Friday, June 30, 2006
Early Evening

I just finished reading Marvel Comics' the New Avengers #20, and only made it two pages into issue #21 before I found myself forced by inspiration to stop and write this diatribe.

The fact that this inspiration is coming from the New Avengers is probably pure coincidence. And the fact that I am forcing myself to listen to a new Def Leppard album for the sake of an upcoming review isn't helping the matter.

But the crux of this writing comes from this: the entirety of the New Avengers is written by an impressive comic book writer by the name of Brian Michael Bendis, while different artists tackle different story arcs.

I've been reading this series on a monthly basis for about a year, so by the time I read a new issue, somewhere around 30 days have passed since the last time I read the title. But right now, I am hitting my local comic book shop every other week. And for whatever reason (probably due to the timing of Marvel's current "Civil War" crossover), the New Avengers #20 came out last week, while #21 was released this week. Poor Bendis. But one writer's suffering is another writer's inspiration, as I just finished reading the last chapter of one story arc and the first chapter (or more accurately, the first two pages of the first chapter) of the next story arc. And while both issues were written by Bendis, the former was illustrated by Mike Deodato, Jr. while the latter was penciled by Howard Chaykin.

And the idea that stuck me was this: in no other single creative medium can the presentation of a writer's voice be altered as significantly as in comic books.

The writings of a few comic book scribes has of late had me thinking about comics as a unique medium... and what exactly it is that comic books can do, that other mediums cannot. I'm pretty sure it was Ellis who got this particular mental ball rolling.

But it is the artist that presents the writer's vision, the writer's words and concepts and story, as translated by the artist himself or herself. In an interview with comic book artist Salvador Larroca that I literally read right before the New Avengers #20, the Spaniard talks about inking and even coloring his own pencil work because "When another person inks or colors your work, what he is doing is interpreting what you draw, and even if he is very good, his vision is always very different from mine." And unless a writer is also illustrating his own work, this is what a comic book artist does in regards to a comic book writer.

An established novelist might change his style somewhat, but it is unlikely that Stephen King as published by Signet would be utterly different from King as published by Tor. A Jackson Pollock work hanging in the Museum of Modern Art in New York is probably going to be noticeably similar to one on display in London. But the ramblings of Grant Morrison as seen through the pencil of Frank Quitely will be instantaneously different than Morrison as interpreted by John Romita Jr. Deodato's Bendis is different from Chaykin's Bendis. The writer is the same. The writer's voice is the same. Usually. Or at least, in ways that define the 'artist's voice' in the first place. But it only took two pages to show me that the New Avengers #21 was far more different in feel from #20 than Green Day's Lookout Records release Kerplunk! was from their Reprise Records release Dookie.

More than any other genre, a writer's voice can be altered by whoever is in charge of presenting it in comic books. In the sequential art medium in general (as 'comic book' is probably a misnomer, and does injustice to a lot of great creative work).

I know that one of Ellis' strongest points is writing to his artist. And I just realized that this is one of the best ways to utilize the aspects of comics and graphic novels that make the genre truly unique.

Alright. Now that I have released this idea from the confines of my skull, so that it can live and flourish amongst the data streams of the world wide web, it is time to return to the New Avengers and crappy neo-80's xerox rock.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Def Leppard - Yeah! (2006)

Monday, June 5, 2006
Mid Afternoon

Today I learned how to drive a stick-shift vehicle.

My first vehicle was - and still is - a Ford Ranger. Automatic. It is a 1991, with 316,000+ miles on it. It is also a piece of crap, and probably needed to be replaced three years ago. But I don't have to make payments on it, and my annual insurance cost is less than most people's six-month cost. So until I can put together a solid down payment and trick someone into giving me a thousand dollars for trade-in value, I've got my truck.

But it blew a(nother) freezer plug on Saturday, so now it's in the shop. And I need to get to work and stuff, so I either rent a car or learn how to drive my Dad's stick-shift jeep.

I chose the latter.

I basically have 24 hours to learn how to drive the jeep well enough to make it to work, less than ten minutes away. Optional skill includes being able to take it down to the bank, ten minutes from work and requiring the navigation of things like four-lane roads and stop lights (neither of which is required to reach work). One step at a time.

