GOING HUNTING
To say, “I love Hunter S. Thompson” is like saying, “I love Jesus” because that’s who he is to me.
In the mid to late 90’s, I learned what my decision to be a writer really meant. Before then, I had this insane notion that I was destined to become a writer because there was nothing else I was even marginally good at. In high school I failed miserably, and wouldn’t have graduated except for my friends pleading with my religion teacher not to hold me back. Before that, my dreams of becoming an actor were crushed when I realized I would never look like Tom Cruise, nor do I have the “go get’em” attitude it requires. I thought of directing, but four more years of school made me slam that door shut. And photography just isn’t as exciting when you’re learning about it in community college.
I was twenty when it dawned on me that creating comics was an actual job that people are paid to do. Before that, I’d never given two-shits about the credits of a comic book, and the only comic writer I knew by name was Chris Claremont because he wrote the X-Men, a book I collected non-stop for seven or eight years to that point. I became convinced that I had this innate ability to write since I had been doing it uncontrollably for as long as I could remember, with no incentive other than my own enjoyment. Well, that’s not entirely true, in 6th grade and high school, I wrote poetry to attract girls. But other than that, I only did it for myself, to live out my own fantasies from movies and television. For a fat, hairy, socially unacceptable black man, writing was the only way I could even come close to any of my dreams of being a success in the entertainment industry, so I jumped on it.
But I did so thinking that I already had the talent, I didn’t need to develop it because I was born with it. How else would you explain an English flunky writing poetry and short stories that people would rave over? I was the next big thing waiting for someone to just give my work their attention so I could gain fortune and glory. I didn’t read; I was a writer who hated to read. I hated people, I was a loner, an introvert, a hermit, but I wanted to be a writer. And this continued for years…
And what still amazes me to this day is that no one stopped me. No one said, “Hey, you can’t be a writer and not read or hate being around people, it just won’t work.” And I hang around some pretty intelligent people, 4.0 types, who just let me go on my ignorant way. Until 1995, when, during a conversation with a comic book salesman, I mentioned my dream of writing comics, and he asked me what books I read. I began listing all the comics I collected, and he became more specific, “No, what BOOKS do you read?”
“I don’t like to read.” I said. I still remember his face, it went blank, that kind of blankness you get when you see something that couldn’t possibly exist. But there it is, right in front of you, and all you can do is stare at it.
To make a long blog short, (and I haven’t even gotten to my point yet) that salesman became Merlin to my Arthur. Once he hammered my head with the fact that I couldn’t be a writer without reading, he began introducing me to all kinds of books I never would have picked up on my own. My entire list of literally tastes began with him, and that’s how I was introduced to Hunter S. Thompson.
There was a comic book written by Warren Ellis entitled Transmetropolitan, and it's protagonist was a journalist named Spider Jerusalem. It wasn’t the “normal” comic, no superheroes, aliens, or capes and cowls, so I never gave it much thought. Not until Merlin started talking to me about it and all the wacky stuff going on inside. I was a rebel among rebels back then, or I tried to be, so anything against the grain I wanted to try. This book was definitely that, so I bought a few copies.
“Up a goddamn mountain.” That was the first line of the first issue and I was hooked from there. Merlin and I talked for hours about the book and Spider Jerusalem, about what had been transpiring in the series and where it was going. But nothing could have prepared me to learn that the main character was based on an actual person, Hunter S. Thompson.
I rushed out to grab Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and read it in two days. Then the movie came out, Merlin and I saw it with our wives on opening day. The theater was small and only about 20-30 people had bought tickets for that showing. We watched as person after person, couple after couple, walked out of the theater. The book still fresh in my head, I knew the movie was pretty damn accurate so they couldn’t have been upset about any differences. No, Merlin and I theorized that those 20 or 30 viewers came to see Johnny Depp and were rudely awakened to see him balding, wearing huge sunglasses, and acting crazier than shit while giving social commentary about post 60’s America.
I was in heaven.
To be a rebel among rebels, an outcast among the subculture addicts that are the outcasts of society. There was the icon of art fag cinema on the screen, being more manly than he had been in his last critically acclaimed roles, and his normal fans couldn’t take it. But I could, and so could Merlin, and our wives who are schizoids in their own right. We all sat and laughed, not at the film, but those weak eyed, paper stomached “rebels” who couldn’t take the hit.
