Tuesday, 22 September 2015

Regarding Disappearing Articles

As of yesterday, all my articles have been removed from The Cimmerian website. This was by my request, following editorial changes made by the editor and owner Leo Grin. It is his right and prerogative to run the site as he sees fit, and it is my right and prerogative to respond to those changes.

I will keep you updated as the articles find a new home.

EDIT: Messrs Finn and Shanks have written fuller explanations of the situation as they see it on their respective blogs. My position can be summed up in the last paragraph from the email I sent to Leo Grin:

If you are going to expel and erase any contributor to The Cimmerian blog five years after it closed due to personal disagreements on political matters, then I must ask that you do exactly the same to me.
EDIT 2: I have decided to discuss the matter in greater detail on my political blog. I endeavour to keep The Blog That Time Forgot as free of politics as I can, so I would appreciate comments respecting that.

Friday, 7 August 2015

This Is Why I Never Get Anything Done

Right! Let's get going! I've sketched out all the pages of Bannockburn, it's more or less done. Now to begin the arduous task of inking it! (begins inking) Curses! I have drawn so much detail into each panel that it will take me forever to render the comic to the same standard! I cannot keep this up, even now I can feel myself hitting a brick wall. I need something to take my mind off this monster... Monster... Dinosaur...

Of course! Dinosaurs from the Pulps! I've compiled a database of over 200 short stories, novellas and novels which feature dinosaurs: of them, I've narrowed down 17 that I definitely want to include, which leaves 3 left; I have 18 on "standby" if one of the ones I've chosen is in copyright, and to draw the final 3 from. I sat and typed out an entire story from a reproduction because I can't get the damned scanning-to-text software to work. It's all going swimmingly! But wait! I need to write an introduction, but I don't want to editorialise too much or condescend to the reader! Perhaps I need a break from writing and drawing, and try reading...

OK! I just got Dinosaur Lords, it could be good - problem is it's quite long, and I'm a slow reader. Maybe I should try a short story collection, like The Big Book of Monsters? Or should I go with something Scottish, read up on the Middle Ages in Scotland, or old Border Reiver tales? I could always go for one of those intriguing paperbacks I found at a charity shop like Footprints of Thunder. Perhaps I should go for something completely unrelated to swords, sorcery and dinosaurs: another Peter Høeg book like The Woman and the Ape? I enjoyed Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow. There's always the late James Herbert for a ripping horror yarn - not read The Spear yet. Wait... I've spent more time trying to decide what book to read than actually reading. Argh! I'm missing that documentary on the Franklin expedition-

Hold on! I was working on a comic about the Franklin expedition! That's what I'll do: fairly minimalist, lots of silhouettes, white and black space, practically done already. Just need to find the right font. Can't be Verdana, Arial, or any of those ones. Copperplate too overused - even that documentary used it. Hmm, so many fonts, and even the most subtle of changes can alter the layout and tone of a page. Zounds! This is taking forever. Perhaps I need a break from all this ice and bleak northiness. Ice... bleak northiness...

Ah-HA! I haven't played Skyrim in ages! I often come up with some great creative ideas while playing open-world games like this. Time for a new character: Babarracus, a Redguard, an Alik'r wanderer, Monster Hunter-for-hire, seeks the greatest challenges. Each "companion" he hires is a client offering a reward for slaying a beast: they rarely hire Babarracus for multiple contracts. No guilds, only progress the main story far enough to get access to Solstheim & start dragon attacks. Good fun so far: managed to slay a giant at level 11 with a mixture of misdirection, a friendly sabercat and good aim. Not sure how much longevity Babarracus has, though. Hmm, wonder who I could create next. Maybe try a pastiche on some comic or film characters. Hmm, what films have I seen lately...

Ach! So many films I've seen and meant to review for the blog due to links to my interests, but never got around to: Godzilla, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Kung Fury, Attack the Block, Let The Right One In, Dinotasia, even The Dino King - and I never thought I'd see a more infuriating waste of potential than Walking With Dinosaurs in 3D, but somehow Korea managed it. And I can't even be bothered with the new Conan film. Hey, what happened to Conan?

Huzzah! 80 Years of Conan! I keep going back to it, but always get stuck on some complex or thorough thing, and still wanted to publish them in the order of the stories' original publication. What was I on this time: ah, "The Tower of the Elephant." What was stopping me that time? Oh, Indian mythology and Howard's exposure to it through Dr. Howard. Man, I really wish Howard did a story about Scotland, not just Bran Mak Morn's Caledonia, but involving the heroes and villains of my country's history: Simon Fraser, William Douglas of Nithsdale, Aonghas Óg the last Lord of the Isles, the notorious Armstrongs of the Border Marches, the Black Douglases, Robert the Bruce...

