star Trek and Star Wars, mostly. Then it was original comic book art. I had some great pieces by some great artists. Take, for example, this George Perez New Teen Titans page, shown here. I had pieces by Greg Land, Norm Breyfogle, Tom Grummett, Dick Dillin, Brent Anderson, Bill Reinhold, Denys Cowan, Larry Stroman, you name it.

Then my daughter came along. When we adopted Sera in 2007, I gave it ALL up. Everything. I sold off all my action figures, all my original art (except one page, which has sentimental attachment and is worth only about $50), and all of my comic books. I still have quite a few things about me, including trade paperbacks and hardcover collections of comics. But all the valuable stuff is long gone.

Since beginning my journey of being a comic book creator, the collecting bug has lost its bite. I go to comic book conventions and buy little. I pick up a little souvenir for Sera, usually a sketch card or two, or something My Little Pony related, but nothing for me. There's just nothing in it for me anymore. I'd rather have money to pay artists to draw my creations and bring my dreams to life. When I run my Kickstarter, whenever my upcoming hardcover book is finished, I will be using the original art from the book as incentives. I will keep none of it. My wife asks me, are you sure you don't want to keep it? I always laugh and say no. A high-res scanned print will look just as nice in a frame on my wall if I want to display it and I won't have to worry about it being destroyed in a storm. I will even sell my George Perez portrait of La Calculadora. Yes, he's one of my absolute favorites, but the joy of receiving it from him and publishing it will always be a memory that I will never forget. And whenever I see him, he recognizes me as "that math guy!" That story alone is worth more to me than the actual physical piece of Bristol board.

In contrast, I read a post on Facebook yesterday about a man who has every key Marvel Silver Age comic, including Fantastic Four #1, in a safe deposit box and takes them out occasionally to enjoy them. Then he puts them back. He has literally hundreds of thousands of dollars in comics that he has to go to the bank to see.

I went to Las Vegas last summer to speak at the American Library Association annual conference, and I will be talking about that experience for years. Being wined and dined by an international publisher, being applauded and recognized for my work, traveling through Utah and Arizona seeing family, all of it was wonderful. I'd rather do that than be able to say, "Hey, look at this copy of Fantastic Four #1!" I can read Fantastic Four #1 whenever I want. It's on my iPad.

The Stick

I have been putting this off for years, but I have to get some of this out right now. I tell this story to my students, so it's not exactly a secret. This is the short version. I'll write the full version someday.

I was an abused child. My mother and father swapped spouses with another couple in 1970-71 after my mother caught my father cheating with the neighbor lady. The neighbor's husband didn't take kindly to that, and my mother and he had an affair right back.

I was almost six when it started. My brother had just been born. The next year was spent making weekend visits where they went into their various bedrooms and did whatever, while we kids, my brother and me on one side, and the other couple's three children on the other, all bunked together.

Finally, one day, the other husband, Steve, came to pick us up and took me away from my home. My mother was very pregnant with his child, and we went to live with him. The beatings began shortly after. The first time he hit me, we were having dinner and I don't know if I was chewing with my mouth open or had my elbows on the table, but I was sitting to his right and he hit me so hard in the face that he knocked me over the back of my chair. I got up off the floor with blood filling my mouth, and cried. I had no idea what I had done. Later, I figured it out. It wasn't table manners that had gotten me hit. It was the fact that I was the son of the man who had taken his wife and I looked like him. I was a daily reminder of the loss of his family. I don't excuse his behavior. I am explaining his behavior.

I spent the next five years being beaten virtually every day. It wasn't always so nice as a backhand to the face. Mostly, he had me take my pants down, and beat me on my bare behind with a 14" ruler from DeNooyer Chevrolet in Battle Creek. It was wooden on one side, and metal on the other. It was affectionately called (by him), "The Stick." You know, as in "Shut up, or you'll get The Stick." "You're getting The Stick when we get home." The police were called at different times because of all the screaming that my little brother (age 1) and I were doing, and the police examined the welts on our behinds. They did nothing. We got it worse after they left, just to prove the point that there was no one who could stop him.