Thus far, I pretty much suck at shifting, but I can do it. I'm okay shifting while already moving... all I keep screwing up on is getting going from a stop, such as when I come to a stop light or need to turn. I lurch, I stall, and I nervously look around to see if anyone witnessed my ineptitude.

But I'm getting better. I've gone out twice thus far today, and will be going out again later on. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to make it to work and back for a few days until my truck is fixed.

But I'm finally learning how to drive stick. And that, to me, is pretty cool. And about damn time.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: My computer hard drive processing

Sunday, May 14, 2006
Late Evening

I just wanted to say... this afternoon, I came home from Church, and within an hour and a half spewed out what are probably the best 1,200 words I've written in the past year or two. I will say nothing of the content at this point, as I have serious and scarily reasonable ideas of having these words published. After a bit of polishing, of course. But after too many years of the literary equivalent of doodling in the margins, I have stumbled upon an onslaught of new creative ideas, half a dozen viable short story concepts in the past week alone. And hopefully more to come.

And all I did was put my mind to coming up with new ideas. All I did was start looking around for stories. I started looking around at my surroundings, and around in the confines of my own skull.

And I started finding them. Some beautifully obvious, and others satisfyingly difficult to discover. And I'm just so pleased with myself at all of these discoveries, I had to make a post here.

If you've never tried your hand at being a creative person, I sincerely recommend that you try it. It's the best form of self-gratification I've yet to stumble across.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: The ambient dripping noise of a synthetic rain machine

Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Mid Morning

The legend goes something like this:

It was early 1998, only a few months before I graduated high school. I was at the local mall, in the music store (it was a Camelot Music, no longer there) looking for some new music. I was in a daring mood, and wasn't afraid to spend a few dollars on something completely new.

I found a copy of Century Media Records' 1998 compilation Identity IV for the astronomical price of four dollars. I didn't recognize a single band mentioned on the disc. Eighteen new musical experiences for less than five bucks. I simply could not resist.

Long-story short, this was my introduction to underground metal. This was my first exposure to bands with whom I can now boast long and fruitful relationships. Iced Earth. The Gathering. Arch Enemy. Nocturnal Rites. Lacuna Coil. Exodus. I had not heard a single note by any of these bands until that late winter afternoon. Today I own several discs worth of material from each band (including half a dozen from Nocturnal Rites and several dozen from Iced Earth).

But one of the bands that made the biggest impact on me was Emperor. They had lucky track number 13, the song "Ye Entrancemperium."

The song was utter garbage, as far as I could tell. It sounded horrible, like a poor live recording of a bunch of people screaming and playing random notes at high speed. I could understand and appreciate the other tracks on this compilation, but "Ye Entrancemperium" was the only one that I wanted to skip whenever it came up on my CD player. But I forced myself to listen to it every time, seeing it as an essential part of the compilation nonetheless. I had made enough mix tapes at that point (and yes, they were tapes) to know that there isn't a single song on a compilation that isn't intentionally put there. Every track has a reason for existence. And while I couldn't see this Emperor band's musical worth, I gave them - and Century Media - the benefit of the doubt.

According to legend, I listened to "Ye Entrancemperium" twelve times, and disliked it every time. But the thirteenth time, something clicked. I heard something new. Something... awesome. I heard through the distortion, through the seemingly wretched sound quality. I heard... music. I heard musicians. I heard three amazingly skilled men crafting unfamiliar sounds into unfamiliar arrangements, skillful and unique and melodic and passionate and utterly beautiful. I discovered "Ye Entrancemperium." I discovered Emperor.

And I discovered the idea that first impressions are not always correct. In pop music, you can hear a song and know everything there is to know about it after only one listen. But underground music, intelligent music, requires more patience, more attention. I discovered that music can grow and evolve over time, that the same song can mean different things at different times.

I discovered black metal. I discovered Emperor, still one of my favorite black metal bands of all time. I discovered the joys of underground music, and the rewards for taking the time to discover music outside the mainstream.

