Flatwood

Honeymoonin'

2006-07-12T14:14:00.000-07:00

Well, on July 1st, 2006, I was married to the girl of my dreams.
But...I'm not here to talk about that...I'm here to talk about the rockin' good time we had afterward.

Our destination: Sunny St. Petersburg, FL

Step 1: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Yeah, I hate flying, but my wife's only stipulation was that we go somewhere that required flying...and since I didn't think she'd be too happy about flying to Branson, I thought Florida would work.

Left: Here we are on the plane. Don't worry. I was smiling on the outside, but about ready to puke on the inside. Isn't she beautiful?

The plane ride was uneventful: no terrorists, no delays, no falling screaming from the sky.We made it safely to the wonderful state of Florida or as one of my friends call it, God's Waiting Room.

We were booked at the swankiest and pinkest hotel that St. Petersburg could afford, but the simple fact that it was twenty miles from the airport made renting a car a necessity.

I was kind of upset that I was going to have to pay about $150 extra just because I was under the 25 cutoff, but at the rent-a-car place, they never asked. Let's just say that it was Enterprise's way of giving me an unofficial wedding present.

Left: Rachel wanted to call it Honey. I just called it Sweet.

Much to our surprise, we didn't have to drive an '85 hatchback.

It was actually rather cool. I mean, it still looked like something my Grandma would buy in her end-of-life crisis, but, hey...

It was fun jetting around in this thing all week.

Step 2: Bayfront Room

Like I said, our hotel was pretty fancy (not to mention pink). It was so fancy, in fact, that we seemed to be the local riff-raff who somehow scrounged up enough money to stay there. It wasn't all bad.

It was right on St. Petersburg Bay.

Well, to make a long story short... just pretty much hung around the hotel room. They had a cool pool and a snobby downtown district where we ate overpriced food, but it was great. It's nice to live life richly for a while.

There was a Salivdor Dali museum down the road that I was really excited about...but it turned out to be pretty disappointing. There were a lot of his older paintings, but I more of fan of his older stuff. The ones we saw were HUGE though...they filled almost a whole wall. You don't realize that just looking at it. Anyway...no melting clocks...it kinda sucked.

Step 3: The Main Attraction

The stay, the sights, and the food were all great, but I have to saw this was my favorite part. Yes, I'm talking about a tree--but not just any tree. THIS was a FLATWOOD tree (officially called a Banyan Tree, but for me, Flatwood Tree).

See how cool it is? It seriously looked like something out of a fantasy. It had these roots that grew out of its branches and trailed down almost to the ground. It was weird.

The body of it looked like it was made up of several different trees all twisted together. I must have took about seventy pictures of the thing. It's going in the comic...I just don't know where yet.

Here I am with my favorite attraction. I think this was the point that Rachel started to get a little scared. Haha.

It was like meeting a celebrity or something.

Step 4: The End of All Things

It was a great week. It didn't fly by...but it didn't drag either. We went to Clearwater Beach one day. That was fun--but hanging out with my best friend in a tropical paradise was great, too.

Now, we're back in good old Missouri, and we couldn't be happier. Time for me to get back into the old Flatwood grind. I'll have to think of some depressing things to keep me inspired. Just kidding.

Left: My Lovely Bride

So, once we get some wedding pictures back, I'll be sure to leave some of those here as well. Thanks for reading. And remember, it's not a Banyan tree, it's a Flatwood tree.

Goin' to the Chapel

2006-05-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

Well, the Day's almost here: July 1st, 2006. I'm getting pretty excited.

I'm moving into our new house in four days. It's a busy time.

This is a picture I drew for our wedding program. I just wanted to share it with you all.

The Bagman Ballad

2006-05-11T09:58:00.000-07:00

Here is a song that will be sung in the months to come by a new character called Asher.
He is a member of a group called Camp Gethsemane.
You might recognize the subject of this ballad.

The Bagman Ballad
As sung by Asher of Camp Gethsemane

A man, bag o’er his face
Bade me walk wit ‘im one day
Down the paths that few will stray
and keep ‘is lively pace

‘E showed me trees
‘E spoke the breeze
‘E broke the dew up’n ‘is knee

And through ‘is eyn
I were ab’l to see
Things to come
Things to be

Sat ‘e once
Upon a steed
Now, I see
‘E walks by me
Now, I see
‘E walks by me

And through ‘is eyn
I am ab’l to see
Things to come
Things to be

The Lay of the White Rider

2006-03-17T09:20:00.000-08:00

Here is yet another entry in the Mythology of Flatwood. It may or may not shed some light on the identity and/or history of the White Rider. This is only one account and may or may not be true. Oral histories have a tendency to become overexaggeration or even diluted through the telling. But enjoy it for what it is worth.

Time, once is had began,
Progressed for Man and
So his need increased,
And he took of the Wood
And made his home elsewhere.

He had many children,
And they took of the Wood,
Making their own homes elsewhere.
Ever and anon townships sprang forth,
Great gatherings of Men,
And the Wood was forgotten
For none lived there
Beneath the boughs.

In this time,
No one sang to Those Who Watched,
No one prayed to the White One,
No one mourned the Great White Stump
Or what it had once been.

Only the old goatherds would wander the Wood
For now it was deemed evil and wild—
The grip of the past was too strong there—
And Man was no longer its ruler.

And it came to pass
That an old goatherd,
One who had little of his wits about him,
Upon a day,
Found his way unto the Great White Stump.
And there a noise that did not sound unlike
The cry of a kid
Fell upon his ears.

