Aberrant Press

So here’s Jupiter, just out there somewhere… Spinnin’ around… Plottin’ the destruction of us all…

The title is more than a bit sarcastic. Actually, I’m a little dismayed that I have had the site up for this long and only posted on it 100 times. Over the course of three years that equals about two and a half posts per month. Yes, I have blogged much more than that throughout the years in various places, but this is sorta my e-home and I feel like I’ve taken as little care of it as I have my actual home.


So with that in mind, I’m making it my goal to step up my game and be at 1000 posts three years from now. That’s only one a day, but when you consider I was only doing one every fortnight, I think it would be a serious improvement. I’m also making it a short-term goal to get a store on this website, because commerce is encouraging. So even though the new year has already begun in earnest, I’m making these my resolutions. Check back more often, safe in the knowledge that I will be posting content at a brisker pace from now on. If it seems like I am being negligent in this, feel free to chide me until I’m back on track. Here’s to the next 900 posts!

Did these on and after Free Comic Book Day for people. Had such a long back list that it took me nearly a month to catch up!
First is a weird one that some guy asked for. He wanted Colossus wearing a sombrero and sporting a Jesus tattoo while shaking some maracas with an explosion in the background. So that’s what I went for:

Here’s a quickie Vader I banged out in about five minutes for a lady who was in a hurry:

Next, here’s one I did of a woman who wanted herself as Wonder Woman. I always hate doing these during an event because they take forever and the people you are drawing tend to stand, which throws off the perspective a little. It still came out alright though:

And finally, we have a pretty stand one of Death and Dream from Sandman. I didn’t want to just do them standing around, so I tried to do something that spoke a little bit to the characters:

I don’t know, man. It just sorta popped into my head and refused to leave without a full-on Photoshop exorcism. So here you go: my friend, Greg, who’s last name happens to (sorta) be…

So I had tried to fund my graphic novel on Kickstarter awhile back, but fell short of the goal. This time out, the goal has been lowered and I’ve got my fingers crossed. Check it out below!

And what the hell, here’s the widget, too.

I had to write this. I did not choose to sit here, clacking away on my keyboard at two in the a.m. to tell you an anecdote about the drive to create. It’s flowing out of me and to stop it, to dam up the torrent pouring forth would be giving in to fear. In truth, I have to get out of the way or risk being whisked off by the current. The rational man in me wants to do something else. Surf the web. Clean the house. Jack off. Anything but do something that I genuinely want to do; something that I in fact revel in: telling a story. Already, in choosing to preface it, I open myself to criticism and ostracizing. “Ooh, look who thinks he’s an artiste!” Fuck it. I lay myself before you and am prepared should you pull daggers on me.

What spurred this on? The snowball started it’s downhill descent the other night at our weekly Drink and Draw meeting. Gilbert (the artist on Super) had just read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. It had enlightened him; putting down in words what he already felt deep in his gut and in a way that said it in easy, defined terms. In reading it, the treatise felt like a “well, duh.” sort of revelation, but one that he (like most artists) obfuscated through the doubt and terror embedded in his psyche. Like a good friend, he had to share it with the rest of us. “Get it.” was his command. Get it I did… Two days later. I got it two days later, because at my core, I’m a procrastinator. Which is a big part of what The War of Art is all about: fighting past the bullshit we throw in our own way in order to be what we want to.

Finally sitting down to read it, after wasting the bulk of my day online keeping up with people on Facebook and reading articles on Cracked (be forewarned, it will steal your entire day), Mr. Pressfield’s writing instantly sucked me in and did for me what I think it must have done for Gilbert. It held up a big fucking mirror with which I could see every inch of my weakness. It covered not only the reasons people procrastinate (he even gives them the all-encompassing name “Resistance”), but also the answer to fighting said Resistance. No real surprise that it’s the simplest answer there is (do the work), but it’s said with such certainty and clarity that this easy solution becomes an instant internal mantra. Do the work, Justin. Fuck everything else; fight through it and do the work.

