ME AND MY PAL JOE part three

A couple of readers have commented that my first two installments of this three-part epic were a little…well…short. That was a deliberate choice, separating the “acts” into chronologically appropriate bits. Chapters one and two were delivered in short bursts because I knew chapter three would be the Big Kahuna.

It’s December of 2001, maybe January of ‘02. The world is reeling from the 9/11 tragedy and my family has relocated to Portland, Oregon; Jessica has been offered a job and the pay is enough that we can figure out my situation when we arrive. I’m enjoying the opportunity to raise our toddler son while I look for a job; the going is particularly slow because Portland has, at this time, the highest unemployment rate in the country.

Devil’s Due Publishing, an upstart company from Chicago, began their continuation of Marvel’s G.I. Joe comic continuity in September, with the first issue dropping literally on Wednesday the 11th. You couldn’t ask for a stranger coincidence.

Struggling to find a job, I decide to take this extra time –and the blessing of regular unemployment checks – to pursue my dream of becoming a comic writer. I downloaded a script sample from Dark Horse’s website and sent an e-mail off to Josh Blaylock at Devil’s Due asking if they’d look at a script sample. The reply came fairly quickly and was surprisingly friendly. I’m sure he was thinking “yeah, sure, buddy, you go right ahead”…but my wife had been making sure that all of my correspondence and presentation were as professional as they could possibly be. At least I came across as serious.

I sat down and wrote three scripts over the course of a month. Two of those scripts were a two-part G.I. Joe story, the third an original superhero script that I sent to Dark Horse. They were less than ten miles from my house, after all.

Weeks passed and I kept job hunting. Finally, I heard from Josh Blaylock. He had read the script…and it was good! They wanted to use it for a new anthology series called FRONT LINE that would be starting in the next couple of months. I was elated and surprised to say the least – in fact, it barely fazed me when the rejection letter from Dark Horse arrived. It wasn’t a direct dismissal, mind you; they were keeping me “on file.”

(Six years later, Dark Horse still won’t give me the time of day. Oh, well.)

Meetings ensued, enthusiastic support came flying my way. Josh had forgotten that my story was only two parts; when he said “it IS four parts, right?” I was quick enough on my feet to respond with an enthusiastic “yes.” And thus was born “History Repeating,” the Front Line arc that was released as a weekly (!) event and pushed me into the world of comic writing. In no time at all, they had asked me to re-write the dialogue for a one-shot Front Line story written by a couple of Hollywood screenwriters. I’m sure they’re great guys and wonderful storytellers, but this issue was…not good.

Josh announced that he was leaving the main Joe title with issue 25, and I couldn’t resist throwing my hat in the ring. He asked for a few months’ worth of pitches and I delivered as quickly as I could. Meanwhile, desperate for money, I took a back-breaking landscaping job at my best friend’s company. I thought, honestly, that my chance had come and gone; I had my moment in the sun and now it was time to give up on those dreams and slug it out in the manual labor gig.

Finally, the call came – I GOT THE JOB. I’d take over officially with issue 26, but Josh also wanted me to co-write issues 23-25 with him to make the changeover as fluid as possible. This was the dream come true for me – I’d made it into the world of comics and my first regular gig was continuing a story I’d grown up on! Could it get any better?

The months rolled on. I was riding a wave of happiness, turning in my scripts with lightning speed and finding them well-received by Josh, who was playing editor by himself for those first few months (with the input of pretty much everyone in the DDP offices, something that would become a bit of a pain in the ass in the months to come). I was asked to write Master & Apprentice, a 4-part mini-series about Snake-Eyes and his Ninja disciple Kamakura; the first issue was the first sell-out G.I. Joe title, a piece of information that was delivered to me as I landed in Philadelphia for my first big convention appearance.

I couldn’t have been happier. Master & Apprentice was my best work to date (and continues to be), the regular series was chugging along and the fans were embracing me (for the most part – nobody gets 100% approval). A new editor, Mark Powers, was brought on board to keep the machine rolling along. Hasbro had even put me to work on card game and toy pack-in materials.