He walked closer
thinking perhaps he had lost one of his fold,
But the sound did not come from the base,
But from the height of the Great Stump.

“What could make such a noise?” he wondered,
And he took it upon himself to climb and see.
After much toil, he reached the height,
And there on the top of the stump was a baby boy.

The child had hair of white and skin as milk.
His eyen were the palest the old goatherd had ever seen.
He looked for some in his midst.
“Who had left this child?” he wondered.
But he saw no one.
Even his simple mind knew that this babe
Had been left in the Wood to die.
Being a kind man, he resolved
To take the child as his own.
“I shall take this child as my own.
For he hath none in the world to care for him,”
He said, and it was done.

The old goatherd raised the white-haired child,
Teaching him the ways of the goatherd.
He was taught how to heal the broken hoof,
How to follow the call of a lost buck or doe,
How to tend the herd and make sure none strayed from the rest.

He was the kindest child that ere had been.
He found simple joy in the tending and care of the goats.
The old goatherd watched this with much happiness.
“Thou art one with the goat, my son,” he told the boy.
“Thou art as white as the milk that comes forth from their body.”
Although the old goatherd observed all this and was pleased,
He saw that the boy never spake
Nor learned the art of speech.

It came to pass that the Wood grew darker and darker with every year.
Evil things lived there now—vile things whose
Bellies drag the ground
And whose eyes carry nothing but malice.

The road that bore travellers through the Wood
Was no longer safe to traverse
Beasts fell upon wayfarers—
Black beasts whom all feared.

And as blackness spread throughout the Wood,
The boy grew into manhood,
Though he remained simple and dumb.

Anon the people of the township began to
Murmur and utter strange omens.
Those who lived nigh to the Wood
Were rumored to be in accoradance with its darkness.

The old goatherd and his mute son
Were blamed for the evils that surrounded them there.
“Those are queer folk,” the hard-hearted villagers would say.
“No good comes from them. They have bewitched the Wood.”

For fear of their safety,
The old goatherd drew him and his son
Deeper into the darkening Wood.

Anon it became that only fools and robbers would dare
Travel the road betwixt the townships.
Only the gravest or most selfish mission
Drove them beneath the black boughs.
And this caused much sorrow.

In the township there was an holy man
Who could see beyond the veil of this world and to the next,
And it was to him that the people ran crying.
“Tell us how we may heal the road.
Without it, we shall die—cut off from the world.”

“The White One hath not forgotten us,” the old man said.
“He hath sent his champion to clear the way.”
At this, the people praised him in their foolishness—
Forgetting he from whom the message was sent—
And took heart.

Anon news of a strange knight seen in the Wood
reached the township.
Parties had been waylaid along the road,
But a White Rider had saved him, they said.
No one had known his face—
For it was shrouded in a white cloak.
He rode on a white horse, they said.
And his sword and armor shone like the sun.

“He is the servant of the White One, sent to
Save us,” the people cried, and they were glad.
Time and time again the Black Beasts
Were driven back and the paths made clear.
But ever so often the Knight came,
He would be vanished ere any could know his name.

And it came to pass that the people
Began to murmur.
“Wherefore should we not know his face?
Who is the person of this strange man?
It was for us that he was sent.”

And it was decided that they should leave
Snares for the White Knight.
Deceits and ways of cunning that they
Might know his true self.
But he eluded them all.
And the people were wroth.

Upon a day, the old goatherd and his son
Were tending their flocks in the fringe of the Wood.
From afar, they heard a great noise rise up,
And weening it to be trouble, they went
To see what noise it was.

A crowd from the township had
Chased a man into the Wood.
The voice they had heard was that
Of an holy man—the same who had
Predicted the coming of the Knight.

“Tell us the name of the Knight most blank, old fool!”
They cried at him, ever coming at him with upraised arms.

“Miscreants!” cried the holy man.
“Do ye know what ye ask?”
“Tell us or we shall pluck out thy eyen!”
Cried the cruel and foolish people.

The idiot son of the goatherd heard their cries
And was sore distressed.
“Do nothing, my son,” said the old goatherd.
“These are wicked people, and they shall have their will.”

But the son did not list—
The gathering was nigh the Great White Stump—
And he tore forward and climbed to its height
And spake the first words he had ever spake.

Crying out,
“Wherefore doth ye persecute yon holy man?
I am he whom ye seek—
I am the Rider in White!”

The gathering of people was struck dumb for a time.
They could not ween the idiot boy of the goatherd had spake.
Then they became wroth.

Crying, “Fool boy! How dare thee speak falsely about such a matter!”
“I have spake the Truth,” said the idiot boy.
Then they laughed. “How it is that the idiot son
Of a goatherd is a mighty knight? He who cannot speak.
And tendeth the goats?
Where is thy mighty trappings?
Where is thy armor?
Where is thy horse?
We shall cut out thy tongue for such lies!”

“Such secrets are between me and my master.
But know that I speak the Truth.
I am He,” said the goatherd’s son.

Then the people became wroth out of measure.
“Blasphemer! Traitor! Mothered by the goats ye tend!
Thou hast been sent by the monsters of the Wood!
To blind us! To keep us from the truth!
Silence thy mouth, or we shall silence it for you!”

“Come away, boy!” cried the old goatherd.
“They shall tear thee to pieces! They are not in their minds!”

But the boy did not list.
“I have been gifted speech to speak the Truth.
If I do not, I shall be stricken dumb,” said the boy.

“We shall strike thee dumb! For your falsehoods!”
Cried the people, and they dragged the young boy from the Stump.
And having done so, they gathered up the rocks that they could find.

