I wrote a graphic novel with Troy Brownfield and rockabilly legend Larry Collins for Fangoria’s comic imprint. Wingwalker is a sort-of homage to carsploitation films of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s—lots of cars and violence. The guy championing it then left the company and, as often happens in situations like that, the project just petered out. Troy, Larry and I still revisit it every once in a while. Plus, we got this wicked cover art from Mark Kidwell before everything went sideways.
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I wrote a graphic novel with Troy Brownfield and rockabilly legend Larry Collins for Fangoria’s comic imprint. Wingwalker is a sort-of homage to carsploitation films of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s—lots of cars and violence.

The guy championing it then left the company and, as often happens in situations like that, the project just petered out. Troy, Larry and I still revisit it every once in a while. Plus, we got this wicked cover art from Mark Kidwell before everything went sideways.

Q:Reading the last installment was kind of like eating the last bite of a cupcake that someone has given you. You like it because it's good, but you're sad because it's over. Then you spend a great deal of time hoping the person fucking comes up with another one. Get busy, Dude!

electradaddy

Thanks! I’m glad you liked it.

I’m currently digging through my folder of stories to see which one I should post next.

Frank Olesby’s Strange Behavior (Part 12, Final) Later that morning, as Frank sat in his office, the voice mail light on his phone was blinking red. He sat slouched in his ergonomically designed chair, staring as the LED pulsed like the heart of a hungry creature. He pictured the angular seam on the front of its plastic casing spreading open to reveal a maw of spiky teeth and a sickeningly pink tongue. He wondered if coming into the office was such a great idea, especially if he was having delusions about his phone attacking him. When Geri dropped him off in front of his apartment building just four hours ago, he wanted nothing more than to let his pillow caress his head while he slept for days, weeks, years. He wanted to wake up and see the world rotting and overgrown like the lot on Fontaine Boulevard. He wanted to see the streets as empty as his post-apocalyptic fantasy. He wanted fire and brimstone to destroy all that he knew. He just wanted to sleep through it. But after lying awake in bed for almost two hours, he gave up. He showered calculatedly, trying to wash as much green out of his hair as he could. Watching the color swirl down the drain, he thought he might be in luck but, standing in front of the mirror, his hair looked just as green as before, only cleaner. He arrived at his office a full hour before most of the staff showed up. He wanted to organize his files and jot down some notes on his open projects so whoever was hired to replace him wouldn’t be left in a lurch. As strange as it seemed, he also didn’t want Tomlinson to get screwed over his inevitable termination. Preparing for his departure, however, only took 40 minutes. With nothing left to do, his mind began to shut down. The long night was calling him to sleep. He didn’t want to check his messages and now, with his mind and body slowly closing up shop, the blinking message beacon on his phone served as a hypnotist’s pocket watch. Down the hall, he heard the main door whoosh open. He knew it was Tomlinson. The CEO always showed up before the rest of the staff. It was part of his “Lead By Example” motto. There would be disbelief, maybe coupled with a nervous laugh, followed by outrage and yelling and, perhaps, for dessert there would be disappointment. This would continue for a long time. Frank had a theory that the process of firing was directly related to how long you’d been at the company and he had been there for 14 years. Frank saw lights down the hall flicker on as Tomlinson flipped switches. He rubbed his temple. It was sore and had turned a sickly grayish yellow. He mused about the two pieces of advice offered to him by Tomlinson and Geri, both saying the same thing with different words. Patience. Journey. Diamonds are formed over time. Frank’s eyes remained locked on the blinking phone. In the periphery of his vision, a figure appeared in his door. A voice said, “Frank, you’re in early. I didn’t… What in the hell happened to your hair?” He thought of Geri as he saw her last year, a mysterious woman walking away, lighting a cigarette. The end. All installments.
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Frank Olesby’s Strange Behavior (Part 12, Final)

Later that morning, as Frank sat in his office, the voice mail light on his phone was blinking red. He sat slouched in his ergonomically designed chair, staring as the LED pulsed like the heart of a hungry creature. He pictured the angular seam on the front of its plastic casing spreading open to reveal a maw of spiky teeth and a sickeningly pink tongue. He wondered if coming into the office was such a great idea, especially if he was having delusions about his phone attacking him.

When Geri dropped him off in front of his apartment building just four hours ago, he wanted nothing more than to let his pillow caress his head while he slept for days, weeks, years. He wanted to wake up and see the world rotting and overgrown like the lot on Fontaine Boulevard. He wanted to see the streets as empty as his post-apocalyptic fantasy. He wanted fire and brimstone to destroy all that he knew. He just wanted to sleep through it.

But after lying awake in bed for almost two hours, he gave up. He showered calculatedly, trying to wash as much green out of his hair as he could. Watching the color swirl down the drain, he thought he might be in luck but, standing in front of the mirror, his hair looked just as green as before, only cleaner.

He arrived at his office a full hour before most of the staff showed up. He wanted to organize his files and jot down some notes on his open projects so whoever was hired to replace him wouldn’t be left in a lurch. As strange as it seemed, he also didn’t want Tomlinson to get screwed over his inevitable termination. Preparing for his departure, however, only took 40 minutes. With nothing left to do, his mind began to shut down. The long night was calling him to sleep. He didn’t want to check his messages and now, with his mind and body slowly closing up shop, the blinking message beacon on his phone served as a hypnotist’s pocket watch.

Down the hall, he heard the main door whoosh open. He knew it was Tomlinson. The CEO always showed up before the rest of the staff. It was part of his “Lead By Example” motto.

There would be disbelief, maybe coupled with a nervous laugh, followed by outrage and yelling and, perhaps, for dessert there would be disappointment. This would continue for a long time. Frank had a theory that the process of firing was directly related to how long you’d been at the company and he had been there for 14 years.

Frank saw lights down the hall flicker on as Tomlinson flipped switches. He rubbed his temple. It was sore and had turned a sickly grayish yellow. He mused about the two pieces of advice offered to him by Tomlinson and Geri, both saying the same thing with different words. Patience. Journey. Diamonds are formed over time.

Frank’s eyes remained locked on the blinking phone. In the periphery of his vision, a figure appeared in his door. A voice said, “Frank, you’re in early. I didn’t… What in the hell happened to your hair?”

He thought of Geri as he saw her last year, a mysterious woman walking away, lighting a cigarette.

The end.

All installments.