About six issues into my run, though, things started getting crazy. Story arcs would have sudden edicts dropped into the middle of them (make the Baroness pregnant, for example) and I was given the order to start adding random deaths that we’d string into a story at some point later on. The notes began piling up after each new script, sometimes with radical changes in direction and criticism towards me for not making the story epic enough, followed by notes indicating that we needed tighter focus on smaller stories.

Makes sense, right? I realize that this situation is very common in the industry, but it became nearly impossible to reconcile everything that was being asked of me. Sometimes, I’d get sets of notes from one person and a contradictory set from someone else. It was as if the book was being written by committee.

The news came suddenly, but not totally unexpectedly: the book was being relaunched and I needed to wrap it up in four issues. A new editor was introduced, Mike O’ Sullivan. He introduced himself over the phone one day but didn’t tell me what his job was; he was “just someone who loves Joe who was sent in to help get everything sorted out.” Thus began a gradual descent that is one of the single most unpleasant experiences of my professional life. My wife and I would open each new issue of G.I. Joe nervously, frightened to digest what we had come to call “comic book surprise” in my home. After all, editorial had stopped letting me see the art or proofread the lettering a few months prior; I guess they got tired of me pointing out the spelling errors and continuity gaffes in the re-written dialogue.

I’m such a pain.

A Master & Apprentice sequel was poorly received. The final issues of G.I. Joe, force-fed to me by editorial, were a disaster on all fronts. I was told that I’d be doing a Snake-Eyes ongoing following my run on Joe, but that turned into a re-telling of the character’s origin in the six-issue Snake-Eyes Declassified series.

I can’t complain about that series. It is good work and most of my intent ended up on the page. There were some arguments and I was blocked in some attempts to make it completely jibe with what the readers already knew, but I stand by the end result regardless. It was the epilogue to a dramatic tale of success, disillusion and bridge-burning, but it’s much more than a footnote. It was made fairly clear to me that Devil’s Due had no more use for me, so I walked away, hoping that the dream wasn’t ending this time, either.

There are roughly – and I’m serious here – a thousand G.I. Joe figures in my house. Following the demise of my G.I. Joe career, I very nearly sold / destroyed / boxed up the entire collection. It made me feel completely empty to even think about the toys, the book, anything related to the franchise. Meanwhile, Hasbro had taken my face and popped it onto the action-figure body of Dragonsky, flamethrower for the October Guard. It warmed my heart and made me feel a little better about things. I’d made my mark, I’d said my piece and a foothold had been established in the industry. That’s a success, no matter what I might feel at that moment. Heck, I even ended up on the Game Show Network’s “I’ve Got A Secret” thanks to my action-figure alter ego!

As I moved on to more comic work, I started seeing more and more Joe fans showing up at conventions. Messages of support and people hoping for my return to the franchise stayed constant. Hasbro even had me write some file cards for new figures. I was still connected, if only in the most tenuous fashion. I decided I couldn’t turn my back on that, even though the twinges of melancholy would occasionally still creep in if I thought too much about it.

Now it’s 2008, and Devil’s Due will shortly publish their final issue of G.I. Joe; the license has changed hands and the new holder of the rights will soon be announced. I’ve done what I can to throw my hat into the ring with the potential license-holders, but at this moment I know nothing about the future of the franchise.

You might read my criticisms and think I’m simply a jackass. I like to think that I’m passionate about the subject matter and not unwilling to be honest about my experiences thus far. I’ll admit that passion can lead to obstinate tunnel-vision from a creative standpoint, so consider this a mea culpa on that front. I’m not perfect, but I do love this silly plastic-soldier story to an absurd degree. I hope that, someday, I’ll be able to return to that world and make a fresh start. I honestly think –speaking from my heart, not my ego - that I truly belong there.

Yo Joe, or words to that effect.

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