“No! No! Ye cannot kill this boy! He hath done nothing in error!”
Cried the old goatherd. But his pleading fell upon deaf ears.

They threw the boy against the base of the Stump
They threw the hard stones against him without mercy.
They crushed his bones with their heel.
They raged until they could rage no longer.
The boy was dead.
He had not made a sound.
His time for speech hath ended.
The old goatherd fell to his knees and wept.

The holy man knelt beside the boy’s crushed body.
His blood hath stained his blank face crimson.
“What have ye done?” cried the holy man.
“He spake the Truth. It was he who rode the white horse.
It was he who saved ye from the terrors of the night.
How have ye been so blind?”

Then the people stared dumbfounded.
Some began to lament.
Others let forth no sorrow.

The White One, seeing his champion so asundered,
Make the Earth to quake and the trees to rumble.
And the people fled before his face
Crying for mercy.

But mercy had they had, and mercy had they cast aside.

The Great White Stump—touched by the boy’s blood—
Grew dark with it.
And the holy man blessed the place
Where he fell.

The old goatherd took the crumpled body of the boy
Upon his shoulder
And made his way through the Wood—
Weeping all the while.

He passed many townships—
Carrying the broken body of the boy.
They all marveled at his sorrow,
And wondered what manner of man
Deserving of such a dole of sadness.

At last the old goadherd reached a great lake—
And there in a barge upon its midst,
Were three beautiful damosels, shining like the sun.

They were singing and their voices were like the honey of the vine
For they were Those Who Watch.
And they took the body of the boy
From the old goatherd
And placed it upon their barge saying,

“Do not weep, noble man.
Count yourself blessed,
For among all the world of men,
He hath chosen you to bear him.
We take him now
To the White Wood of his master,
But He shall return
When the Wood of Man hath once again grown dark
And in all the world there is no light.”

And so their presence left the old goatherd.
The barge disappeared upon the misty lake,
Bearing the body of the boy to the far shore of Malkata,
And he took great comfort from their words.

He lived out the rest of his days
In the heart of the Wood.
No black beast once again appeared on the road.
No great evil plagued the travelers.
But the White Rider appeared never again.
And the people perceived this.
And many saw the Truth of their actions and wept.

And when the old goatherd died,
They took his body and buried it right well
Saying, “Wise was the one we called fool.
Great was his counsel, though we heeded it not.
He hath made us all recreant unto him.”

And so shall the White Rider sleep
In that distant Wood
Until the day when he is needed most
When he shall return to bring
Light into this Wood once more.

Birthday Present #3

2006-02-24T05:40:00.000-08:00

Check out this awesome addition to my birthday presents. It was sent in by the same person that sent in #1. Great Job! This is a great scenario: Malebolge vs. AEnemo.

Birthday Present #2

2006-02-22T06:15:00.000-08:00

Check this out! It's from SlipDiscDon, the creator of the hilarious Camp Alaska. Isn't it great?

Click the picture to enlarge it.

Birthday Present #1

2006-02-18T07:40:00.000-08:00

All right!
My first birthday present!
Isn't it cool?
This is from Whizzbang Productions! (Click on the picture to see the full magnitude of this piece)

Title: "The Hobo Currently Known as Prince"

(Witty! Haha!)

AEnemo's Song: As It Will Appear in the Comic

2006-02-17T16:11:00.000-08:00

By the waters of that dark shore, yea,
We sat and wept,
When we remembered the White Wood.

Upon the willows there
we hung up our lyres.
For there our captors demanded of us song
and our tormentors mirth saying,
"Sing us a song of Malkata."

How can we sing the holy song
in a strange land?
If I forget you, O White One,
Let my right hand wither.
May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.

O Daughter of Babylon, you devestated one,
Happy shall he be who
requites you with
what you have done.
Happy shall he be who
takes your little ones
and dashes them against the rocks.

Beethoven's Mother

2006-01-24T12:44:00.000-08:00

This makes me think of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.
Bee-thoe-ven and Sew-Crates...heh heh...

Enjoy.

Newest Cartoons

2006-01-18T07:55:00.000-08:00

Here are cartoons I redid from the archives:

My Latest Scheme

2006-01-10T08:13:00.000-08:00

Here's my latest scheme.
I've recently become aware that there are plenty of opportunities out there for nobodys like me to break into the exciting world of greeting cards.
A lot of companies are looking for freelance artists with one-panel gags, and everyone has always said that I should try to break into something like that...soooo...I'm going to go for it.

I don't know if you all know, but got my start drawing for my campus newspaper, the Southwest Standard. Well, I mean, I've been drawing forever, but that was my first drawing for the general public.
Twice a week, it ran little one-panel gag strips aimed at skewering campus events, political happenings, and, every once in a while, nothing-in-particular.
After I had been doing these for a while, I decided that an online collection would be cool, so I put up ZacharyParker.com.

Then, one thing lead to another: I noticed Keenspace, Flatwood was born. But, technically, my webcomic career started with one-panel, "funny" strips.

So, my idea is to revamp a few of these, a few that I think would make good greeting cards. Some prime candidates are the ones below:

None of these really have much to do with anything, but I thought a possible greeting card message could be attached with some of them.
For the full archive (pardon the crappy website) click here. If you see any others that you think would be good, let me know.

Anyway, in the next couple of weeks, I'm going to be working on a portfolio to submit to a couple of companies. I'm still going to be doing Flatwood, of course, but The Elite Eight will have to take a backseat to a new possible source of income. I'll be posting the redone/new one-panels on the vote page, so stay tuned.

Any questions?