Or so the legend goes.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Various - Identity IV (1998)

Wednesday, May 3, 2006
Mid Afternoon

First off, go check out this page

http://www.tattooartists.org/Gal3975_UV_Blacklight_Ink.asp

I've been thinking about this all day, especially how it ties into aesthetic body modification in general. Now, I'll be the first to admit that the odds of me doing anything permanent or long-term to my own body is slim at best. I don't even have piercings in my ears, let alone a tattoo. I will get a tattoo one day (and I know exactly what and where), but I am loath to do so until I am 'financially set for life.' In other words, probably not until I'm too old for tattoos.

But I find the concept of aesthetic body modification utterly fascinating. I might not have put inked needle to flesh quite yet, but I have had hair of every color save only pure white. I've had long hair, short hair, moustache, goatee, full beard, no facial hair whatsoever... I like the idea of modifying your body to reflect your personality or interests in the same way that most people modify their clothing or makeup. I think what bothers me most about permanent modifications in general is because they reflect permanently adopted ideologies. Removing a tattoo of your favorite band from your upper arm is a bit more difficult than peeling that band's sticker off the back window of your car. Cartilage piercings don't fade overtime like well-worn teeshirts. And they certainly don't hurt as much, either.

But imagine a world where tattoos are totally permanent, but can also be removed cheaply and painlessly. Imagine being able to take a pill or get an injection that causes your hair to turn blue and stay that way. No need to kill your follicles with bleach or repeat the process every two weeks as the roots grow out. Tired of blue hair? Another injection and now it's green. Or purple. Or bioluminescent. Changing your eye color without contact lenses would be a piece of cake. People could modify their bodies to reflect their moods and personalities on a daily basis if they wanted to (and could afford it, of course).

A fantasy of science fiction indeed. But no matter what the level of technology, people are more than willing to do what it takes to customize their physical forms. Tattoos, piercings, implants... why settle with what God gave you? Why not turn that body of yours into a canvas? Style meets morphology. Art meets biology.

You think people have enough difficulty coping with those possessing a different skin color? Wait until people start walking around with blue skin. Or UV-reactive skin.

Aesthetic body modification is nothing new, to be honest. But the concept is no less fascinating. And I don't know if it's been played around with enough in fictional settings.

And glows-in-blacklight tattoos are just plain cool as hell.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Slipknot - Volume 3: The Subliminal Verses (2004)

Friday, April 28, 2006
Early Evening

I'm sitting here in the back of a jeep, writing on my iPAQ using a portable keyboard balanced upon my copy of Ellis' Come in Alone. I don't have much time, but I wanted to jot down a few thoughts to share with those who read The Artist and the Engineer later this evening. Which would be right now.

(I'm typing this with one hand, so I can hold everything in place with the other. Remind me not to try this whole 'typing in the back of the jeep' thing again.)

I was thinking earlier about cyclical inspiration - I'm not sure if this is the best term for this concept, but it works right now. The catalyst for this notion was participating in discussions on Ellis' latest internet manifestation, Die Puny Humans. His work inspires me, in case you couldn't tell. So I participate on his forum. And he mentions the forum in his writing. And that writing inspires me further. So I participate further...

The idea behind cyclical inspiration is simple: one person inspires a second. That person goes on to do something with that inspiration that in turn inspires the first. Who then inspires the second again. Repeat as necessary, add as many other people into the equation as you want... But so long as the flow of inspiration remains limited to the same small (or medium) group, it remains cyclical.

One last thought before I have to go: can/will such a cycle ever grow stagnant?

- - Justin
Now Listening To: The loudness of driving in a jeep through town

Monday, April 24, 2006
Mid Evening

Today I spent almost six hours researching and writing about what two people of approximate age and interests would experience visiting London for the first time, read another sizeable chunk of Ellis' Come In Alone and had an exceptional dinner of ziti in vodka sauce with grilled chicken. Not necessarily in that order. And I find myself returning to the Artist and the Engineer to talk about death metal.

