Hey all,
I apologize for the lack of blog updates this week, but we're going into crunch mode at work and it's hard to think of strange and/or humorous things after 10-12 hours. This will likely continue into next week, but I'll try and get at least one blog up.
In other news: our first week of two updates appears to be a success, in so much that no one has complained that two is 'too many.' Though if you desperately want us to go back to one a week, please let us know. We value all your opinions.
Also, please take the time to vote for us. It's the little blue button just to the right of the comic. Just get in the habit of clicking on that when you're done with the comic or blog, if you wouldn't mind. Those votes help us keep the site running and a steady stream of Wayfarer's Moon coming out.
Have a great weekend.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Bellingham Comicon: After Action Report
First of all, let me note that the actual con was not in Bellingham, but in Ferndale. Curious, I looked up the city’s website was helpfully informed that ‘post apocalyptic biker gangs are rarely seen in Ferndale.’ This, I thought, was incredibly valuable information. We have to pack so much into the car, including anti-zombie kits, anti-vampire kits, anti-lycanthrope kits, and a flamethrower (just in case), that it was nice not to have to include the anti-post apocalyptic biker gang kit.
Sadly, the webpage lied, but more on that later.
To our left was Shannon Devine of Psychedelic Circumstances and to our right was John Lustig of Last Kiss. Many of our usual con buddies were also there. Artist Jason Metcalf was there, as was Quenton Shaw of QEW Publishing. Brian Randolph was also there representing the Hero Initiative, a fantastic charity for comic veterans. And last but not least, Travis and Ash from Creator’s Edge Press were just a couple tables down
The con went pretty well. It was a smaller con, but there was a pretty good turnout, post apocalyptic bikers notwithstanding. We talked to a lot of cool folks and had a good time. Leigh even proclaimed the bbq covered hot dog he had for lunch as the ‘best bbq covered hot dog I’ve had since breakfast.’
Sadly, we should have included our anti-post apocalyptic biker gang kit, because when we left the hall, we found ourselves quickly surrounded by a group of leather-clad desert-mutants who demanded meatloaf. Normally, we would have used our anti-post apocalyptic biker gang kit on them, but instead, we just gave them the meatloaf. It just seemed simpler that way.
NOTE: The city of Ferndale does not have a problem with post apocalyptic biker gangs. I’m sure Ferndale is a lovely place, filled with hard-working, industrious, and good-looking citizens. Please feel free to visit Ferndale secure in the knowledge that you won’t be attacked by post apocalyptic biker gangs.
Just a quick note: If you haven’t noticed, Wayfarer’s Moon is now updating twice a week! We’re now posting on Tuesdays and Thursdays! And please vote for us! We have more meatloaf! I’m not kidding!
Cheers,
-Jason
Sadly, the webpage lied, but more on that later.
To our left was Shannon Devine of Psychedelic Circumstances and to our right was John Lustig of Last Kiss. Many of our usual con buddies were also there. Artist Jason Metcalf was there, as was Quenton Shaw of QEW Publishing. Brian Randolph was also there representing the Hero Initiative, a fantastic charity for comic veterans. And last but not least, Travis and Ash from Creator’s Edge Press were just a couple tables down
The con went pretty well. It was a smaller con, but there was a pretty good turnout, post apocalyptic bikers notwithstanding. We talked to a lot of cool folks and had a good time. Leigh even proclaimed the bbq covered hot dog he had for lunch as the ‘best bbq covered hot dog I’ve had since breakfast.’
Sadly, we should have included our anti-post apocalyptic biker gang kit, because when we left the hall, we found ourselves quickly surrounded by a group of leather-clad desert-mutants who demanded meatloaf. Normally, we would have used our anti-post apocalyptic biker gang kit on them, but instead, we just gave them the meatloaf. It just seemed simpler that way.
NOTE: The city of Ferndale does not have a problem with post apocalyptic biker gangs. I’m sure Ferndale is a lovely place, filled with hard-working, industrious, and good-looking citizens. Please feel free to visit Ferndale secure in the knowledge that you won’t be attacked by post apocalyptic biker gangs.
Just a quick note: If you haven’t noticed, Wayfarer’s Moon is now updating twice a week! We’re now posting on Tuesdays and Thursdays! And please vote for us! We have more meatloaf! I’m not kidding!