AEnemo's Song

2005-12-20T10:54:00.000-08:00

I read this passage in church on Sunday.
It's very poetic.
It's the song of an Israelite trapped in captivity in Babylon.

It just sounded like something AEnemo would sing (filled with mourning and anger):

By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down and wept,
When we remembered Zion.

Upon the willows in the midst of it
We hung our harps.
For there our captors demanded of us song
and our tormentors mirth, saying,
"Sing us one of the songs of Zion."

How can we sing the Lord's song
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
May my right hand wither.
May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.

O Daughter of Babylon, you devestated one,
Happy shall he be who requites
you with what you have done.
Happy shall he be who
takes your little ones
and dashes them against the rocks.

Psalms 137 : 1-9

The Birth of Woman

2005-12-07T10:35:00.000-08:00

After the passing of the White One, Man roamed the forest alone, weeping in his heart.
All living creatures mourned as well as he for they, too, missed the White Light.

But Man, knowing that while eternally punished, it was he who should lead all living creatures.
He set down a name for every which thing that ran and jumped and flew.
He named all things: the sun, the moon, the waters, the wind.
He knew in his heart, it was his duty to do so.
This is how Man became the Once Son.

Man was not as the men of our time.
He was great and tall. He was fast of feet and nimble.
He could see all things and behind them.
But he was alone.

Time passed, and Man became sad.
He had no one with which to share the new wood.
All living creatures were busy building dens and nests and burrows.
They did not share the troubles of Man.

During the night time, Man watched the Moon and wished for her beauty.
During the day, Man listened to brook and desired her song.
And at the twilight, Man watched the Sun and wished for her radiance.
But he knew of none to bestow such things.

One day, he decided to ask of Those Who Watch what could be done to ease his sorrow.
They stood at the edge of the new wood, where it slips into the Outer Darkness, full of eyes.

“Nothing can come from Nothing,” they told Man.
“There is nothing new under the sun; therefore, you must give yourself up.”

“How can such a thing be done?” asked Man.

“You must journey into the Outer Darkeness,” They answered.
“There the servants of the Worm, dark and terrible things, will rip your flesh and swallow your eyes.
They will break your body and mock you.
They shall devour you.
This must be done for a new thing to enter the wood.”

“But I will be destroyed, and I may not enjoy what I have sacrificed myself for,” said Man.

“You have asked, and we have answered,” said Those Who Watch.

Man pondered these things in his heart.
“I will go,” said he.

He did not go back to tell any thing where he was going.
He did not seek any aide.
He knew it was his journey alone.

He walked boldly into the Outer Darkness where no good thing had ever gone.

As soon as he passed the wood, his eyes were swallowed by blackness.
But he kept walking.

He soon heard cackling and strange noises on every side of him, mocking jeers and taunts.
Then, his ears were taken from him and devoured by nothingness.
But he kept walking.

“I have come so that I might not be alone,” he said to the darkness, though he could not hear his own words. He did not know the reply of the darkness but felt pain from all sides.
Then, the power of speaking was taken from him.
He felt his lips sewn shut.
But he kept walking.

He felt a quick touch of wind and felt his arms hewn from his body.
Strong hands pulled at his hair.
Sharp feet kicked him from behind.
But he kept walking.

A great force grabbed him by the throat.
He felt hot breath in his face. He felt his legs pulled from him.
He could no longer walk, but he had not been beaten.
Inside his broken body, his will still flourished.
The dark things felt this and removed themselves from his presence.

And there in the darkness, Man felt the great Worm, the great trickster, come upon him.
Though he could not see it, he knew it stretched on for miles.
Though he could not smell it, he knew that it stank of excess.
Though he could not hear it, he knew it was laughing at him.

He felt himself being eaten.
The great Worm pulled Man into his mouth.
But Man did not falter.
He was fixed upon his goal.

Darkness engulfed him, and he knew no thing.

The living creatures of the wood became worried when Man could not be found.

They searched the meadow where he loved to watch the Moon.
They searched the rock where he oft sat listening to the brook.
They searched the high cliff from where he viewed the sunset.
He was not found.

Finally, they decided to ask of Those Who Watched where he might be.
Of all things, They would know.
Few words They would tell the creatures, only that Man had made a sacrifice for all and then wept.

At this prompting, all the living creatures ascertained what Man had done:
He had gone into the abyss, into nothingness.

They rose on fluttering wings, swift feet, and strong arms and rushed to the Outer Darkness.
The living creatures ran through the darkness.
The evil things shrieked and fell before their love of Man as they ran through the void.

And in the darkness, the living creatures found the pieces of Man, what the Worm had left behind, his lifeless limbs, body, and eyes.

Then with scampers and get thrusts of wings, they brought the pieces back from the darkness, back into the wood, back to Those Who Watch.

“Now, throw the pieces into the Great Water,” commanded Those Who Watch.
“For all were born of the Great Tree.
Now, the Great Water will give its gift to us.”

The living creatures did as they commanded and waited to see what would transpire.

The wind whispered across the water, and with a mighty splash, Man stood from the water reformed.
He was not as tall as Man had been before.
He did not have the body for speed.
He did not see all things or behind them.

“I am made unwhole,” cried Man from his malformed mouth, feeling of his lesser body.
"I am blind."

“Look,” said Those Who Watch.

Then, all heard a song as beautiful as the babbling brook coming from beneath the waters.
And standing forth from the waters beside Man, came a creature beautiful as the Moon and as radiant as the Sun.
It was Woman, and she was singing.

She walked to Man, from whom she had been made, took mud from the shore and smeared it o’er his eyes.