As I write these words, there is a sizeable debate taking place on the official Symphony X mailing list regarding the validity of death metal vocals in music. As if most people care. Nonetheless, this vocal style (also affectionately referred to as frogthroating and cookie monster vocals) seems to bother some people. Enough so that the slightest presence of them on the next Symphony X album is enough to bring those who have been fans of the band for decades to threaten to throw any album that includes such a vocal technique out the window. Or to immediately delete mp3s featuring such a technique.

Now, I'll be the first person to admit that I am most likely desensitized to such a vocal sound. I've lost count of the number of death metal and black metal bands that have endeared themselves to my heart. And I will even concede that death metal vocals are one of my least favorite aspects of death metal - I will concentrate on the jaw-dropping musicianship and upper-limits-of-human-playability before I concentrate on humans that sound like wet meat being shoved into blenders.

But... come on. How can you possibly hate 95% of an album because 5% isn't to your liking? How can you let the use of the human voice as a rhythm instrument (and that's all death growls really are) keep you from being able to appreciate otherwise stellar music? I mean, sure we're talking about Symphony X here, at least ostensibly. Sure, this discussion only arose from the possibility of the band using such a vocal technique, not any evidence or substantiated claim to their presence on their still-being-recorded seventh studio album.

But it just blows my mind that people can be so close-minded, so obscenely simplistic in what they like and what they don't like, that they would be willing to throw a bag full of gemstones into the trash because one of those stones happened to be a chunk of glass. Or more accurately, a jewel of common value to other people but not the sort of precious stone that the person or people in question. Is your world that black and white? Is your regard for quality that limited, that any flaw negates all other value? Are you simply that much of an elitist, that 95% isn't good enough? It has to be 99% or nothing at all?

Dammit, now I'm ranting. I didn't mean to rant. But my disbelief remains... life itself has taught me the value of sucking it up and accepting a bit of imperfection for the greater good, for the long-term pursuit of ultimate perfection. Or something like that. And I can't imagine that this concept is that alien to the majority of the populace.

There's nothing wrong with death metal vocals. Sure, other vocal styles are arguably better. I'd even argue that notion myself. But as great a purported sin as doing something I don't like might be, not doing something because of a close-minded fear of disliking it in a new context is a far greater sin. In my opinion, at least.

Alright... no more ranting tonight. I'm going to go play around in Photoshop or something for a while.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Coheed & Cambria - Good Apollo I'm Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness (2005)

Sunday, April 23, 2006
Mid Evening

Consider yourself forewarned: I just finished reading a small chunk of Warren Ellis' "Come In Alone" (published in 2001 on AiT/Planet Lar). And I've had a fair amount to drink.

Early into Ellis' collection of comic industry-related columns and criticisms, he makes mention of a tale regarding Jamie Delano and John Higgins' turning down of a painted Batman miniseries in lieu of doing their own creator-owned science fiction miniseries "World without End." Instead, so the legend goes, Grant Morrison ended up doing the series. The series ended up being "Batman: Arkham Asylum." And it ended up being an immensely best-selling series.

And yes, I had to go back and look up those names to make sure I was getting them right. Remind me to track down and read both series some time.

Ellis makes the between-the-lines comment that both Delano and Higgins (the latter of whom Ellis' story was mostly about) ended up suffering because they chose to follow their passions and do the story they wanted to do, rather than the one that was potentially more lucrative.

As if this is a bad thing.

Don't get me wrong... as the multi-faceted artist and writer extraordinaire that I am (one apparently without humility, at least after a few blue hawaiians and some pinot grigio), I definitely understand, appreciate and even prefer the notion of creating what you want to create, rather than sucking it up and creating what you need to create. I would definitely love to live in a world where people get paid for following their hearts' desires. But unfortunately, I've yet to discover a way of physically visiting such a world.

And truth be told, I see nothing wrong with choosing an economical path over a creative path.

Of course, I did work for an advertising and marketing company for three and a half years (did I mention I lost my job in December, and was now an assistant manager at my local Blockbuster Video? A diatribe for another day, perhaps...). So maybe it's just that I have an appreciation for selling yourself, for doing what you can to finagle yourself into a position that allows you to spread your ideas to others with greater efficiency than the genius in the gutter is capable of. After all, you can't influence people until you have their attention. And you can't get their attention until you do something that they want, that convinces them that you are worth paying attention to.