Cheers,
-Jason
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Now Updating Tuesdays and Thursdays!
Good news, everyone!
We will now be updating Tuesdays and Thursdays.
That's right! You will now be able to get Wayfarer's Moon twice a week!
Tune in to see Iri and Lily battle the forces of evil! There will be magic! Mayhem! Double digit body counts! And shopping!
And if you can, vote before you go! It's the little blue button just to the right of the comic. Voting helps keep us afloat, so please do it as often as you can.
Thank you all for reading!
Cheers,
-Jason and Leigh
We will now be updating Tuesdays and Thursdays.
That's right! You will now be able to get Wayfarer's Moon twice a week!
Tune in to see Iri and Lily battle the forces of evil! There will be magic! Mayhem! Double digit body counts! And shopping!
And if you can, vote before you go! It's the little blue button just to the right of the comic. Voting helps keep us afloat, so please do it as often as you can.
Thank you all for reading!
Cheers,
-Jason and Leigh
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Bellingham Comicon
Greeting and salutations!
First off, just a quick reminder that we will be at the Bellingham Comicon this Saturday. I plan on wearing a dapper ensemble of a black Wayfarer's Moon t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. I might wear a black overshirt or a sweater, should the weather be incliment. I realize I'll be slightly overdressed for the occasion, but that is the price of fashion.
I don't know what Leigh will be wearing, but I'm sure it will likewise be stunning.
At any rate, there will be a cadre of talented artists, writers, inkers, colorists, letterers, madmen, and comicmongers there, so I encourage all of you to come and say 'hello.'
And regarding Single Edge Studios, look for an announcement next week that I'm sure will delight you all.
Have a safe and pleasant weekend.
Cheers,
-Jason
First off, just a quick reminder that we will be at the Bellingham Comicon this Saturday. I plan on wearing a dapper ensemble of a black Wayfarer's Moon t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. I might wear a black overshirt or a sweater, should the weather be incliment. I realize I'll be slightly overdressed for the occasion, but that is the price of fashion.
I don't know what Leigh will be wearing, but I'm sure it will likewise be stunning.
At any rate, there will be a cadre of talented artists, writers, inkers, colorists, letterers, madmen, and comicmongers there, so I encourage all of you to come and say 'hello.'
And regarding Single Edge Studios, look for an announcement next week that I'm sure will delight you all.
Have a safe and pleasant weekend.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
El Payaso: Part 5
The mime staggered, his hands going to his stomach. He veered first to the left, then to the right, staring at the imaginary blood on his hands. With a silent scream he slowly sunk to the floor, twitching a bit before growing still, his eyes still wide with shock and horror.
He then jumped back to his feet and charged us, shouting some sort of wordless mime battle cry. At which point the Dame shot him in the stomach and he did more or less the same thing he’d just done, save that he actually died.
I was in a corner with the Dame. I had a chair at the ready and was bludgeoning anyone who got to close, while she shot the occasional mime. All in all, it was a strangely quiet chaos.
The ninjas fought almost silently, save for the occasional yell. The mimes were true to form and made no sound, even as they took horrible injuries. The clowns were the noisiest, what with their beeping noses and air horns, but they too made relatively few sounds. If it weren’t for the fact that people were being strangled by their own intestines, you’d have thought it was a particularly strange bit of modern dance.
“All in all,” the Dame said, as she reloaded. “This isn’t too bad.”
A clown staggered by, a shuriken stuck in his forehead, but just when he managed to pull it out, a mime ran him through with an imaginary spear.
“Compared to what?” I asked, ducking as a balloon grenade exploded nearby. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why, it looks like the clowns are winning?”
It was true. The ninja reinforcements hit the mimes first and there was a great slaughter on both sides, ninja-tos and imaginary axes thudding into flesh, red blood mingling with the black and white. The clowns hit them both in a great charge of oversize shoes and dingy top hats.
“But look at the box.”
The box containing the gall bladder was imbedded in the wall from when a clown threw it through a ninja. It was starting to vibrate.
“Is that bad?”
“Relatively speaking: yes. If that gall bladder goes, it’ll take the whole building with it.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, as she took a shot at a ninja and missed. “We should leave?”
“I’d love to,” I said. “But there’s a small battle going on in front of us.”
“Then why don’t we use the exit door directly behind us?”