And his eyes opened.
And he marveled at what he had accomplished.
He was no longer alone.

"Man has given the ultimate price," cried Those Who Watch.
"He has given of himself for another to be formed.
For this, both shall be blessed."
And the living creatures marvelled and learned much from his doing.

So, it was at this early time, that Woman was born.

As Woman is made from Man, so is Man made from Woman.
And so henceforth, Man must give himself for Woman, losing all that he had, but finding it in her.
And she will be his sight, strength, and his speed in this wood and the next.

Creation Story

2005-12-01T09:54:00.000-08:00

Since I'm attempting to establish a meager mythology behind Flatwood, I've decided that it's become essential to come up with a Creation story. If and when, an Easter Sister starts weaving the tale of the first times, how would it go? This was written solely for my benefit. It may or may not be included in the comic. But I thought it might be interesting for some of you to see and perhaps give you a brief glimpse into my twisted mind. So, here, for the flatwood residents, is how the world began:

When all things began,
the White One created the First Tree.
The Tree was true,
The Tree was thick and strong.
As it grew, the Wood grew with it.
And the Wood was good.
The White One was in the Wood.
He was in the trees.
He was in the leaves.
He was in the grass.
But the Wood was still dark in its goodness.
So, He made a great white light
that shone from within the Wood.
When this was done,
he walked in the Wood
and basked in the glory of the white light.
But he was still alone.

He thought of how the First Tree
had brought forth all other trees,
and he said, turning to himself,
“Just as the First Tree has brought forth children,
so shall I.”
He tenderly pierced the side of the First Tree.
The white sap poured forth,
and taking the sap in his hands, He made all living creatures:
Creatures that crawl,
Creatures that creep,
Creatures that stand above all others.
He made some fast.
He made some slow.
He made some cunning, but small in size.
He made some simple, but great in strength.
In all, he put the love of the Wood.

When this was finished,
he saw that what he had done was good
and he laughed.

This was the First Laugh.
The laugh reverberated through the Wood.
It shook leaves loose from the boughs.
It caused all trees to turn their heads.
It caused all living creatures to stop in awe.
And from the bit of sap that was left from the First Tree,
Man was formed.
When the White One saw his creation, Man,
He knew that Man was great above all others.

After this had been done,
The White One addressed the living creatures:
“Above all others, Man is blessed.
He alone shall know joy
because he is the fruit of my mirth.”
At this, all the living creatures marveled and bowed to Man.

The White One showed them all the First Tree.
“This is the tree that created life,” said the White One.
“All other trees are used for food and shelter and creation…but this tree shall not be.
This tree shall be revered above all others.
This is my command.”
And Man and the living creatures marveled at this and were silent.
All felt the spirit of the First Tree.
All understood its greatness.
All heeded the command, except one.

The Worm, lowliest of creatures, held envy in his heart.
And he began to plot.

After he had given his command,
the White One took a seed from the First Tree.
With this seed,
He created Those that Go Between the Woods,
Those that Watch,
and their Helpmeets.
For this purpose, He created them:
to watch the Tree, day and night,
and see that it came to no harm.

For a time, All was peace.
The White One loved Man above all others.
They walked beneath the pale boughs.
All living creatures ate the fruit of the Wood,
All living creatures sought shelter of the Wood,
All living creatures marveled at the beauty of the Wood;
None disturbed the First Tree.

But the Worm plotted and envied the White One
and detested him for his lowly station.

While walking through the Wood, Man came upon the Worm.
The Worm was burrowing into the ground.

“Worm, What are you doing?” asked Man.

“Something great,” replied the sly Worm. Though small in size, the Worm had been gifted with a slippery tongue.

“I am burrowing down,” said the Worm, “so that I might burrow up.”

“Where do you wish to burrow?” asked Man curiously.

The Worm grinned shrewdly. “I wish to burrow into the First Tree.”

At this, Man gaped. “Such a thing is forbidden,” Man said.

“True,” said the Worm. “Why would it not?”

Man could not understand the Worm’s meaning and asked of him again.

“It’s sap is the sap of Life. Anyone who eats of this sap will become great—greater than than those around them—even greater than One whom all should fear.”

“What do you mean?” Man asked.

“The White One does not wish you to know of this. If you knew, you could become greatest than he. I wish to eat of this sap, so that I might become beautiful and tall.”

Man pondered these things in his heart.

“But I am a lowly worm. I can never become greater than thee, greatest of all animals,” said the Worm.

Man said no thing.

“That is why I will share it with you—you who will become great, greater perhaps than…the White One. Why, in fact, you could be a White One yourself, create your own wood, bring more beauty and peace into the world,” said the Worm.

It was at this time that Evil came into the Wood, for the in Man’s heart, Greed stirred.

The Worm had played his trick well. For he knew that these were the thing Man desired most in his heart. And Man consented to leave him be, letting the Worm to his work.

After time, things continued as they had. The Man silent. And the Worm burrowed.

Soon, the First Tree began to fade.
Its bark grew hard and brittle.
Its leaves began to fall from its branches.
Its visage began to wither with wont.
It no longer gave forth fruit.

The living creatures began to notice this and called upon the White One.
“Who has done this thing?” cried the White One in grief.
All gathered around the dying tree.
None knew who had committed such a foul deed.

But the White One felt who had done the deed.
He faced the Tree and called, “Come forth, Traitor.”

For a time, no thing happened.
Silence beneath the boughs.
Then, a hole began to grow in the side of the Tree.
It was black and deep and grew and grew.
At its end, the Worm poked his large head from the Tree.
He had become bloated on the sap of the Tree.
He was no longer small, but great and gluttonous.

