Everything Abridged, page 5
Another round of applause for the veterans.
I don’t get much romantic attention here. It’s either my face or the fact girls have something to lose. Stakes are low on a colony, so dating a professional clown sounds fun. Here, where you can have a yard? I’m a liability.
Still, I managed to get one date. A friend of my agent’s friend. She looked disappointed from the start, which I’m used to. The reason still caught me by surprise. She said, “I thought you’d have a barcode.”
Karma’s real.
Still, I’ve kept myself busy. There’s a jar in my hotel room. I’m going to fill it with clean air and pinecones. Selling it should cover my rent for a year.
I also have a set of Little Picasso colored pencils, from home. One says “sky blue.” After a week here, I can safely say that Little Picasso is full of shit.
You know what “sky blue” looks like? The ocean. I’ve spent thirty-two years thinking the ocean looked like the sky and the sky looked like the ocean. And then there’s “grass red.”
That’s why our movies about Earth suck. The directors are working off secondhand stories. It’s like telling a joke you heard when you were five.
Once, I took Jana’s kid to see a movie called Baxter the Bat. It’s fine that the bat talks. Kids have to learn about friendship and drugs somehow. I’m even fine with it having thumbs. But Baxter spends half the movie underwater and lives. I’m not local, so let me double-check: Do bats have gills?
Jana’s kid probably thought so. He was great. Everyone needs one friend with terrible taste. That way you never miss a movie.
Hey there. Yes, with the drug dealer sunglasses on indoors. Would you call this a big venue?
“Sort of?” Very decisive. You can’t all be General Clark, I guess.
This is the biggest room I’ve ever played. I’ve done bigger crowds, but they were packed elbow-to-elbow like crates. You guys have space. That kid in the front is stretching.
Kicking the poor people off the planet probably helped.
Kidding! Kidding! We make fun of everyone here. You can’t just laugh at the Mars jokes.
You were nice about it, in a way. Instead of rounding everyone up, you made rockets cheaper than rent. That’s a gentleman’s eviction.
And you had to save the planet somehow, right? Either kick people off or stop using plastic sandwich swords. I love those things. Any lunch can be a duel.
I’ve got this friend, Robin, who Jana never trusted. Robin says we shouldn’t call our tin can a colony because it’s not self-sustaining. Technically it’s a space station made of a million little shipwrecks welded together. I don’t know why Jana felt threatened. I’d cheat with someone less pedantic.
But it really is crammed up there. My apartment’s like a coffin with a laptop, and the walls are thin. I hear all of my neighbor’s breakdowns, arguments, and breakup sex. He has the kind of boyfriend you write bad poems about.
Sometimes I give him some advice. I don’t even have to shout.
“He didn’t look for a job. He’s been fiddling with your guitar all day.”
“He’s not going to change! His only hobbies are pills and selling your stuff for pills.”
“You’re overcooking your food. It smells like charcoal briquettes in here.”
I think I’m helping. My neighbor’s still with the junkie, but his cooking smells much better.
Still, it’s good to get away. I only had one near-death experience on the way here.
I saw space junk up close. Have you heard about this? The giant balls of compressed trash floating through neutral space? Specifically, your trash? I call them “trashteroids.”
One missed my ship by inches. I thought it was the end. I was up at five a.m., sober, waiting to see if I’d be crushed by old campaign T-shirts. My personal nightmare. The whole point of smoking is choosing how I’ll die.
Half my life passed before my eyes. I skipped all the sleeping, drinking, and erotic cinema analysis. I mostly saw myself doing crowd work, and it wasn’t pretty. I looked like the king of Martian hacks.
“What’s your name? What do you do? Can you teach me how to write a joke?”
Then I fell on one knee and humbled myself. “God, if you get me past this, I’ll never ask anyone where they’re from again.”
And then I died. Okay, I didn’t, but I still do crowd work. It pulls people in.
Anyway, I’ll speak on behalf of your neighbors. Details show us that you care. Things like not leaving trash on our lawn, or not naming us after planets that already exist. Be more thoughtful in the future. Or cut taxes. I’d overlook a few trashteroids to get that four percent back.
Four percent. I guess that’s what textbooks will say all the shooting was about. As if three would’ve been fine.