I feel bad for Delano and Higgins in the aforementioned tale. But choosing to write and illustrate their own creative-owned project instead of a Batman story (one that might not have become the legend that it is without Morrison, to be honest... though again, I've yet to read it)... their intentions are commendable. But any artist or writer or creative person who wants his or her work to be accessed by the public first needs to reach that public. And few if any creative-type people ever reach the mainstream without trying.

But again, making a conscious attempt to reach the mainstream shouldn't be seen as a negative act. Because there is no better way to subvert the masses from within.

Not that I seem to have made much headway reaching that pinnacle of attention myself, of course. But you'd be surprised how many people come into Blockbuster and say, "Hey, are you Justin Ossmann? I remember you from that magazine I used to get!" So maybe I came closer than I thought, albeit on the local level.

And maybe I can do it again, to even greater heights. So long as I am willing to bend over and let my creative ego take a short-term beating in the name of long-term benefit.

Oh, and happy belated new year.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Ulver - Blood Inside (2005)

Monday, December 5, 2005
Mid Afternoon

I have been told (more than once) that I read entirely too many comic books. And this is probably true. But I have actually learned a lot about writing from reading comics, and from reading the writing of comic book writers. One of the biggest lessons I've gleaned from the likes of Warren Ellis or Alan Moore relates to pacing. In comics (or elsewhere), pacing is the rate at which the reader is presented with information. It has to do with the number of panels per page, the amount of text per panel, et cetera. Pacing can be varied according to what is going on at that moment: a fight scene, for example, should flow faster than a lengthy conversation. The more the reader has to read, the longer he or she looks at a given panel or page, but the slower the pace. This is why some 32-page comics can take five minutes to read, and other comics of equal length can take twenty minutes.

I have found an increased understanding of pacing to be of special import in my own magazine writing. I have a set length - typically 400-500 words - with which to present all information pertinent to the subject. If I cram too much information into the article, it becomes dry and dense and takes too long to read. If I use too little information, I run the risk of writing a lot of words about nothing. Fluff is an important skill in writing, but like any other single technique becomes dangerous when overused.

An introduction speeds along, catching the reader and introducing him or her to the subject without taking too much time (or space) to do so. Once the meat of the article begins, I can slow down the pace a bit, though I tend to keep things flowing swiftly and smoothly out of my own personal styles and habits. When the dry content of an article becomes too dense, I throw in a quote or (occasionally) a personal anecdote, in order to keep the pace where I want it. But I always balance the pace that I want to maintain with the pace that the content requires.

I suppose that writing an article like this is akin to writing music; the tune is important, but so is the arrangement.

Am I successful in this? A writer is almost always his own worst judge. But one of the most frequent comments I hear about my magazine is that the articles are informative yet easy to read, and that often a person will intend to read one or two articles in a sitting and end up reading the entire magazine. So I must be doing something right.

By the by… I'm writing this diatribe at work when I should be writing an article for the next issue of the magazine. Heh.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Arch Enemy - Doomsday Machine (2005)

Saturday, August 13, 2005
Early Evening

Today is the one-year anniversary of the destruction of my hometown by Hurricane Charley. One year ago as of this writing, I and the rest of my family huddled together without electricity, without phone access (cell or land line), without hot water or air conditioning or computers or any of the other trappings of civilization that we have grown accustomed to. One year ago today, I had everything I own compressed into two burned DVDs and a spiral-bound notebook; in case we had to abandon our home, I was ready to bring only what was 'necessary.' And while evacuation did not prove necessary, it was almost two weeks before we got electricity back. Two weeks of cold showers and hot sweaty nights. Two weeks of cooking every meal - including breakfast - on the propane grill. And I was personally luckier than most. Even now, one year later, this town bears the scars of Hurricane Charley. Its people bear the same scars, if not deeper. Friday the 13th, August of 2004, is a day that no one who lived in this county at the time will ever forget. For better and for worse.

What better date than this to inaugurate the Artist and the Engineer?