But the problem with corporal punishment is, it loses effectiveness after a while. I still remember the day when I was 11 and in 5th grade and The Stick lost its power over me. We were living in Allegan, Michigan, and Linda Ronstadt's Heart Like a Wheel was playing and he was going to town on my butt. And I wasn't crying. He hit harder. I wasn't crying. I just decided that I wasn't going to feel it anymore. He told me that I'd better cry or he'd keep hitting me. I wasn't crying. I felt like I had won a victory. Then he punched me.

The beatings continued to get worse throughout the next year. I would go to school with a black eye and he would tell me to tell my teacher I fell. I didn't. I told my teacher that my stepfather had punched me in the eye because he had taught me not to lie. Didn't matter, though. Nothing happens when your mother works at the Department of Social Services. This is before there were child protective services. The beatings grew so severe that my mother finally decided to let me go live with my father, who had divorced the woman with whom he had cheated, and had remarried to a  third wife. I didn't tell my dad what had happened because they still had my brother and I had been told what would happen to him if I told on them. So, I kept it quiet. I kept it quiet until my brother got the same opportunity six years later and there was no one left to hurt. Or, so I thought. When he started beating on my mother, she finally left him for good.

This little vignette only catalogs a fraction of the physical abuse. There was far, far more physical abuse as well as emotional abuse. I just had to do something to deal with the feelings I had when I was watching Outlander tonight and the alleged "hero" started beating Claire's bare behind with a belt. I had to clear the room quickly. Writing this helped get a little bit of the anger out. There's a lot of that. That it still comes on this strongly after 38 years is just amazing to me. The impressions made in childhood truly cannot be underestimated. I know I'll never get over it. All I can do is deal with it the best I can, and try to make sure that it doesn't happen to anyone else.

Thanks for reading.

Old Wounds

I waited for a special occasion to write a new blog post here in my old stomping grounds. That special occasion is the release of Russell Lissau's and John Bivens' Old Wounds #1.

I've known Russell for some time now, and I know him to be a good guy. He's an honest guy, as honest as any I've known. And he's a journalist, like David Simon was. So, when I tell you that Old Wounds reads like an episode of The Wire, set in the world of Watchmen, you'll know that I mean business. He's telling a crime story like it is, as he's seen it. And that expert storytelling shows through and gives the world of Old Wounds a gravitas that almost seems too good for a world with powers in it.

The opening of the story focuses on Michael Lane, a former masked adventure called Night Hunter, as police wake him at his door to report the death of someone who used to be close to him. I don't even want to tell you more than that, because I don't want to spoil the blooming of the flower that marks the beginning of this story. It unfolds in a way similar to Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent, where layers give way to more layers.

What I will tell you is that the story feels familiar, with settings and imagery evocative of Watchmen (secret identity closet) and The Dark Knight Returns (retired hero missing an arm) but with none of the baggage that go with them. It doesn't feel thirty years old. It feels comfortable, like your favorite sweater that has been freshly cleaned. But as the story progresses, that comfort is only temporary, as Michael and his former partner find themselves embroiled in a mystery that you feel isn't going to go well for them. The danger feels real, and I am genuinely interested in what happens to the characters, even though I just met them.

I can't wait to read more.

It's Complicated--The Short Version

Every year on Father's Day, when people are extolling the virtues of fathers who did everything right by them, there's a silent minority who suffer. I choose not to be silent today.

I loved my dad. I miss him all the time. But to say he was a great father, or even a good one would be a lie. I hear people rationalize their fathers' poor behavior by saying, "He did the best he could." Well, to hell with that. Do better.

My father cheated on my mother. He didn't just cheat on her, he cheated on her while my mother was in the hospital recovering from the birth of his son, my brother. When my mother gave him an ultimatum to choose this woman and her children or us, he chose the other woman. We were moved out of our own home when I was almost seven years old to go to live temporarily (or so I thought) with the other woman's husband. Yeah, that was going to turn out well.

