Tuesday, December 11, 2007

MelanFoley Ramblydamblings

After two years not seeing the guy, I finally managed to get in to see the ear nose and throat specialist last Thursday. I could've gone a few months ago, but I wanted to see him when I was in maximum discomfort, sinus-wise, which meant postponing till the dead of winter.

Two days prior to the appointment I was in as much pain as I had been since the infection over the summer--I was almost certain it had returned. Spent a whole day waiting for something sticky, vile and yellow to drain down the back of my throat. Never happened.

Of course, when Thursday and my appointment rolled around, I awoke to the least headachy day I'd had since Hallowe'en. But the appointment was made, so in I went.

The device I call the Footcam (due to it feeling like someone is shoving a foot up your nose into your forehead) wasn't as uncomfortable as my previous visit. However, if there's ever a time NOT to sneeze, it's when someone's got a miniature camera shoved in behind your face, uncomfortably close to your brain. Word to the wise...

Apparently I've got some discharge in my right cheek sinus cavity. I'd have mentioned this sooner, but it took me three days to remember the proper term. I kept on wanting to call the discharge "emissions" even though nothing of note had actually emitted, at least not that I've noticed. Anyway, the ENT guy's scheduling me and my discharging sinuses for a CATscan, which I gather is one of the more detailed x-rays available. If that's right, I figure this should pretty much kill any viable sperm I had left after the myriad other x-rays I've had taken in the last ten years. On the upside, it's nice to have some independent confirmation that I'm actually feeling noticeably worse this winter than previous ones (which weren't exactly loads of fun themselves.)



Discharge is just the latest word I've lost, lately. It seems to be happening with greater, almosst worrying frequency. I lay in bed for two hours one night last week desperately trying to recall what Prozac is called.



Talked to Hollywood Manager for a solid hour on Monday. It's pretty clear nothing major is going to happen until the strike is resolved, but that doesn't mean nothing's happening. Just nothing that's going to help pay any bills any time soon. Which is frustrating, worrisome, and frustratingly worrisome. And typical.

Tomorrow I'll be bugging Publishing Manager about what he's done for me lately. THE SPOOKY KIDS has been rejected at four places now, but that still leaves an awful lot of publishers we're waiting to hear back from. He's supposed to be following up with editors this week. Hopefully there'll be some good news out of that, but I'll believe it when I hear it.



In the meantime, work on THE HOLIDAY MEN progresses, with artist Nick Johnson knocking it out of the park. Some sort of announcement should be made soon, hopefully prior to Christmas. Before it comes out, I want to make sure we've got enough in the can to maintain the schedule we promise.



Speaking of The H-Men, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma. I've got an idea for something I want to do--am actually definitely going to do, provided Nick sticks around long enough. I'm just not sure when to do it. It's an idea that I find quite funny, which is why I'm going to do it. But it's also a double-edged sword, and both edges could well end up aimed squarely at my and Nick's throats. The idea alone is all but certain to offend someone; if it's executed right, it should offend almost EVERYone. And get us a lot of attention because of it.

Which isn't why I'm going to do it. If we did get attention (at least some of which would likely be in the form of death threats), that would just be a nice side effect of pursuing a particularly silly idea to its satisfyingly ridiculous conclusion. That said, after having PARTING WAYS and D2D go practically unnoticed, and C&A getting attention for things I had nothing to do with, it'd be nice to know someone out there is actually reading my stuff, even if they're only doing it to collect evidence they can present in their defence at the murder trial. As a result of my desperate need for attention, it's difficult for me to resist the temptation to do this particular story early on in the strip's life.


This story is, in a lot of ways, the ultimate Holiday Men tale. It's the essence of what's going to make the standard H-Men episode, taken to the logical extreme. When this is done, there's really nowhere else for the Holidays to go, storywise. Nowhere but down, anyway.

In writing this, I realize this story will have to wait, possibly a long time (I've got a lot of ideas for H-Men stories, and more pop up all the time). When it gets done, there's only one other story that can happen after it, and it won't be as silly, pointed, or inflammmatory--it's just the story on which the series must end. This idea of mine will have to be the second-last H-Men episode, written after I've exhausted all the other entertaining but lesser (less funny, less offensive) variations on the H-Men's themes. The Story requires this trigger not be pulled before its time.

Sigh. I hate the Story, sometimes.


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