Welcome to my home on the World Wide Web. More discussions and ramblings are doubtless to come.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Peccatum - The Moribund People (2005)

Thursday, August 11, 2005
Early Evening

I bet you could take this new form of literature I've come across, and illustrate it in much the same way as a children's book. Of course, even a single episode would be too long for a bedtime story, but perhaps something like this would make for a nice transitional step between children's books and full-blown novels. Or maybe even comic books to novels.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Savage Circus - Online Single (2005)

Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Early Evening

I believe I've come up with a new form of literature.

I'm not sure what you would call it… basically, you have a series of pieces that are like the chapters of a novel, save that they are far longer than a typical 'chapter.' I'm thinking eighty to a hundred pages, somewhere in between short story and novella. Each episode, for lack of a better word, would be a wholly contained tale or adventure or whatever else, set in a greater continuity and interrelated with all other episodes in the series. A series might be composed of a finite number of episodes, however many it takes to tell the story. A series might be open-ended - a setting-driven continuity with more of a focus on characters than events. An entire series might only run three or four hundred pages, but a series could conceivably run a thousand pages or more, well out of the bounds of 'novel.' But can it be called a trilogy or series if each part is not quite a full book? Could segments of a longer series be collected and published in volumes?

Obviously, this idea is as influenced by the comic book form as by other forms of literature. But I think it could be a valid form of literature in its own right. It is a very flexible format, I think. You could have multiple writers contribute episodes to a single series. You could write in any genre - serial crime stories a la CSI, divisions of a lengthy fictional tale, focused segments of a larger historical work, et cetera. You could release them monthly like comics (though a commitment to writing a hundred pages of quality fiction a month is something I would not wish upon anyone I care about). You could write an episode that interlinks two existing series, creating a larger gridwork of continuity. You could group episodes together, creating comic-esque story arcs that would almost be 'novels' within the 'novel.' You could write a multi-part work where each episode tells the same tale from a different point of view. Hell, you could even throw in some poetry, or do an episode completely in dramatic form.

The more I think about it, the more I think this would be a fantastic form to work in, at least given my own preferences in literature. And with a bit of refinement, it could be something completely new, in that rarest of ways. We'll see.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Nevermore - This Godless Endeavor (2005)

Friday, July 29, 2005
Late Evening

There are things that you can do in comics (or 'sequential art, if you prefer') that cannot be done in any other creative medium. One example: you can show a character cloaked in shadow, his or her identity obscured by a lack of lighting or a creatively-drawn setting. The character speaks… and the words you read can give absolutely nothing away. In a movie, you hear what is said, so that even if the speaker is hidden, you can recognize the voice that you are hearing. In a prose form, it takes too long to describe detailed set or scenery such as this. The novel is not instantaneously visceral, and the movie does not leave enough open to interpretation. But the sequential art form - the comic book or graphic novel - can utilize this narrative technique in ways that no other genre of literature is capable.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: My computer's ambient noise

Saturday, July 23, 2005
Early Evening

Welcome to the Artist and the Engineer, a site egotistically devoted to the thoughts, philosophies, and general ramblings of me, F. Justin Ossmann. I've been wanting to get a few of my opinions out into the world, and after giving the matter some thought, decided that a website of this sort would be the ideal medium.

I also found myself to be heavily inspired by Warren Ellis, who is my favorite writer at this point in time.

Regardless of origins, it is my hope that site will function as a sounding board of sorts, an opportunity to shed light upon some of the random ideas and concepts bouncing around my skull. I also hope to generate some feedback and even criticism, as both will help me to become a stronger writer and a stronger creative force. Or something like that. So if you read something that interests you, inspires you, or offends you, feel free to send me an e-mail with your thoughts on the matter. There's a good chance that comments directed my way will in turn generate additional content on this site.

Postings will be made whenever I feel inclined to do so, on whatever subject happens to be on my mind at the time. Good luck trying to find any rhyme or reason behind my ramblings and diatribes. I gave up attempting to do so many years ago.

Finally, this site is heavily under construction, so don't expect every link to work or every section to feature content. Yet.

- - Justin
Now Listening To: Goo Goo Dolls - A Boy Named Goo (1995)