“Why do you cry out, White One?” he asked.

“Because you have defied me, Worm,” said the White One. “You have destroyed the greatest thing ever gifted to living creatures.”

“So I have, White One. I have become great on its sap. I am filled to bursting. But what of it? You no longer have any power over me,” said the Worm.

“I have power over all things. And for this thing, you shall be cursed,” said the White One.

“I did nothing alone, Great One,” said the Worm undeterred. “Man helped me. I offered him sap. I have cheated him, but in his idleness, my plan has succeeded.”

The White One turned to Man, but Man said nothing and lowered his head.

The Worm began to laugh and sap dripped from his lips.
This was the Second Laugh.
This laugh went through the wood.
The trees quaked.
And from where the Worm’s sap had fallen, sprang dark shapes, night creatures, and all things evil.

With this, the White One seized the Worm, pulled him from the Tree, and threw him out of the Wood, into Sheol, the Outer Darkness.

“So you have betrayed me, “ said the White One. “Now, you will reside in darkness. You will grow great, but you are poisoned. You are my enemy. You make take the shriveled things you have created. You will hunt those who follow me, trick them, entice them, lure them to destruction, and I will not impede you. For an eternity, you will plague my children, but when the time comes, you shall be destroyed and all of those dragged down with you—into nothingness forever.”

With this, the White One turned back to Man.

All living creatures held their breath.

“This wood will soon wither, grow drab, and with this, its glory will be lost. But I will create another—a white wood, one built to last,” said the White One.

At this, the living creatures looked up. Man kept his head hung low.

“But you cannot go there in this time. Death is the only entrance. You must stay here with this wood. It will no longer glow with white light. It will no longer give forth fruit willingly. You must fight it, coerce it, wring your life from it. It will give you nothing for naught. It will become flat—lifeless, dark and cold,” said the White One.

At His telling, the white light of the forest faded.
For the first time since their knowing, the living creatures were thrown into darkness.

“But I will not desert you,” said the White One. His voice rang out through the darkness.

He knelt and picked up the last white acorns dropped from the First Tree. He threw them into the darkness, and they hung there, shining out. “I shall place lights in the darkness to give you hope.”

He knelt and picked the last piece of pale fruit dropped from the First Tree.

He turned to the Stork, Hasidah, “Carry this into the sky. It will shine as my light does, but not as bright. Each day will be divided—darkness and light. For I will take my light away and leave it to shine from afar. By day, my light will shine upon you. But because of your disobedience, darkness shall govern the night. At this time, the Worm may work.”And once these things were said, they were done.

“Now, I must go,” said the White One.

Those that Watch, Those that Go Between the Woods, and their Helpmeets began to cry softly. The White One turned to them.

“I will leave these behind to watch over you, guide you, to fly to my shoulder to give me news, to purvey my power through this new wood,” said the White One. “But I can never show my visage here again. I can no longer walk beneath these boughs. I am departed from this place.”

He turned to go. Man fell upon his knees, begging.

“I cannot return,” the White One said. “My power would destroy this wood. But I will send a champion, one who carries my standard, who works through my light. He will be your boon. But much time and much suffering must come before this. Until then, look into the sky and see my lights, know that I still am, watching afar from the White Wood.”

And from that time forward, Man has walked alone in these woods.

Miriam

2004-10-04T14:44:00.000-07:00

Hey.

I thought I would type a bit about Miriam since she seems to be a very mysterious, yet luminous character. Not that I will give away any secrets and not that there are any to give away in the first place, but...

The idea for Miriam came from a short story I read in Eighth grade. The title of the short story (surprisingly) was "Miriam" and it was written by Truman Capote, a famous, now-dead American author (for all of you who didn't know that already).

Anyhoo, the story tells about an elderly woman who lives by herself in a big city and feels content being totally isolated from every one else. One day while she is out getting groceries she encounters a little girl with "silver white" hair that was "almost like an albinos" with "hazel, steady" eyes "lacking any childlike quality whatsoever" and "seemed to consume her small face." She strikes up a conversation with this girl and begins to notice that something isn't right about her. She talks like an adult and has this creepy condescending attitude. And, eventually, the old lady leaves and doesn't think anything about it.

The next night she's in bed and she hears the doorbell ringing and ringing and ringing...and she finally decides to answer it. It's Miriam. She waltzes in like nothing's the matter and starts demanding that the old woman make her sweets and talk to her. The old lady asks the little girl where her mother is and the little girl won't reply, just telling her to make her sweets. Hours later, the little girl's still there just staring at the old woman who's about ready to go out of her mind. The old woman finally begs Miriam to leave, which she does, but not before angrily smashing her living room vase, giggling, and skipping out the door.

The next day, the lady decides that she's going to get that terrible experience out of her mind, so she goes out and has a shopping day, doing whatever old ladies do to cheer themselves up. When she gets home she hears a knock at the door. It's Miriam. She's sitting outside with this creepy doll and she has a big box with her. It's her clothes. She's moving in, she informs the old lady. The old lady's under some kind of spell and can't tell her no. While she's moving in her box, the old woman makes a break for the stairs and yells for her neighbors to help her. Since she's babbling on like she's crazy, her neighbors come and inspect her apartment, only they can't find anything.

*dramatic swell of music*

So, the old woman goes back into her apartment, obviously shaken, sits down on her couch and starts to think to herself. Did she just imagine Miriam the whole time? Was she a real person? Is she just going crazy? She closes her eyes in concentration and feels a tiny little hand rest on her shoulder. She opens her eyes into the big, bulbous eyes of Miriam and the final line of the story:

"Hello," Miriam said.