Which brings us to the crux of the story. This thing was motivating me in a way that I hadn’t felt since I first starting writing Super years ago. I felt the absolute need to write something. If we refuse to let Resistance hold us back, if we indeed just do the work, the stars (for whatever reason you choose to believe) will start to align and in fact help you along the path. Resistance will put up a fight about it, though. While sitting here, plowing through the sage words of advice and considering what I’d write upon finishing, my roommate called. She needed to be picked up from a casino twenty-five minutes drive from the house. Would an hour away from this give Resistance time to take hold and sap me of my drive for another evening, thus making it doubly hard to resume the fight tomorrow? I climbed into the truck and started to pull away from the house when she called again. Her boyfriend had just gotten off work and was already on his way.

The stars align.

I stop off to grab a quick bite to eat, and come right back here. Armed with not only a still fresh desire to write something, but something to write about as well. Something I knew instantly that I had to write. How could I sit here and read such a thing, be given a perfect example of it in action, and then not pour it back out onto digital paper? I can’t. I won’t. I think back to when Gilbert and I started Super. I remember saying that I was no longer asleep; that I was finally awake. We plunged in and worked hard until we didn’t. Life got in the way. The desire for comfort pulled us away from our desks and onto the couch (usually to watch Star Trek: TNG). We nodded back off and struggled to get the book finished, losing years in the process. Tonight, The War of Art reawakened me. I can’t guarantee that I won’t slip, that I won’t have lazy days here and there, but I will fight as hard as I can. Because I have to.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back and finish reading The Art of War. In this case, I don’t think Mr. Pressfield will mind my procrastination…

Kermit sums it all up nicely (and in song, to boot)!

I spent my entire weekend at the shop having this exchange:

CUSTOMER (excitedly): Dude, you saw Transformers 3, right?!

ME: Nope. Didn’t like the first one and heard the other two were worse, so I never bothered with them.

CUSTOMER (confused): You didn’t like the first one? Why?

ME (in bad Optimus Prime voice): Sam, we really need to get this thing called the All-Spark before the bad guys do because other-wise we are totally fucked so it’s hyper important and… Oh, shit. It’s your dad! HIDE!

CUSTOMER (blank stare indicating how they don’t see this as an example of a huge insult to the intelligence of a child let alone a mother-fucking goddamn grown-ass man!… Huff… Huff… Okay, I’m better now): …….

This conversation happened a few times, in pretty much every case verbatim. The only way to calm myself was to do the math and realize that those who I had the conversation with only accounted for about 2% of the customers I saw over the last several days… Then I saw the weekend grosses for the movie… Shit.

I just noticed that Mark Evanier hasn’t posted anything on his site in 24 hours. That’s either a record or cause for worry…

My buddy Cody (aka Crash Test Cody) stopped in the other day to show me his new belt. Let me rephrase that. His new Vegas Championship belt from wrestling promotion VCW! Couldn’t have a better guy repping my valley, so here’s some shots of the pair of us basking in the glory of all that gold…

If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen what the man went through to get that belt, I may have wanted a shot at the title!

It seemed like a typical Sunday. I was trying to reorganize everything from the singing we had the day before (our facebook page, for those who need it), and who should walk in but Joshua Hale Fialkov! He had stopped in purely because one of the people signing the day before, Chris Roberson, told him we were bad-ass! Cool cat that he was, he seemed to agree. He then signed a set of his series Echoes for my co-worker Bobby and took a photo-op with me. I opted to go old-school “myspace”-style and get us both in nice and snug. He commented that we were making it too sexy by getting so deep into one another’s personal space. And how could two chubby, hairy guys pressing up on one another not be hot? I don’t have an answer for that, either. But why force you to merely imagine it when I have the photo right here:

And just for the heck of it, here is a shot of the Echoes set we had him mark up (I would have had him sign a bunch of stuff, but we’ve been selling out of his books!):

The man left us with a smile and I told him to hit up Ralph’s shop as well. Hopefully we’ll be able to bring him back out sometime in a more official capacity!