I’ll break a soft rule of stand-up and give you a peek behind the curtain: I lied to you earlier. Sometimes, when the moon is full, comics lie for a punchline.
I never scanned Jana’s barcode. She left to look after her parents on Red Mars. I didn’t have the stones to follow because of all the nukes flying around. The barcode story’s just less embarrassing. And “idiot” sounds better than “coward.”
I felt guilty, so I tried reconnecting. I’m not good at apologizing, but I’ve gotten semi-famous. Which tends to work better.
I sent six messages, with no response. Just like old times. I cleaned up my place in case she brought her parents back with her. Optimism tends to race ahead of my common sense. That’s why I like comedy: it gives my inner cynic a fighting chance.
Then I found out she’d moved to Haven City. Which doesn’t exist anymore, in the legal sense. Or the literal sense. It was the first city bio-bombed after the armistice.
Games didn’t help me figure that choice out. So I tried sports. A war crime makes perfect sense in boxing. Why not sneak a punch in after the bell? It could make the next round easier.
General Clark received a medal for “distinction in character.” Jana got a low-res photo on my fridge, printed in black-and-white. Ink’s hard to come by right now. Wartime supply chains and all that.
Man, it’s quiet in here. Let’s go back to fun comparisons between Earth, Mars, and Mars! That’s what the poster advertised, right? “Ever notice Martians walk like this?”
Now, tell me if I’m nuts. If I’m off the mark. If I’m gently rocking back and forth in a padded room. But is it just me, or are you guys a little paler than me? Or my manager, or mother, or anyone I’ve spoken to in my life?
It’s strange, because my colony’s much farther from the sun. It’s part of our energy problem, in fact. So I can’t imagine why the descendants of the migration would be so much darker than the people that got to stay! It’s a puzzle! A real brain tickler. It sounds like the Middle Passage, without the jobs waiting.
Not much heckling culture here, is there? You guys just sit there and glower. I love it. I thought everyone would’ve left by now.
When I was a kid—I started as one, despite the rumors—I read that half the people in the migration didn’t make it. Half. It blew my mind. More people survive suicide.
That same textbook came up in the news last year. The publisher apologized for downplaying the fatalities, and that’s as far as I read. Half was enough to turn me into this. More would put me in the hospital. Or improv.
Dirty secret? The colonies don’t like you any more than the Red Martians did. The Reds just had enough uranium to express themselves.
Last cigarette. Time to get out of here. I’m sure I’ll be invited back soon. Right after Haven City grows back.
But first, I promised you a prop gag. Ready?
What’s the difference between this cigarette and Earth?
This cigarette doesn’t deserve to burn.
democracy: The perfect system for communities of two hundred or less.
Democrats: A loose alliance between doomed idealists and Republicans with black friends.
depression: A rising phenomenon in black teens, despite all they have to look forward to.
diamonds: Subject of a fiery debate between abject human misery and shininess.
Diceman, the: A naturally gifted comedian dedicated to variations of “Bitches, amirite?”
dilation: A feature of Hugo-winning doors.
Disney: Copyright holders for the human imagination.
diversity, equity, and inclusion: Meetings for subalterns to enjoy while not getting promoted.
divorce: Highly underrated.
dogs: Servants created by providing wolves unlimited food, shelter, and toys.
Author’s note: Many Americans now enjoy unlimited food, shelter, and toys. Expect collars in the near future.
Domme: Professional recipient of specific, loud, and pointed instructions on how to dominate others.
doom: 1. The onomatopoeia for melting ice.
2. Digital anger management.
Dr. Seuss: A rebronged roogle fond of zoogling nonsense words.
Dune: A testament to the literary power of mescaline.
Dust Bowl, the: The total failure of topsoil to pick itself up by its bootstraps.
dyscalculia: The inability to understand the ending of 1984.
dyslexia: Disorders adding difficulty to reading.
E
Earth: 1. A hot planet with some cool lizards.
2. Home of a large game of Risk.
3. The uninhabitable homeworld of the Tyrannus Empire.
economic inequality: A force ready to accomplish what the British Empire, civil warfare, Spanish flu, the Axis Powers, the Soviet Union, and Ronald Reagan couldn’t.
editors: Society’s last line of defense against an interesting idea.
Author’s note: An editor asked me to make my book blacker. I cut out two-fifths of it.
elders: 1. Children without humility.
