This probably comes as a shock to all the people who still think this space belongs to the fine musician Warren Ellis of Australia.

Took this on my first day at the offsite job where I am consulting on someone else’s project. I have two weeks left to go on the job, working with an old friend and some very good writers who are also lovely human beings.

I will miss it and them when I’m done, but I am also ready for the year to start spinning down a bit. Today I cleared a document for Netflix off the desk, checked in with the offsite job about next week’s schedule, filled and lifted some heavy boxes, and my kid just came home for a visit, so now we’re going out for cocktails.

Inbox 24, listening to Sekunder, eoner by Snufmumriko, and away we go


stillicide, n     1. A continual dropping of water. 2. Law – A right or duty relating to the collection of water from or onto adjacent land.   From Latin stillicidium, from stilla drop + -cidium, from cadere to fall.

STILLICIDE, Cynan Jones:

David came up what the sea had left of the steps. The tidal defence panels to either side were bleached grey, had the compact, matted look he imagined the pelt of a seal must have. That they were moulded from re-formed blades of decommissioned wind turbines seemed right.

Fancy some Lyric Grim?  Cynan Jones has got you covered. Look at that. Flood defenses made out of old wind turbines.  It takes you a second to do the extra processing about this future condition, and then you get that shudder of “oh shit. That’s grim.

Although, you know, it’s not like you haven’t been prepared:

The boy’s hand opened and closed as if he reached for a glass of water but it was just the nerves dying through his body.

STILLICIDE is about water, Britain, and desperate attempts to engineer a way out of a future we caused out of a series of dumb short-term decisions.  In its structure, it may appeal to people who liked mine & Jason’s TREES graphic novels. It’s certainly a book I felt a degree of kinship with, despite the fact that Jones’ command of the language is several dozen levels higher than mine. There are also structural notes of John Brunner’s big eco books, STAND ON ZANZIBAR and THE SHEEP LOOK UP.  But STILLICIDE is very much its own thing, very much of its place: a collection of pen-portraits of the end times, all tangling together like weed in a rockpool. It’s a wonderful, sobering thing that still manages to shine with new light.

I suspect this is where I go out and buy all the rest of Cynan Jones’ books.

STILLICIDE, Cynan Jones (UK) (US)


When you have half a dozen very important things to do today but you really want to work out that one new idea you had late last night

A Grammar Of American Surnames

I just found this 1898 volume on archive.org and I simply have to present this as a taster:

Shreckenghost, Thunderberg, Silverthrone, Lookingslant, 
Jollymood, Thickenmirth, Muttonjoy, Fingerhot, Oxenhorn, - 
Slanderhouse, Laughinghouse, Servinghouse, Warminghouse, 
Bobbinhouse, Boninghouse, Boltinghouse, - Honeychurch, 
Honeycamp, Eaglecamp, Bloomingcamp, Carpetdale, Middle- 
ditch Timberlake, Goldenarm, Goldenbow, Bitterwolf, Cud- 
dleback, Chatterbuck, Skittleharp, Danglemire, Stufflebeam, 
Battlegore, Bottomfield, Bottomstone, Homerkick, Tinkle- 
paugh, Lookingbill, Gollyhorn, Weathergreen, Scattergood, 
Conquergood, Dollarhide, Middlestink, Wagonback, Wagon- 
blast, Pennycook, - Overcash, Oversault, Overland, Overend, 
Overpeck, Underland, Underdo wn, Rowdy bust, Diddlebock, 
Kettlestrings, Bickelhump, Widowgas, Silversides, Chicken- 
bard, Cattlehock, Weatherhead, Weatherwax, Sodagreen, 
Alsobrook, Pittlecow, Singlebush, Basketfield, Doverspike, 
Riverhawk, Wanderwall, Appleboy, Applerot, Hollowbush, 
Silverbrand, Moneyhand, Shiversteel, Meadowcroft, Dicken- 
sheets, Mumblehead, Wagonfound, Brokenstick, Cobbledick, 
Bullerdick, Crackerbone, Goodieshanks, Clutterbuck, Melon- 
coat (skin or rind).