And that's it. Sorry. I just love that story and I was hoping I could find an online version, but I couldn't locate one. But it's definitely worth a look if you ever happen to see a collection of Truman Capote's work.

The image of the little white-haired girl named Miriam has always been in mind and Flatwood seemed like a good place for her. Mr. Milk seems to think that she is Alex's sister, but, then again, he seems to think he is Alex's father...

I've always thought that Miriam is a very cool name. In the Bible, Miriam was the sister of Moses, a prophetess and helped lead the children of Israel out of Egypt during thier Exodus. So, I don't know. She could be good and she could be evil. She sure looks creepy, but in Flatwood, that doesn't mean a whole lot, right?
Later.

Gotta Have Faith...

2004-09-27T22:10:00.000-07:00

Something that is key to understanding Flatwood (if that's possible) is to realize its inspirations. I have listed these elsewhere, but I thought it might be handy to it here again.

One of the primary inspirations for Flatwood is Dante's Divine Comedy which includes the Inferno. The 14th century poem chronicles the journeys of Dante the pilgrim through Hell, Purgatory, and, finally, Paradisio. It's filled with vivid horrors, religious symbolism, and lyrical descriptions of something otherworldly. So, in other words, I think it's great. This doesn't mean that Flatwood is a direct copy of it. I actually thought about doing that very thing, but decided it just wouldn't work. First off, Flatwood is not Hell. There is no hope in Hell. And, as dark and dismal as it may be, there is always hope in Flatwood. (Doesn't that make you feel all warm and toasty?)

Another inspirations (I use the term "inspirations" loosely, as always) were: The Fairie Queen (Edmund Spenser's epic religious poem) and Paradise Lost (John Milton's epic religious poem). And, yes, I do read other things besides ancient religious poetry...I'm a big Danielle Steel fan...

And for all of you who believed that Danielle Steel comment you can leave now.

Since I'm an English Teacher (in training). Literature has always been the primary inspiration for Flatwood: Edgar Allan Poe, J.R.R. Tolkien, Ursula K. Leguin, Lloyd Alexander, Charles Dickesns (yikes, I know), Jack Vance, Robert Heinlein, J.D. Salinger, all tied into Flatwood, because they helped make me what I am and perceive things the way I do. Their works do not bear a direct influence on Flatwood, just me. *smile*

Probably the single most influential peice of Literature on the comic would be the Bible. I don't know if anyone has figured it out, yet, but a large amount of the allusions in the story come from famous passages of the Bible. As a Christian and as someone who has always been exposed to the Bible, it's easy for me to recognize these quotes, but others may not get the connection.

But don't ever think that the fact that I'm a Christian means that Flatwood is an allegory. I, personally, hate allegories. I stand with Professor Tolikien rather than C.S. Lewis. Allegories are boring and trite. Instead, like Prof. T, impressions of my beliefs might find their way into the work, but there is no secret motive.

If anyone is still reading by this point: Go do something more interesting...like watch acryllic paint dry.

As far as movies go, they are my second passion. Obvious influences would be: The Exorcist, The Shining, and Poltergeist (In my opinion, the three greatest horror movies every made).
Another obscure influence would be Invasion of the Body Snatchers (not the really old one, but the 1970s one).

As far as artwork goes, I've been ruined by Jim Davis. He's who I started emulating as soon as I could hold a pencil and though my style has definitely evolved since the early days, it's still very Garfield-esque as one person described it. And, as every middle-class child seems to, I grew up on Disney movies and, as disgusting as it sounds, they taught me that it's possible to move audiences with cartoonish characters. In the same way, Chuck Jones and others taught me that it was possible to make people laugh, as well. Stan Lee's always going to be one of my heroes, too. He's amazing. (Was that a pun? I think it was.)

Tim Burton, although he's a director, influenced my artwork, too. Dark and Gothic, yet light and happy. Haha.

I think I'm starting to bore myself.

Just to get this on the record:

A couple of people have accused me of being Lovecraftian. Which, up until they called me that, I had never heard of the man. Since then I've read several of his shorter works and, yeah, he's very interesting and it bears a strong resemblance to Flatwood, but it's not an influence. Sorry. That may be a let down. I'm crazy all on my own.

All in all, though, I think Flatwood is pretty much all my own. I don't think anyone else would want to claim it.

Well, those of you who still have sanity: Thanks for reading. Just trying to give you some insight into the murky void of my mind. Good luck.

Gainfully Unemployed

2004-09-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

Well, I got some big news this week. As some of you may or may not know, I am currently going through my Student Teaching, which means I teach greasy Freshmen all day and, in turn, have to pay my university to let me do so. Yeah, it's great. Anyway...up until this point I have also been working 16 hours a week at an employment agency (I've worked there ever since I started college) and drawing cartoons for the college newspaper (which usually takes about five hours each week). So, add in about fifteen hours spent on Flatwood that gives us a grand total of about 76 hours a week of working hours. Up until this point, I have been able to handle it, but I've come to a breaking point.

Soooooo...

I'm not going to draw Flatwood, anymore.

Haha. Actually, I am, I just wanted to give someone a heartattack.

I enjoy making Flatwood too much to ever cut it, so I decided to quit my job. Which frees up my schedule a bit, but also puts me into financial danger. But, oh well. What are parents for, anyway?

So, the point of this is: Flatwood should be updated with new regularity and I won't have to post a new comic two days after it's supposed to be up. This annoys me as much as it annoys you, so it's coming to an end. Or we'll see, but hopefully it will.