It was beautiful.
So, that was my intro to Thompson, and I’ve loved him ever since. He’s a writer’s Jesus (finally, to my point) because he goes against what we thought journalist should be, even today. A rebel against the rebellious, straight-laced journalists who talk so fast and complicated it takes 24hrs to digest what you heard the night before. But Hunter, man he brings it, but what really trips me out about his writing, is that no matter what the topic should be, its about something else. You get full reading Hunter; a column fills you like a good chapter from Steven King. And you get it, all of it, not dumbed down, just real, to the point, and all over the place at the same time. He could write about the election, but you’re also reading about some drug adventure with a .357 magnum; he keeps you reading and finds a way to tie it all together, so you care. That’s the BIG thing, you begin to care about this country, through him, through his adventures, because only in a country as fucked up as this one, could a man have that kind of life, live through it, and turn it into a marketable career, revealing publicly what we see others get arrested for on COPS. You care about that election, but for the “simple” reasons, because it’s a symbol, or a symptom, of some bigger tragedy.
I want to be that kind of writer. I want to have that kind of life, but it's hard to do when you’re a father two and a husband with a nine to five. And I don’t have half the balls a .357 magnum will give you, letting walk into situations that would cost your life or become a best seller.
But I can dream.
And I can try following in the master’s footsteps until I find my own path, which I think I’m beginning to do.
Merlin once told me, “You love fucked up characters.” And I do, I love taking society’s lepers and forcing the readers to accept them. Because I’ve never been accepted, even when I follow the rules, I’m an outsider. My skin color alone make me one whether I like it or not. Being a comic book writer takes it up a notch. Being a comic book writer working at a hospital takes it to another level.
But anyway, I love fucked-up characters, I love Hunter S. Thompson, and someday, years from now (but sooner), I hope someone will say my name in the same breath as his. And name me as his disciple who started a religion that will twist and fuck with people’s minds years and years from now.
That would be too cool for words.
JPG.
In the mid to late 90’s, I learned what my decision to be a writer really meant. Before then, I had this insane notion that I was destined to become a writer because there was nothing else I was even marginally good at. In high school I failed miserably, and wouldn’t have graduated except for my friends pleading with my religion teacher not to hold me back. Before that, my dreams of becoming an actor were crushed when I realized I would never look like Tom Cruise, nor do I have the “go get’em” attitude it requires. I thought of directing, but four more years of school made me slam that door shut. And photography just isn’t as exciting when you’re learning about it in community college.
I was twenty when it dawned on me that creating comics was an actual job that people are paid to do. Before that, I’d never given two-shits about the credits of a comic book, and the only comic writer I knew by name was Chris Claremont because he wrote the X-Men, a book I collected non-stop for seven or eight years to that point. I became convinced that I had this innate ability to write since I had been doing it uncontrollably for as long as I could remember, with no incentive other than my own enjoyment. Well, that’s not entirely true, in 6th grade and high school, I wrote poetry to attract girls. But other than that, I only did it for myself, to live out my own fantasies from movies and television. For a fat, hairy, socially unacceptable black man, writing was the only way I could even come close to any of my dreams of being a success in the entertainment industry, so I jumped on it.
But I did so thinking that I already had the talent, I didn’t need to develop it because I was born with it. How else would you explain an English flunky writing poetry and short stories that people would rave over? I was the next big thing waiting for someone to just give my work their attention so I could gain fortune and glory. I didn’t read; I was a writer who hated to read. I hated people, I was a loner, an introvert, a hermit, but I wanted to be a writer. And this continued for years…
And what still amazes me to this day is that no one stopped me. No one said, “Hey, you can’t be a writer and not read or hate being around people, it just won’t work.” And I hang around some pretty intelligent people, 4.0 types, who just let me go on my ignorant way. Until 1995, when, during a conversation with a comic book salesman, I mentioned my dream of writing comics, and he asked me what books I read. I began listing all the comics I collected, and he became more specific, “No, what BOOKS do you read?”