It’s 6 degrees and dropping. I wrote an entire episode of something yesterday and today, after 11 hours sleep, my body regrets it and my mind is starting to wander.


Finally, a proper physical copy of this, enhanced by excellent additional curation. Taking the weekend to think. Will reactivate on Monday.


New FIELD NOTES arrived. Am buried in a HEAVEN’S FOREST script for a few days, then taking a day to think and breathe before I have to get up at the crack of sparrowshit on Monday morning BUT LOOK AT THE PRETTIES

Slow Cinema Comics, The Graphic Language Of Narrative, Falling Down A Hole

I wrote this for my newsletter back in March. I preserve it here.

I was talking to a publisher friend about a project I was working on a few years ago, before my Brain Thing happened.  The project was never announced, because we wanted it done before anyone knew about it.  But I was getting sick and didn’t know it, and the project was going through some format changes, and my brain couldn’t deal properly with the changes because it was getting sick and I didn’t know it, and then my Brain Thing happened, and I couldn’t work for a few months, which for a freelancer is bad bad bad, and so I had to go into new and simpler projects where there was immediate money, and this project I’m discussing here now sat in a cloud of confusion and stress-memory and complex calculations that my brain even now still can’t do very well.  So we were talking about it, and I discovered that my brain had actually deleted the memory of seeing some of the art.  I was being shown pages that were completely new to me, because the chemical chains that held the memory of receiving the scans were just wiped out. The structure of my brain is unharmed, but there’s a lot of chemical soup in there now, and I can’t do things like process spreadsheets or read mirror writing or handle complex documents.  It’s been weird, discovering all these little cognitive deficits.

And I was trying to describe what I remember my original goals with the book being, and it came out out like this:

“I was trying to re-find a language for comics that would accept all forms of graphics, because all forms of graphics already exist inside comics.  I always tell people when doing talks that they’ve all already read comics if they’ve been on a plane — the safety card.  I still work, in my own notes, on that language and approach.  I think of it as enrichment.  Like, I like what Hickman does with graphics and text on BLACK MONDAY, for example, but I want the “diegetic,” in-story version, where the jumps between conventional narrative art, graphics and icons, and all the other things aren’t jumps at all, but a flow inside the same language.”

Which isn’t original, but I was trying to find my own way to do these things.  My process isn’t as tortuous as Matt Fraction’s, because I don’t need a mile of index cards and a serial killer wall, but it’s just as bizarre in its way, and my notebooks will not, let us just say, be preserved for the ages like da Vinci’s.  Except possibly as artifacts of outsider art by an uneducated delusional.

I can still hold a lot in my head.  Since Thursday I have been spending 12 to 14 hours a day working on three episodes of the show at once, holding the structures of all three in my head and jumping between them as I find the voices and the ways to write discrete sections.

Painkillers-for-breakfast days.

But I suspect a certain kind of work is beyond me.  Which may be why my brain has been pushing me towards slow cinema as a model for the last year or two — Fraction calls them my “weird slow murder stories.”  I’ve actually been working on one in spare moments here and there, exclusively for my own amusement. 

(I picture them in my head. They would straight up kill any artist, so no artist will ever see them. I have a note at the top for one of the stories which says “this is either 40 pages or 480 pages.” It will never exist, except for me. This is fine and good.)

It is not as complex an undertaking as the project that fell over.  I’ve gone back and read the script for the project that fell over – I wrote half of it, and then there was a call to extend it by half again, and I couldn’t find 50% more story that worked, and my brain just [insert sound of a cow farting and the fart lighting on fire] because I didn’t know that it was fixing to shut off the right side of my body one morning in the near future. I’m honestly not sure if I can finish it — and right now, in the middle of writing the season, and finishing WILD STORM, and the other things, I’m not even sure when I’d do it.  But I’d like to.  I’d like to find a way to finish that personal opening statement about the language of comics.

We all leave bodies in our wake, in this business.  You just know more about mine than other people’s.  I regret them all, but this particular one still stings, because it comes with the memory of falling down a hole while trying to write it.


Back at my offsite day job today and tomorrow. All responses will be delayed accordingly while I stare with false sagacity at a whiteboard