Wait! Robert the Bruce! Bannockburn! ...

And so it continues. Dozens of things I'm working on simultaneously and one-at-a-time. One of these days, I'll get one of them finished. I suppose it's better working on something even if it's scatterbrained than not doing anything: at least I'm producing something, even if it means the net creation is going at a snail's pace.

Back to work. What am I doing now...

Friday, 31 July 2015

The Might of Small Things

We knew then, that we were being changed... and made part of their world. We didn't know for what purpose... but we knew, we would be told.
 - Closing narration, Phase IV

 Watching Ant-Man, you can definitely tell what was Edgar Wright, and what was Marvel. I would have loved to have seen Wright's version, of course, but I enjoyed the final film knowing its convoluted history. It was at its best when it shied away from the standard Only You Can Save The World element, as well as the needlessly extended Call To Heroism/Training for Battle section of the film - it was when the film did the things that you wouldn't see in Thor or Iron Man that made it shine. As Captain America: The Winter Soldier was a '70s spy thriller, Ant-Man is a heist movie, appropriate for the character.

Of course, being a science fiction aficionado, I couldn't help but think of other things...

(All the images in this review are from Phase IV, Saul Bass's only feature-length film: visually striking and very weird in the classic British Science-Fiction style. Well worth a watch.)

Thursday, 18 June 2015

Dinosaurs from the Pulps!

One of the joys of getting into Robert E. Howard fandom is the vast world it opens up before you. Before I got into it, I relied mostly on luck and happenstance to find stories and art that intrigued me, and living in Scotland as I do the availability of those classic American tales could sometimes be hard to come by.

But after years of infiltrating the echelons of Howardom, needling information and hints from the experts and polymaths in funny hats, it's amazing the things you find. On my last Scottish Invasion of Cross Plains, I learned that one of these behatted genii was leaping into the vast sea of pulps in search of one of his other great interests: zombies! And sure enough, he even produced an anthology of twenty classic tales of the undead ripped from the musty yellowing pages of those lurid tomes.

The magic of pulps is that there are just so many different stories and trends out there, you could easily fill a themed anthology with them. Amazons from the Pulps! could feature the likes of "Black Amazon of Mars," "The Golden Amazons of Venus," "Queen of the Panther World," "Slaves of the Jackal Priestess," "Sword of Gimshai," "Black God's Kiss," and other adventures of warrior women. "The Metal Monster," "The War of the Giants," "The Metal Giants," "Between Dimensions," "The Reign of the Robots," "The Ideal," "A Dictator for All Time," and countless more tales of Metal Men could shamble through Robots from the Pulps! Crom knows we have plenty for Stephen Jones' The Mammoth Book Of... series, as he always manages to find at least a few from the Age of Pulps.

And then there were dinosaurs...

Monday, 15 June 2015

Unanswered Questions: Jurassic World

 Me for 2 hours.

I've read and watched a number of reviews for Jurassic World, and because I'm the sort of guy who's Just Here For The Dinosaurs, there are naturally a lot of character, plot, and thematic elements that I didn't cover in my review. Some of them occurred to me, some of them didn't. I could chalk these little anomalies to the film's flaws - after all, as I said in the review, the film is not without them. It's an imperfect blockbuster.

But that's no fun.

Sunday, 14 June 2015

8-Year-Old Reviews: Jurassic World

We’re going to grow old but never grow up.
We’re going to stay 18 years old and we’re going to love dinosaurs forever.
 - Ray Harryhausen & Ray Bradbury made a pact together. They never broke it as long as they lived.

A review 22 years in the making.

Friday, 12 June 2015

The Company of Death

Last year at Howard Days, we were talking about the deaths of Miguel Martins and Ray Harryhausen. I'm pretty sure they'll be talking about Christopher Lee, Ron Moody, maybe even Dusty Rhodes. Two of our wee Scottish contingent in Arizona died, too. As Howard Days is scheduled around the anniversary of Howard's death, there is always that tinge of gloominess and melancholy. Death is ever present in Howard's company.