I spent the next five years being beaten virtually every day. I was older, so I got it worse than my baby brother--at first. Slapped at first, then spanked, then spanked on bare butt with a metal-sided ruler, then punched, then kicked. The beatings got so bad, that by the time I turned 12, my mother let me go live with my dad, because she thought this man was going to kill me.

My silence was bought with a threat of what would happen to my little brother, who was staying behind. My dad was married to his third wife by then, and her home was not a good environment in which to raise me. He split up with her for my sake. My dad did the best he could for the next six years, at least letting me stay at the same school through junior high and high school. I had moved 13 times before that. That's when recovery began for me, thanks in no small part to my grandmother and my teachers. It's not a coincidence that I became a teacher.

When I graduated and moved on to college, it was my brother's turn. He was getting it worse than I ever did, and the same arrangement was made. My dad took him in, but it did not go as well. My brother had lived with the sadistic man for virtually his whole life, and was a whole different person. My dad had divorced his fourth wife and gone back to his third wife at this point, and this time he chose the woman over his own son before a year was out and sent him back. By this time, we had told him about the abuse. We had explained in detail what had happened and what was going to happen if he was sent back. And he sent him back anyway.

I can forgive almost anything, but not that.

So, I loved my dad, but it's complicated. He saved me, but he saved me from a situation that he helped to create, and those of you who know me know that there are plenty of scars left. I do my best, but it's a fight. Every single day is a battle. And I wish, oh, how I wish that he had done the same for my brother.

Why, Joss? Why? (Avengers spoilers)

Dear Joss,

 I went in, wanting to love your movie so much. I got in early because of a middle-aged bladder. Stood outside the theater door, as they cleaned up after the show that preceded mine. I was the first one seated in the theater, midway up, center seat. I didn't even buy a Cherry Coke because I didn't want to have to get up and miss anything in a movie with a 155-minute running time. Great scenes. Funny scenes. Black Widow's interrogation was brilliant. Superheroes meet and they fight. That's pure Marvel. You so completely got the spirit of Marvel comics as directors and writers seldom do! I was along for the ride, and enjoying every minute, and then you dropped the bomb on me:

Thor: He’s my brother.

Natasha Romanoff: He killed 80 people in 2 days!

Thor: …He’s adopted.

From that moment on, I was outside the movie, looking in. My daughter's adopted, Joss. I love her more than comic books. I love her more than Firefly. I love her more than my own life. To imagine having to explain that line to my six-year old daughter and why everyone in the audience is laughing at Thor while he distances himself from his brother, as if he is somehow less connected because Loki's adopted, took me outside the movie. I was now a viewer; a critic. I was no longer an active, willing participant in what I thought was otherwise a great, great film.

 From that point, I was more critical in my viewing. I was less forgiving of the flaws. The funny moments, and there were many classic Whedonesque moments, weren't as funny to me. I struggled to get back in; to let the line go. It probably wasn't meant with malice, I thought. I don't think you meant it that way. But I just couldn't move past the fact that it was there.

 I've read from other sources that some oversensitive adoptive parents have a problem with that line. I'll take that hit. I may be oversensitive about it, but you know what? As an adoptive parent, it's my job to be sensitive to it. It's part of the gig. I was prepared beforehand and remain prepared to deal with comments about my multiracial family. I have stood up for my family on numerous occasions because of unthinking comments that have been made about the fact that my daughter's Chinese. It's not easy sometimes, and it has cost me personally, but it's a price that I am more than willing to pay.

So now I have to play the role of the single dissenting voice in a sea of mass approval for the Avengers. I've played this role before. Some people even expect it of me. But for the one throwaway line that was not important to the advancement of the plot, it was a great movie, and I'd be among them. But, as it stands, I'm not. I'm sorry, Joss, but I just don't see why that line was necessary, and it ruined the rest of the movie for me. I don't expect anyone who's not an adoptive parent to understand. But I am one, and I have to stand up for this principle. If I don't, then I am not the father I want to be, and I am not the man I want to be. I'm certainly not perfect, but I hope I'm at least consistent.

