| |
|
John? John, over here. No, John, outside the comic. You have to lift your bloated head for a moment. I'll wait until your eyes readjust to having to distinguish objects not outlined in black ink. Ready? OK, good.
John. These things you speak of? The people who supposedly people belittle by giving nicknames? The ones who are like unto gods? Yeah, y'see, the thing is
IT'S FICTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
No, John, let's call a spade a spade. This isn't about the dignity of Superman or Batman or Wolverine. You just don't want to feel like a putz writing characters that are, in the end equation, childhood icons. Not that they're not capable of so much more, but as long as you are playing with others' creations, marketed on the whole to a younger demographic, you have to accept that some youthful exuberance doesn't include lighting candles at a shrine to Wolverine, unless they're doing some sort of magick ritual and trying to invoke him as a servitor. And if that sounds silly to you, imagine how silly you sound talking about respect to a character that, if real, would be constantly ridiculed for wearing red briefs outside his tights.
John, if this is how you're going to be about these books, you shouldn't be writing them. Please stop. You're not bringing anything worthwhile to the table that wasn't already there. You've had a good run, and perhaps you ought to take the bookend of working with Chris Claremont again on JLA as an opportunity for a graceful exit.
Because dear God, man, you really sound like the biggest fucking dork imaginable. And this is coming from a big fucking dork.
You may now rejoin your fantasy world already in progress. Oh look, it's still there. A little nickname didn't pop the whole thing like the Internet bubble. Waddaya know.
VJB2 |
|
|