So today I decided to defy the company of Death. I read Howard stories and poems that weren't about mortality or war or murder. I played the new Lego Jurassic World game, having seen the film (a review is forthcoming), which avoided the more gruesome scenes in the movie with a loveable nod and a wink. I went around to a gaming night with a few good friends.

This should take my mind off Robert E. Howard!

We played HeroQuest. It was great fun, even if I could barely remember the rules, and I kept fudging the order of play - last time I played the game must've been the turn of the century. Nonetheless, we made a great wee story of a troupe of adventurers alternately mucking things up profoundly and heroically saving the day: the barbarian who went off on his own away from the group to kill goblins; the wizard who stumbled into a horde of Chaos warriors and barely escaped with his skin; the dwarf who cut a bloody swathe through a host of monsters; the elf who somehow managed to slay the most powerful monster in the dungeon with a single stroke.

Since the adventurers had ridiculous good fortune, we decided to make the monster a "load bearing boss," and suggested to have five turns before the dungeon caves in, trapping the entombing the heroes with the treasure they sought. The wizard used his air magicks to blow through the corridors and escape; the dwarf heroically stood by the entrance to ensure no monsters came, not leaving until every hero escaped; the barbarian had the awful luck of constantly running into frantic goblins barring his way. But the elf had the worst luck; brought low by a vengeful Chaos warrior. I guess you never can escape the company of death, even in board games.

I had a great night, knowing that my pals in Cross Plains were having a good time too. Some of them were even playing the new Conan RPG, which probably prompted my decision to go with HeroQuest. I'm glad to have them: we talked a bit of Howard at the table, too, as well as the usual current affairs, politics, films, books, and whatnot. Much like I would at Howard Days.

Hope everyone's having a great time in Cross Plains! Let us all drink to Howard's shade across the continents, united in the Company of Death.

Thursday, 11 June 2015

Requiescat in Pace Christopher Lee, Master of the Fantastique

I don't want to sound gloomy, but, at some point of your lives, every one of you will notice that you have in your life one person, one friend whom you love and care for very much. That person is so close to you that you are able to share some things only with him. For example, you can call that friend, and from the very first maniacal laugh or some other joke you will know who is at the other end of that line. We used to do that with him so often. And then when that person is gone, there will be nothing like that in your life ever again.
 - Christopher Lee on the death of his friend Peter Cushing

I never met Mr Lee, but I think all of us who were touched by his performances will feel a little share of that same sadness. I can't really think of much to say about him that I suspect will be said by many over the coming days. Christopher Lee was an actor who enriched every production he graced with his presence. He never phoned it in. He never treated his roles with anything but commitment, dignity and respect, whether it was a Hollywood blockbuster, an intimate character drama, a lurid Hammer horror, or a screwball comedy. Like his friend and co-stars Peter Cushing and Vincent Price, he made every film he starred in better just by being there - because you knew while watching them that they cared about what they were doing. It was never a paycheck, never something to do for their CV, never anything other than the craft.

Dracula. Frankenstein's monster. Kharis. Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde. Lord Summerisle. Scaramanga. Nicholas, Duc de Richleau. Henry Baskerville. Jinnah. Captain Robeles. Mycroft Holmes. Blind Pewe. Rasputin. Marquis St Evrémonde. Saruman. Lucifer. Fu Manchu. Dr Catheter. It's difficult to think of a film he starred in where he wasn't one of the best parts.

Christopher Lee was an actor who was very good at what he did, and loved what he did very much. For a man who is immortalised largely by his monstrous villains and foreboding menace, the world is a little darker in his passing.

Part of me wants to joke - only half-joke - that he isn't really dead: either that he has finally self-actualised and become undead, or that rumours of his death were greatly exaggerated - the man served in the secret service, after all. But with over two hundred and eighty films to his name, Christopher Lee will be with us all in some way as long as the medium exists. Whether his shade's in the next world or not, the shadow he cast on the silver screen will last forever.

Sunday, 17 May 2015

Terrible Steeds

 A world made by the Eight Creators on which to play out their games of passion and power, Paradise is a sprawling, diverse, often brutal place. Men and women live on Paradise as do dogs, cats, ferrets, goats, and horses. But dinosaurs predominate: wildlife, monsters, beasts of burden – and of war. Colossal planteaters like Brachiosaurus; terrifying meateaters like Allosaurus and the most feared of all, Tyrannosaurus rex. Giant lizards swim warm seas. Birds (some with teeth) share the sky with flying reptiles that range in size from batsized insectivores to majestic and deadly Dragons.