 I read in an interview this very telling anecdote by Thor actor Chris Hemsworth:

The line where I say, “He’s adopted.” I had no idea that would be funny [laughs]. When we shot that, I went, “Is this really funny?” But, that’s the thing. Joss is hilarious.

No, Mr. Hemsworth. Your instincts were correct. It's not funny at all, at least to me.

Addendum: After sleeping on this, I decided to go back and see it again with my wife, who I warned about it. Except for that line, it IS a great movie. I was able to look past the line, but I still wish it wasn't there.

Solution Squad

So, what have I been working on that has taken all my blogging time? Solution Squad!

Solution Squad is a teenage group of heroes with math-based abilities who entertain and educate at the same time. Kids learn without even realizing it!

With my niece, Rose, handling the art, we have made a webcomic that will be printed as a regular comic once we have 24 pages under our belts, and you can see it at www.solutionsquad.net!

If you feel inclined to back our Kickstarter, you can do so at this page!

Shadow

He was only my second dog, and the first one I got as a puppy. He came to our school as a skinny little stray, a tan shepard/lab mix with a dark patch across his back and tail. Erika Eldridge picked him up, and found him a temporary home. She knew I was looking for a dog, but knew I didn't want a big one. The first time I saw him, I knew he was my dog. He ran right up to me and started licking my leg. I took him home in a box, but he was so energetic, he sprang right up out of it and licked me in the face. When I got him home, he fit in the palm of my hand. I took him to the vet, who estimated that he was about ten weeks old. We crate trained him at first and penned him in the kitchen of our apartment with it, but he ended up climbing the crate with his claws and escaping. We knew then that he was pretty smart.

After a few weeks, his feet doubled in size, and his ears started to stand up, though one flopped down half the time. I took him for walks, and he ate goose poop. He thought it was a delicacy. When we moved into our house, he was fully grown at 88 pounds, and was quite a handful. When we went for walks in our new neighborhood, he would grab the leash with his teeth and pull me along. I was never sure who was walking whom.

From the beginning, he was an athlete. He would run, chasing Frisbees and lasers, until he was ready to collapse, gasping for air. I eventually got him to catch the Frisbee, and it was his favorite game to play. When he would bring it back to me, I had to get it from him, while he caught his breath. He would eventually tire of that game and drop it, but not before he taunted me at least twice.

Another favorite activity of his was shoveling snow. When I would take care of the driveway, he would always join me outside, waiting for a load of snow to come his way so he could snatch it up in his jaws. We even tied a sled to him a few times, but he would take off so fast, the sled rider would fall off the back. Shadow LOVED the snow.

Until he was about 11 years old, he was the same energetic, playful puppy I met on the very first day. He really started slowing down, sleeping more, and having trouble catching the Frisbee. I knew he wouldn't live forever, but I didn't expect such a sudden decline. We finally had him put to sleep today when he got really sick at home. He'd been getting more aggressive as well, probably partially due to arthritis, and although it was difficult I knew it was the right thing to do.

The house seems so much quieter without him. It's an absence we'll be feeling for a long, long time. Goodbye, Shadow. I already miss you.

Retrospective

It seems like whenever the end of a year comes we are forced to read, watch, and listen to endless retrospectives about the preceding year. Sometimes it's hard to believe that a whole year has passed since some events, while others seem like they happened decades ago.