Also, since funds will soon run dry, I can't keep the Flatwood store open for too much longer. This probably won't break anyone's heart, because I don't think anyone has bought anything since I opened it. Most of the people who read this probably don't even have a credit card, so I don't see how they would. So, if you do want something from the store, I'd get it now. In about a month, it's going to go bye, bye. It costs about ten dollars a month to have one and it's definitely, definitely not worth it. If you want a shirt, I can make you a dang shirt. Ask Aeromage.

That's all for now. I have much more stuff to say about Flatwood, but I'm out of time.

Later.

Flatwood Cemetery

2004-09-20T22:09:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention this in my last post, but the actual name "Flatwood" has an interesting origin. My family is prone to sudden random travellings and one day as we traversed the back hills of Southern Missouri we drove by a little cemetery. I don't know if you've ever seen an extremely old country cemetery, but the only thing distinguishing it from a rocky spot of earth is some haphazard sign that tells you these rocks mark the graves of the old hill people. What was interesting about this cemetery was the name. Someone had put up a tiny wooden sign that read "Flatwood" at the front of this cemetery and even though I was speeding by at 60+ miles an hour the name struck me. How can a wood be flat? Is the wood on the flat? I thought about it for a minute until my brain started hurting and then I was forced to stop. However many months/years later when I was trying to come up with a lame name for this comic, that name popped into my head and it seemed to fit. Even though I didn't really think there was going to be a whole lot of woods in the story at the time, I chose that name. So, yeah...

Flatwood Blog has Begun

2004-09-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

This may be completely pointless, but I thought I would start a Flatwood blog. I'm sick of yakking up the main site and there's a lot of things that I want to say but refrain. Regardless of whether people actually want to read this or not, I'm going to start doing it sporadically. I could post in the forum, but I feel like the forum is for the readers and I shouldn't monopolize it's space. Plus, it might give people some insight into how my mind works (if you really want to have that insight) and how Flatwood came to be developed.

Since this is the first blog, perhaps I should say a bit about how Flatwood first came into my mind. It all started nine years ago when I doodled a crappy little sketch some deformed creature that looked like a crossbred pig/cat/bat. Over the years Bolo went through quite a few changes: He was a science experiment gone horrible wrong, he was a bitingly sarcastic Garfield rip-off, he was a mute doormat for his Wuzzle-lookin' friends (Obob the Owl, a wolf/owl cross and Zelpha the Zebramaid, half-zebra/half-human) and, no, I was not abusing drugs when I created these characters...but I was going through quite a few magic markers...

A few years later when I was a lowly sophmore in high school *cue wavy screen*. I was at tennis camp. It was summer. It was movie night. We watched "Jacob's Ladder." The only thing I remember from the movie was a shot of a horn inching it's way out of a woman's mouth. I've never watched the movie since and I can't remember the events that lead up to a horn coming out of the woman's mouth, but that image has always stuck with me. Flash-forward a few years later. Up until this point I had never experienced "The Shining" and/or "The Excorcist", but once I did, I never looked back. No more screaming and running and tripping horror movies for me...there was actually horror that wasn't...well...horrible.

Somewhere along the way towards the end of high school, I become obsessed with Literature, which is amazing considering some of the English teachers I had had during my career (If any of them happen to read this: I'm not talking about you)...anyway, I happened upon a mystery story written by Wilkie Collins (one of Charles Dickens' big buddies) "The Woman In White" about a mysterious woman dressed all in white (imagine that) who appears in the local graveyard. In the end, the book turned out kind of disappointing: she wasn't really dead, she wasn't really all that interesting, but it produced this sketch in Art class. Look familiar? I happened upon it every once in a while and the image got burned into my mind.

College comes around. I draw cartoons for the college newspaper. Life is boring. Life is dull. Until one day one of my co-workers buys me a fresh pad of high-quality art paper (tm) for my birthday. When you're "artistic" people think that they can get you crayons and paper for every occassion from Christmas to Graduation, but this time it didn't irk me as much. I had seen Keenspace through dinking around setting up my own site and thought the idea was an exciting and original one and with that pad of blank paper staring back at me, I decided to start a webcomic. I really didn't know what it would be about and I really knew I didn' t have time to take on any more responsibilities, but I drew the first page anyway: Someone wakes up, He doesn't know where he's at, He doesn't remember who he is, and Bolo' s in his laundry. From that point, I had to decide Why he is here, Why he doesn't remember anything, and why there's this fang-ed, wing-ed creature following him around. And the rest has just been a gradual progression since there.

I remembered the horn mouth from Jacob's Ladder and incorporated it into my bad guys.

While I was doing my Educational practicum at a local high school I noticed a Memorial portrait of a young girl who looked like she had been killed in the 1970s when she attended school there. She was lightly resting her chin on her hand with a playful smile on her face, the picture overexposed to the point that she looked almost heavenly and extremely beautiful and that was Beatrice. During the time that I first decided that Beatrice would need to be named I was reading "The Inferno" and decided that the name fit her well, since she would serve as Alex's guide through Flatwood whether it be heaven or hell or neither...

When it came time to name Alex, I was reading "The Brothers Karamazov" by one of my favorite authors, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and decided to name him after the protagonist Alexy Karamazov, since they both were pure of heart, but slightly soft of head.

Bolo has always been Bolo.

The Easter sister was inspired by an old woman I knew when I was a child who had only one eye. She was extremely poor and had no money to cover what fate had dealt her, so she had an exposed socket where her eye used to be. Her name? Mrs. Easter.

Anyway, yeah. Just some Completely useless information. More to come. Post some comments if you wanna.