Thus we are plunged into Victor Milán's splendidly weird world of The Dinosaur Lords, a place that for all purposes mirrors 14th century Europe with its dynastic rivalries, religious wars, and byzantine politics…and the weapons of choice are dinosaurs. Where we have vast armies of dinosaur-mounted knights engaged in battle. And during the course of one of these epic battles, the enigmatic mercenary Dinosaur Lord Karyl Bogomirsky is defeated through betrayal and left for dead. He wakes, naked, wounded, partially amnesiac – and hunted. And embarks upon a journey that will shake his world.

Oh come on

Friday, 3 April 2015


For the last week - last month, really - I've been unwell. I figured it was just another winter-to-spring virus, or possibly the onset of hayfever. But it didn't account for the great frustration, the great sadness, that I felt. I was angry at the world, and I didn't know why.

A timely reminder from a friend told me: it's been a year.

It's been a year since Miguel Martins died. I still miss him greatly, even having only met him for a few days in Texas. But we knew each other about as well as Lovecraft and Howard knew one another: we exchanged emails, debated on matters Howardian, historical and (sometimes) hysterical. The conversation's reached a lull.

I never got around to posting the fifth Scottish Invasion of Cross Plains, and I figure now is as good a time as any to explain why: it's going to be the last time I'm going for the foreseeable future. It has become financially impossible for me to continue jetting off half a world away for a month each year, often with a month or two's preparation and most of the previous year's money going on the plane tickets alone. Every day in Arizona and Texas, I felt tremendous pangs of sadness, as I knew that this might be the last year I go.

I disclosed my feelings to a select few of my friends there. I had thought - as I always did - that this would be the last year. The first year, it was a "once in a lifetime" event. The second, it was just the one encore. The third would be the last time, definitely. Then... well, that's how things went, isn't it?

I could no longer put off the inevitable. Until my financial and professional situation improves, Cross Plains will have to do without me this year. I'm tearing my guts out, of course: Mark Schultz was going to be there, and I would've loved to talk Xenozoic Tales with him. I would've relished talking with Jeff Shanks about the new Conan RPG coming out. I would've been overjoyed seeing all the friends I'd made over the past five years again. I'd made even more friends in Arizona, at the Phoenix Comic-Con, and beyond.

I'll relate one story from the Fifth Invasion. Patrice Louinet was the guest of honour. I was excited: here was someone from closer to home making a similar journey to me and Miguel. The English Channel, so long seeming such a barrier between island and continent, now seemed a mere babbling brook compared to the immensity of the Atlantic; the great expanse of England a patch compared to the grand expanse of North America. So of course I felt a tremendous kinship with him, being fellow Europeans, rekindling the fires of the Auld Alliance. But more importantly, we knew Miguel.

So we talked about our mutual friend. Miguel was naturally a fixture of the French Robert E. Howard community, and Patrice knew him well. He told me a lot about him, his family, and his circumstances. And we shared a moment that I think Miguel would have appreciated. Then, talk wandered to the French Howard community, and of the annual gathering which took place: I was assured I would love it (I don't know, a Robert E. Howard gathering, is that really "me"?) and I seriously considered going. Unfortunately, it was in October, and I was in no mood to be doing anything that month, that year.

This year is very different. I found a spring in my step. The world didn't seem quite so dark. I think on some level, conscious or otherwise, everyone leaves a trace of themselves somewhere, like thread catching on a fence: that thread is always tethered to you through the aether, always connecting you to the places and people you love. There's a thread caught on a cactus in a little garden in Surprize, Arizona; there's another snagged on the door of the Phoenix Convention Centre; one wrapped on the fence of 36 and Avenue J, Cross Plains. Every so often, I feel those threads tugging. Reminding me that there's always a piece of me in Texas.

But it isn't just places, it's people: I have threads stretching to wonderful people in Texas, Arizona, Kansas, California, Florida, New Mexico, Canada... and Japan. England. Germany. France.

I may not be returning to Texas this year. But there's a whole world out there, and many strangers waiting to become friends. I've been to Paris before, as a young boy: a thin, gossamer thread at Notre Dame, Sacre Couer, Disneyland Paris. That thread could do with a reinforcement.

I owe it to a friend.

“But he was a Frenchman. You can’t expect a Frenchman to live hundreds of years. Not in these times. The French are smart people. You can’t fool a Frenchman.”
 - Robert E. Howard, "A Glass of Vodka," letter to Tevis Clyde Smith, ca. September 1932