When I started this blog, with the domain name "ofmasksandmen.com" over five years ago, I was selling off my comic books, as well as about 50,000 comics purchased from a retiring comic book dealer, and preparing for the adoption of my daughter. At first I saw it as a sustainable way to supplement my income so I could pay for our adoption after I made one huge deal, turning a 200% profit on a short box of Green Lantern comics that I nearly randomly picked up from a customer after a mall comic book show. But one thing I didn't realize was how mind-numbingly boring selling comics can be. Putting stuff up on eBay is the worst kind of drudgery, and the only thing worse than that was shipping day. The comics are all gone now (I have about three long boxes left, and I'll be getting rid of those soon, too) and my daughter has been with us for four and a half years. Life has changed in oh, so many ways. I'm not the same person I was, and reading through the old blog posts shows me just how much.

Now that the albatross (my wife's name for the business) is gone from around my neck, I can focus on a new venture, and one that is most definitely not boring. I'm self-publishing a comic book project called "Solution Squad." It's about math-based superheroes who not only do what superheroes do, but teach mathematical concepts at the same time. Think "Numbers" meets "X-Men Evolution," and you have a pretty good idea of what I'm trying to accomplish, aimed at a middle school audience who could very much use new ways to look at concepts they struggle with.

In the coming months, I hope to launch a Kickstarter project to raise funds for printing and promotion, launch the website with lesson plans for teachers and reproducible activities for students. We'll also have a webcomic, updated as often as I can manage. It's a large undertaking, but I'm confident we will be successful in entertaining and educating young teens, who never seem to have enough reading material appropriate for their age. It promises to be a life-changing experience, and I hope that it is.

For now, though, this blog comes to an end. It's been fun to keep family and friends abreast of our lives, and to expound at length on a variety of subjects. But now it's time to put my energies to where they can best be used.

Be well.

Monday Meme

I'm probably about to pull the plug on this blog and domain name, so it's only fitting that I write a little here at the end of the year.

1. What in the 2011 has proved to you that you are a survivor? I'm still employed.

2. Have you ever stayed online for a very long time waiting for someone? Absolutely. My wife, before I met her face-to-face. We met in an online game on AOL and sometimes I would kill hydras for hours while waiting for her to show up.

3. Are REALLY ready for the holidays? Yes.

4. Did you have an imaginary friend as a kid? No.

5. What niche network do you watch the most? HBO. Game of Thrones, The Wire.

6. Have you ever seen the ocean? Yes, several times. I'll be seeing it again on Saturday.

7. Have you ever been hospitalized? Twice, before I started kindergarten. A hernia, followed by complications from the hernia.

8. What do you think of the US Republican candidates for president? They're pandering hypocrites who will say anything to get elected. And just to keep things fair, I think the same about the current president.

9. Could you imagine life without a computer? No way. I use it for everything. Writing, drawing, communication, watching videos, listening to music.

Home Movies

Moviefone has a small slideshow theorizing why we aren't going to the movies as much, these days. I agree with a lot of what they said. The quality of home viewing has improved. The availability of streaming video is convenient. The economy is poor. The quality of many movies has declined.

Almost two years ago, I did the math, and it still holds true. Now that the initial outlay for a Blu-Ray player and HDTV has been made, we can buy a movie on Blu-Ray not even four months after its theater opening, and have all the popcorn, soda, and snacks we want for far less than it costs to go to the movies--even a matinee--without snacks! Even our once-frequent trips to the Tri-Way Drive-In have all but vanished. The gas used to get there and back costs over $10.00 now!

Sure, watching at home isn't the same experience as going to the movies, but I can't say the last several trips have been all that pleasant. I send text messages as much as anyone, but during a movie, I put my phone away. At the last one we saw in the theater, someone in our row had their phone out during the entire movie. Nothing like a bright light in your peripheral vision to help you lose yourself in the story being presented on the screen!

I've never gotten used to people talking through movies, either. I can understand little kids asking questions, but full-grown adults and teenagers? It's grown so widespread that when I show a rare video in my classroom, kids talk aloud more than when there's no video showing. What is it with people? When did it become all right to carry on a conversation in the middle of a movie? And I don't think this is just me being curmudgeonly. It can't be enjoyable for anyone else, either. The theaters even put up funny public service announcements before each movie, telling people not to do it. I used to say something to people who were rude, but then one day, I suddenly realized that I'm not bulletproof. I'm not even bullet-resistant. Theaters now hire more ushers to keep things under control, but you know what? They're not bulletproof, either. I don't blame them for not risking their lives to tell someone to quiet down.

