AWKWARD ZOMBIE

Jeezus man, 300 comic pages is a big commitment.

Considering most retail comics work with a page limit of 20 pages per issue (80 pages for a four-parter), you're giving yourself one hell of a heap o'work there.

Maybe start with something smaller before you commit to a monster like that? Maybe try illustrating a short story or something first?

Personally I'm figuring out that I work best breaking my stories down into 12-page chapters - I'd rather keep the amount of illustration I have to do down to a minimum so I can keep my story moving and not held up too much by page/illustration turnout rate.

It's supposed to be a commitment, but maybe 300 is too many, it was only a general estimate anyway.

Of course it's your call to make - and I'm not trying to crush your enthusiasm - but I'd advise going for something a bit smaller at first to see if you have the patience to stick with it and also so you can iron out any kinks in your approach to illustrating/storyboarding.

If you can see the end of a project it's less of a weight on your mind and once you've hit the end point you can take a breather and look over what you've done to see where you've gone wrong and what you could do better.

Sometimes starting smaller is better - gotta learn to take baby steps before you can run and all that jazz.

Good luck with it, anyway.

The alley was cramped, narrow, irregular. It was a death trap. His enemies stood ready to pile out onto the street and surround him as he left the building. They had the sense to stay hidden. The intelligence to stay quiet, but not the wisdom to consider he was no longer in that building. Trai slapped the edge of his sword against the nearest metal lantern. He needed his enemies to turn around or else they would move out of the alley. The three men furthest back turned in anger, expecting to see one of their own, a new recruit too stupid to keep his weapon still. Trai gripped his sword with both hands and moved into the attack. The first and second fell, their throats cut with one swing. The third cried out weakly as Trai pulled the blade away on the back swing and thrust the sword into his unarmored heart. More of the soldiers began to pay attention, but struggled to turn in close quarters with their swords already drawn. Trai moved left to right and right to left while swinging his sword counter to his feet. Each soldier, a credible threat by themselves and prepared fell to a single sword strike while the man wielding the black blade danced. He stepped over some of the bodies, on top of some others and kicked a few out of the way. When forced to step on a body he gave up solid footing but gained height. Where he stepped over he positioned himself to be unseen by the further rows of enemies. If he had to kick a body out of his way and strain himself, he made sure the corpse made its way into his enemies path. They tripped, they pushed, they panicked and they died. Trai found a chaotic rhythm. Left and right. Right and left. Blade against throat, ending lives. Elbows against arms, ending attacks. Move and kill. Stop and change direction. Legs planted firmly with each step. Every step a small circle to trip and fell his foes. Do not let any hit the ground alive. The panicky standing men might run, but the panicking prostrate might flail and get lucky. Trai finally made it to the last few men in seconds, in hours, in bladestrokes. These men had time to recover, but had witnessed the rest of their allies fall. These men had room to maneuver, but so did their attacker. The extra space meant nothing in the end. The fools used it to swing their swords wide and hard, but not accurately, not skillfully, not quickly enough. Trai took the time to back away from these blows, feeling exhaustion catching up to him. His last attacks would not be so elegant, so graceful. The big broadswords bit into the earth and their fallen friends, clanged off of armor and each other. Trai jumped forward, slashing wildly till all three bled and died, his body feeling the exhaustion, but his mind pushing it to finish the job. The sound of flesh and metal quieted while Trai's heart beat in his ears and his breathing turned to panting. He held his sword at the ready, dancing in a circle to get a view of his surroundings. His eyes strained to catch movement, his ears to hear anything other than his own labored breathing. Nothing stirred. The fight was over. He forced his cramped right hand to sheathe the sword and pulled out a dagger with the left. Trai leaned against the wall and rested, crouched waiting amid the bodies of his victims. If anymore came they would rush to the noise and fall to the short blade. Hopefully Trai would be gone by then, but he needed a moment. Just a moment.

OHHHHHHHH SHIT, MOTHERFUCKERS. WATCH OUT, AUNTIE RIKU IS SLIGHTLY DRUNK AND FEELIN' SASSY ENOUGH TO REVIVE A THREAD FROM FIVE PAGES BACK.

Also, quiero feedback on first chapter of the novel that last summer I said "AW YEAH I FINISHED THE MOTHERFUCKER", and then this summer went "Oh hell, I need to edit so much I may as well just rewrite the whole damned book with both files open."
Did I make something just sound completely fucking ridiculous? Do I need to add more detail to one part and less to others? If you have an opinion, lemme know. If not, thaaaat's cool too.


PHOSPHOROUS: Chapter 1
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XJu ... sp=sharing

(god bless google docs)