I turned and found that the exit door was indeed directly behind us. A spleen splattered against it as I looked. Thirty seconds later, we were well across the street. The Dame offered to get us both ice-cream, so I settled down to watch the battle.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the double scoop of Sticky Chewy Chocolate. “The gall bladder’s going to go any minute now.”
“Probably,” she said, as she nibbled at her single scoop of strawberry.
We watched in silence for a minute, wincing at the occasionally extra savage blow or ducking when a mime cut loose with an imaginary submachine gun.
“You know,” said the Dame. “I feel like I should apologize.”
“For what? Shooting me in the leg?”
“No, for poisoning your ice-cream.”
I sighed. “Is this going to be a running theme with us?”
“Probably.”
And then I passed out.
I was home when I woke up. Nothing seemed out of place, save for the small card on my kitchen counter. It was white and had a picture of a harlequin on it. When I turned it upside down, it read ‘We’re not done yet.’
I sighed, tossed the card back onto the counter, and then went to see if any cartoons were on.
Cheers,
-Jason
He then jumped back to his feet and charged us, shouting some sort of wordless mime battle cry. At which point the Dame shot him in the stomach and he did more or less the same thing he’d just done, save that he actually died.
I was in a corner with the Dame. I had a chair at the ready and was bludgeoning anyone who got to close, while she shot the occasional mime. All in all, it was a strangely quiet chaos.
The ninjas fought almost silently, save for the occasional yell. The mimes were true to form and made no sound, even as they took horrible injuries. The clowns were the noisiest, what with their beeping noses and air horns, but they too made relatively few sounds. If it weren’t for the fact that people were being strangled by their own intestines, you’d have thought it was a particularly strange bit of modern dance.
“All in all,” the Dame said, as she reloaded. “This isn’t too bad.”
A clown staggered by, a shuriken stuck in his forehead, but just when he managed to pull it out, a mime ran him through with an imaginary spear.
“Compared to what?” I asked, ducking as a balloon grenade exploded nearby. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why, it looks like the clowns are winning?”
It was true. The ninja reinforcements hit the mimes first and there was a great slaughter on both sides, ninja-tos and imaginary axes thudding into flesh, red blood mingling with the black and white. The clowns hit them both in a great charge of oversize shoes and dingy top hats.
“But look at the box.”
The box containing the gall bladder was imbedded in the wall from when a clown threw it through a ninja. It was starting to vibrate.
“Is that bad?”
“Relatively speaking: yes. If that gall bladder goes, it’ll take the whole building with it.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, as she took a shot at a ninja and missed. “We should leave?”
“I’d love to,” I said. “But there’s a small battle going on in front of us.”
“Then why don’t we use the exit door directly behind us?”
I turned and found that the exit door was indeed directly behind us. A spleen splattered against it as I looked. Thirty seconds later, we were well across the street. The Dame offered to get us both ice-cream, so I settled down to watch the battle.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the double scoop of Sticky Chewy Chocolate. “The gall bladder’s going to go any minute now.”
“Probably,” she said, as she nibbled at her single scoop of strawberry.
We watched in silence for a minute, wincing at the occasionally extra savage blow or ducking when a mime cut loose with an imaginary submachine gun.
“You know,” said the Dame. “I feel like I should apologize.”
“For what? Shooting me in the leg?”
“No, for poisoning your ice-cream.”
I sighed. “Is this going to be a running theme with us?”
“Probably.”
And then I passed out.
I was home when I woke up. Nothing seemed out of place, save for the small card on my kitchen counter. It was white and had a picture of a harlequin on it. When I turned it upside down, it read ‘We’re not done yet.’
I sighed, tossed the card back onto the counter, and then went to see if any cartoons were on.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
El Payaso: Part 4
I couldn’t think of anything to say. We sat in silence, as the mariachi version of the 1812 Overture thundered out of the speakers on the wall. A tumbleweed rolled by. Someone across the street yelled “Yahtzee!” In all likelihood, somewhere on the planet a piano exploded.
“I don’t much care for mimes,” I finally said.
“Who does?”
“No,” I continued. “I really, really don’t like mimes.” I took a deep breath. “It all started back in pre-school. A mime came to visit the class.” As I spoke, the room defocused and the 1812 Overture began to fade. “It was supposed to be a regular day. A normal day. A happy day. We were going to make macaroni ducks. Then every-“
I jumped at the gunshot. The Dame was pointing her .38 in the air, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel. “I don’t have time for a full flashback,” she said. “Just give me the quick version.”