“I don’t like to read.” I said. I still remember his face, it went blank, that kind of blankness you get when you see something that couldn’t possibly exist. But there it is, right in front of you, and all you can do is stare at it.
To make a long blog short, (and I haven’t even gotten to my point yet) that salesman became Merlin to my Arthur. Once he hammered my head with the fact that I couldn’t be a writer without reading, he began introducing me to all kinds of books I never would have picked up on my own. My entire list of literally tastes began with him, and that’s how I was introduced to Hunter S. Thompson.
There was a comic book written by Warren Ellis entitled Transmetropolitan, and it's protagonist was a journalist named Spider Jerusalem. It wasn’t the “normal” comic, no superheroes, aliens, or capes and cowls, so I never gave it much thought. Not until Merlin started talking to me about it and all the wacky stuff going on inside. I was a rebel among rebels back then, or I tried to be, so anything against the grain I wanted to try. This book was definitely that, so I bought a few copies.
“Up a goddamn mountain.” That was the first line of the first issue and I was hooked from there. Merlin and I talked for hours about the book and Spider Jerusalem, about what had been transpiring in the series and where it was going. But nothing could have prepared me to learn that the main character was based on an actual person, Hunter S. Thompson.
I rushed out to grab Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and read it in two days. Then the movie came out, Merlin and I saw it with our wives on opening day. The theater was small and only about 20-30 people had bought tickets for that showing. We watched as person after person, couple after couple, walked out of the theater. The book still fresh in my head, I knew the movie was pretty damn accurate so they couldn’t have been upset about any differences. No, Merlin and I theorized that those 20 or 30 viewers came to see Johnny Depp and were rudely awakened to see him balding, wearing huge sunglasses, and acting crazier than shit while giving social commentary about post 60’s America.
I was in heaven.
To be a rebel among rebels, an outcast among the subculture addicts that are the outcasts of society. There was the icon of art fag cinema on the screen, being more manly than he had been in his last critically acclaimed roles, and his normal fans couldn’t take it. But I could, and so could Merlin, and our wives who are schizoids in their own right. We all sat and laughed, not at the film, but those weak eyed, paper stomached “rebels” who couldn’t take the hit.
It was beautiful.
So, that was my intro to Thompson, and I’ve loved him ever since. He’s a writer’s Jesus (finally, to my point) because he goes against what we thought journalist should be, even today. A rebel against the rebellious, straight-laced journalists who talk so fast and complicated it takes 24hrs to digest what you heard the night before. But Hunter, man he brings it, but what really trips me out about his writing, is that no matter what the topic should be, its about something else. You get full reading Hunter; a column fills you like a good chapter from Steven King. And you get it, all of it, not dumbed down, just real, to the point, and all over the place at the same time. He could write about the election, but you’re also reading about some drug adventure with a .357 magnum; he keeps you reading and finds a way to tie it all together, so you care. That’s the BIG thing, you begin to care about this country, through him, through his adventures, because only in a country as fucked up as this one, could a man have that kind of life, live through it, and turn it into a marketable career, revealing publicly what we see others get arrested for on COPS. You care about that election, but for the “simple” reasons, because it’s a symbol, or a symptom, of some bigger tragedy.
I want to be that kind of writer. I want to have that kind of life, but it's hard to do when you’re a father two and a husband with a nine to five. And I don’t have half the balls a .357 magnum will give you, letting walk into situations that would cost your life or become a best seller.
But I can dream.
And I can try following in the master’s footsteps until I find my own path, which I think I’m beginning to do.
Merlin once told me, “You love fucked up characters.” And I do, I love taking society’s lepers and forcing the readers to accept them. Because I’ve never been accepted, even when I follow the rules, I’m an outsider. My skin color alone make me one whether I like it or not. Being a comic book writer takes it up a notch. Being a comic book writer working at a hospital takes it to another level.
But anyway, I love fucked-up characters, I love Hunter S. Thompson, and someday, years from now (but sooner), I hope someone will say my name in the same breath as his. And name me as his disciple who started a religion that will twist and fuck with people’s minds years and years from now.
That would be too cool for words.
JPG.
posted by QABBAL at 5:06 PM
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