Aspiring Black Writer/Aspiring Writer??

I never gave race, in comics, much notice. I noticed there weren't that many black heroes, yet the few there were, were magnificent. I never knew, the color of the skin, of my favorite writers and artists. I only knew that the work they were doing, was what I wanted and needed in my life. It's really as simple as, focusing on their imaginations, talent, and ability to transport the reader, to places of incredible fantasy.

Now, as an adult, working toward a career in comics, the subject of race sidles around the corner, and politely asks me to pay attention. And while I'd always paid attention, I'm now taking notice, and two moments, ignited that response.

The first was when I met (when I say met, I stood before his table, babbled my adoration, introduced my mother, shook his hand, and "stalked" his for the entirety of the 2009 Motor City Comic Convention) Dwayne McDuffie. From the briefest of encounters, I got humor, humility, mentoring, graciousness, and "good home training" (he was awesome to my mom), he was an incredibly dent guy.

The second moment was somber and grey. I'd heard from my mother that Dwayne McDuffie had passed. The moment felt similar to hearing aliens had landed, or that Atlantis was rising from the depths, it felt unreal, yet it was as real, as real gets. And at that time it wasn't a matter of losing a dynamic and thoughtful BLACK voice in American Comics, but one of the most brilliant, versatile, honest voices in the industry. The integrity in his writing is evident in the hundreds of vocal fans, that openly mourn his passing.

In the months that followed, I would see tweets and blog posts, about his role as a black writer in a predominantly white genre, as well as commentary on the state of black characters in mainstream comics. These were thoughtful essays about he man to be sure, written by individuals who I believe to be ardent fans of his work. Yet, in the majority of the writings, the subject of him being "a prominent african american writer", and each time I would read anything referring to his ethnicity, I would bridle. I cannot and will not attempt to speak for the man himself. I was not a friend, I am fan. We talked for a brief period at my first comic book convention, and walked away inspired, and full of admiration, but I did not know his mind, his personal journey through life, or his hopes for the future.

I will speak for myself. I do not want my legacy to be that I was a black man, who accomplished great things, and touched many people. I want my legacy to be that, I was a man, loved by his family, respected and loved by his peers, did the very best he could at the things he loved and brought him joy, and he was also an African American. I'm proud of my heritage, and my ethnic background, but I'm a man first, an African American second.

Cabblog 03.18.2021

It's BEAUTIFUL here in NYC! The sky is blue, the temp is perfect, and the cab I'm riding in smells like twice baked b.o. and sweaty feet. Ahhh...it's the little things, thay make your eyes tear up.

Sundance, and the freefall of all ideas.

I'm swimming in a chilly lake of cliches. I'm sitting in a Starbucks, sipping on a fine cup of bold coffee, and working on my screenplay for the Sundance Director's Program, Screenwriters Lab.

Now with my knitted cap on my head and finely trimmed goatee on my chin, I look around me and notice at least eight others, swimming in the same chilly lake.

And as I return my attention to my screenplay, which I deeply hope isn't chockful of the same cheesey goodness that the cliche I unwittingly affect, would suggest.

Damn, I gotta find a dive bar, and get in a fight, just to save my soul from mediocrity.

In Memoriam: Dwayne McDuffie

In 2009, I get a call from my mother, wanting to go to a comic book convention, in Novi Michigan, near Detroit. After brushing the the carpet fibers from my jaw, and placing it firmly back where it belongs, I looked it up online. And there found out everything one needs to know about the Motor City Comic-con, except the appearance roster. It was no big deal, I was still reeling from the prospect of going to a comic-con with my mom.

After meeting up with my mother at her Hotel, and getting settled. We went to lunch, had some laughs, and headed to the Con. It was fairly, underwhelming. There were a few notable exceptions, Doug Jones being one, and the other, Dwayne McDuffie.

I’d read everything he did at Marvel Comics (I was and still am, very much a Marvel Maven), and I am a rabid fan of his Static Shock, Milestone Media (at the time Milestone Comics), as well as his work on everything from the animated JLA, to his Ben 10 work. So, it was with a dry mouth and a sweaty palm, that I shook his hand, introduced my Mom, and croaked out my sputtering utterance of fanboy admiration. He was completely aware of my nervousness, and mused reassuringly, and then joked with me about attending a con with such a cool Mom. After stealing 15 minutes of his time, I walked away elated and giddy, because I’d just met a man whose work gave me a place to go, when sometimes as a kid, being in my world, was not a great place to be.

The next day of the Con, I made it a singular priority, to attend his panel. What the panel was, I can’t accurately recall, but it was 30 minutes of Q&A, with a man so knowledgeable about his art-form and his craft, and so very much in love with the medium in which he works, that asking inane, and often, silly questions, just to hear his point of view, was well worth the embarrassment of asking the same question twice.

There is no way I knew him as well as his colleagues, and now, never having a chance to work with him, I will hold onto the coolest moment, thus far, in my burgeoning comics career. The time I met Dwayne McDuffie, and he turned out to be a class act.

Cabblog 01.27.11

A day after the BIG FLAKE, the city and the streets are getting back to normal, and the great gladitorial battle for available cabs begins anew.

As I sit, victorious in a taxi on my way to work, the dejected waifish NY debutant flashes me a look of defeat and disgust.

Although I wonder who the real victor is, as it seems my driver is overly fond of "easy listening". As he sings, in robust tones, to Bon Jovi. And as a short cab ride, will rack up a fee the size of Liberia's deficit, I wonder if walking would not have been more prudent.

Bryan Adams seems to be a particilar favorite, at the moment.

Cabblog 01.26.11

The heat and the funk inside the cab, battled for dominance against the gaping maw of a wide open window.

It's hurting my eyes

Cabblog 01.14.11

There are any number of foriegn languages flying through the air in NYC. All are quite beautiful, that is when they're not being utilized to question the lineage, or the species of one's mother.

The vitriol would be less concentrated on a bus (surprizingly), but far less entertaining.