“The mime locked me in an invisible box and I cried.”
“Good. The clowns appreciate enthusiasm.”
I shook my head. “I never said I was going to help.”
She smiled. “You think you have a choice?”
“After-school specials taught me that I always have a choice.”
The Dame leaned forward. “They lied.” She reached down to her purse and pulled it into her lap. “The clowns thought you might be reluctant,” she said, as she pulled out a small white box. “So they gave me this.” She placed the box on the table, turning the latch side towards me. There was a picture of a harlequin on the lid.
I flipped the top open. Inside was a small, grayish object. It looked kind of like a deflated sack. I flipped the top shut. “Very funny,” I said.
“No joke,” she responded. “You just assumed the gall bladder you found in the bathroom was yours. It wasn’t. This,” she said, tapping the box, “is.”
There was a noise from the kitchen, as if a can had fallen off a shelf. Neither the Dame nor I looked, as our gazes were locked on one another. Then a red balloon wafted out and over the counter. It slowly sank to the floor from a slow leak, flattening into a small red pool.
“You clowns play hard ball,” I finally said.
“Oh, I’m not a clown,” she responded. “I’m just an idiot who had an organ problem.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
“What could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Well,” I began as I folded my napkin and put it on the table. “My guess is that our ninja waiter just took out a clown in the kitchen. Ninjas and clowns always travel in packs, so a fight is inevitable. On top of that, we haven’t seen a paper airplane in a few minutes, so that means the mimes are moving. And once the smell of blood hits the air, that gall bladder’s going to go ballistic. We’re about to be in the middle of a four-way ninja, clown, mime, gall bladder battle.”
The Dame froze, eyes going to the kitchen and back.
“What do you say? You want a partner for this dance or are you gonna try it solo?”
Tomorrow: The Finale!
“I don’t much care for mimes,” I finally said.
“Who does?”
“No,” I continued. “I really, really don’t like mimes.” I took a deep breath. “It all started back in pre-school. A mime came to visit the class.” As I spoke, the room defocused and the 1812 Overture began to fade. “It was supposed to be a regular day. A normal day. A happy day. We were going to make macaroni ducks. Then every-“
I jumped at the gunshot. The Dame was pointing her .38 in the air, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel. “I don’t have time for a full flashback,” she said. “Just give me the quick version.”
“The mime locked me in an invisible box and I cried.”
“Good. The clowns appreciate enthusiasm.”
I shook my head. “I never said I was going to help.”
She smiled. “You think you have a choice?”
“After-school specials taught me that I always have a choice.”
The Dame leaned forward. “They lied.” She reached down to her purse and pulled it into her lap. “The clowns thought you might be reluctant,” she said, as she pulled out a small white box. “So they gave me this.” She placed the box on the table, turning the latch side towards me. There was a picture of a harlequin on the lid.
I flipped the top open. Inside was a small, grayish object. It looked kind of like a deflated sack. I flipped the top shut. “Very funny,” I said.
“No joke,” she responded. “You just assumed the gall bladder you found in the bathroom was yours. It wasn’t. This,” she said, tapping the box, “is.”
There was a noise from the kitchen, as if a can had fallen off a shelf. Neither the Dame nor I looked, as our gazes were locked on one another. Then a red balloon wafted out and over the counter. It slowly sank to the floor from a slow leak, flattening into a small red pool.
“You clowns play hard ball,” I finally said.
“Oh, I’m not a clown,” she responded. “I’m just an idiot who had an organ problem.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
“What could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Well,” I began as I folded my napkin and put it on the table. “My guess is that our ninja waiter just took out a clown in the kitchen. Ninjas and clowns always travel in packs, so a fight is inevitable. On top of that, we haven’t seen a paper airplane in a few minutes, so that means the mimes are moving. And once the smell of blood hits the air, that gall bladder’s going to go ballistic. We’re about to be in the middle of a four-way ninja, clown, mime, gall bladder battle.”
The Dame froze, eyes going to the kitchen and back.
“What do you say? You want a partner for this dance or are you gonna try it solo?”
Tomorrow: The Finale!
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