I don't know what the solution is, but I know that our collection of Blu-Ray movies is going to keep growing, and far faster than the amount of half-filled popcorn bags that go into the trash at the movie theaters at the end of a poorly-attended showing of a new film.

A New Hope

No, it's not a Star Wars post. In my world, they never slapped that stupid label on Star Wars. The scrawl starts with. "It is a time of civil war."

The new DC has left me behind. I read Justice League #1 and it looked and sounded like a continuation of Miller and Lee's All Star Batman and Robin, which is not a good thing. Their best hope for retaining me as a reader came with Gail Simone's Batgirl. I was not persuaded. Marvel's editorial policy has perpetuated the view on public schools put forth, ironically, by "Waiting for Superman." I'm not amused and I'm not buying.

So, what is a lifelong comic book reader to buy?

There are still two DC titles I will buy. The first is "Young Justice." Based on the cartoon series of the same name, the story takes place between episodes and provides more background that is consistent with the story being told on television. It's been just great so far, and Sera loves it.

The other DC title, though it is that by publishing rights only, is "Astro City." I understand that it is being released with a new #1 like everything else, and that's just fine with me. I don't

care what number you put on the cover as long as Busiek and Anderson get to keep telling their wonderful stories.

"Invincible," by

Robert Kirkman and drawn by Ryan Ottley, published by Image, remains at the top of my comic book reading list. It's not appropriate for kids, certainly, but this is my personal reading list, not what I could hand to my students. Month in and month out, this is the best superhero book out there. It's got a fair amount of gore, and I've objected to it before, but it's just different somehow when it's in a book that I didn't grow up with. Because of this book, I also buy "Guarding the Globe" and "Super Dinosaur," also written by Kirkman. Super Dinosaur is very cool. It features a supergenius kid and a talking six-foot T-Rex who controls his human-sized robot arms with video game controllers. The best part of this is that Kirkman actually had a suit made that someone can wear, and their human arms fit inside the robotic ones that SD is supposed to have. Brilliant!

"The Bionic Man," from Dynamite, is Kevin Smith's treatment of the "Six Million Dollar Man," my favorite show from when I was a kid. It's unfortunately starting off at graphic novel pace. We're in the second issue and we' just gotten Steve Austin out of the wreckage of his aircraft. We'll see how this one goes.

"Game of Thrones," also from Dynamite, just had a first issue this week, and I picked that up, too. I love the HBO show and the novel, so I have high hopes for this one, too. They're not using actor likenesses, and they're using the character ages from the novel, so this one is going to be different. One advantage they have over the HBO show is an unlimited effects budget. We've already gotten to see White Walkers that are far more impressive than the ones on TV.

I'm really excited for IDW's "Star Trek." I read Gold Key Star Trek comics when I was a kid, and loved them. The later ones by DC and Marvel were just okay. IDW's version of Star Trek comics takes the new continuity created by the JJ Abrams movie and re-tells Original Series stories in the that context, under the supervision of the script writers. The first issue just came out this week, and starts "Where No Man Has Gone Before," with Gary Mitchell getting ESP enhancement. It looks like the pacing is for a three or four part story, which is fine with me.

What might have been the best read of the year for me, though, was the long-awaited release of the New Teen Titans graphic novel, "Games." What a pleasure to read! At times seeming a little bit dated, it was just like stepping back into 1989 to pick up where the "Who is Wonder Girl?" story left off. Marv Wolfman's scripting was never a favorite of mine, but combined with the storytelling power of George Perez and the moral debate over whether or not to kill an enemy, this book shines as a beacon pointing back to "a more civilized age."

Wow, maybe this was about Star Wars, after all.