2. Children without bladder control.
elections: Warfare without the fun part.
empire: Democracy’s flirtatious older sister.
“Entry of the Gladiators”: The national anthem of the United States.
epidemic: An opportunity to catch up on reading, exercise, and panicked sobbing.
epidemiology: The science of screaming too loudly to be heard.
eternity: 1. Incomprehensible infinite time.
2. The estimated length of the average first date.
Europe: Winners of the global sprint to invent the rifle.
euthanasia: The right to cut the boring part of your biography.
evangelicals: The holy union between twelfth-century politics and twenty-first-century media.
Eve: Pandora’s plagiarist.
Evola: Fascism’s Velvet Underground.
existentialism: Starting every sentence with “I,” “me,” or “my.”
extinction: Around September 23, 2064.
extraversion: The ability to hold eye contact without writing a personal essay about the experience.
extremism: The most reliable fuel for voter participation.
eye contact: Best saved for marriage.
F
Facebook: The place a forgotten version of you lives.
faith: The belief that belief is sufficient reason to believe.
famine: A universally condemned human tragedy preventable at marginal collective expense.
Fantastic Four: The characters you skim over to get to Doctor Doom.
fantasy: Imaginative tales of dragons, wizardry, and moral justice.
farce: Every human project since the wheel.
Fast and the Furious, The: An American cultural renaissance peaking with the masterpiece Furious 7.
Author’s note: Furious 7 is the triumph of minimalism: every frame is a fist, butt, or car. The totality of the human experience, from love to the march toward the singularity, is seen through these three filters. And a car jumps between skyscrapers.
father: The bass player of parenting. Good to have, but nonessential.
fatwa: A career goal of any writer worth reading.
festival: A celebration of youth, music, and hepatitis.
fiction: Lawsuit-proof nonfiction.
fire: The first mistake.
football: Compelling gladiatorial action arbitrarily yoked to a leather ball.
four: Either luck or death, depending on your mood and time zone.
fractions: The last easy math before the pain begins.
Free Panels
To: diversitystarz@gammacomics.com
From: J.Ruvola@gmail.com
Subject: Get Ready for Radiotron!
Dear Ms. Luna,
Nothing draws dreamers like a Gamma Comics contest, and I’m sure you’ve seen countless pitches. Mine might stand out among all the manga imitations. Radiotron (twelve twenty-three-page issues) recalls the idealist glow of classic superhero comics, where anything felt possible. Hence the title cyborg’s catchphrase: “Justice never changes.”
He’s based in no small way on my father. I’ve never met anyone with a clearer picture of right and wrong. I suspect, after his passing, that I never will. We need that nobility to transcend hate today.
I’m biased, but I think Radiotron could stand shoulder to shoulder with the best of the GammaVerse. He has the same core that made Alpha Man great: humble roots, indomitable inner strength, and faith in the people. Today’s stands lack true adventurers, and Radiotron could help Gamma Comics fill that void.
The Diversity Starz contest brief asks: “What perspective do you bring to the table?” Personally, I’d say an eye for history. As Gamma Comics forges ahead, creators that remember the medium’s past will prove invaluable. Mental diversity is an important intersectionality, and with it we can elevate our praxis. I’d love to help Gamma stay on top of the game.
I’ve attached three sample script pages, per guidelines. They’re from Radiotron Rising, the first six-issue Radiotron story arc. Radiotron Rising explores his origins, enemies, and unkillable dream.
Sincerely,
Jeremy Ruvola
Jeremy Ruvola is a Queens-based writer. His fiction has appeared in Pocket Galaxy, Yuck-Yucks, and Southern Lights. His cat Nebula is his biggest fan and harshest critic.
[Attachment: The Future.odt]
PAGE 41 (3 PANELS)
Excerpt: Radiotron Rising
PANEL 1
RADIOTRON tugs at the energy field holding his limbs in place. Is this the end? Even if he survives, can he save his love?
1. RADIOTRON: Where is she, demon?
PANEL 2
Close on VEXUS as he gloats. With RADIOTRON bound and SEDUCTRA slain, nothing can stop the Abraxas Drive from charging.
1. VEXUS: Dead, Radiotron. Just like your meddling mother.
PANEL 3
Close on RADIOTRON’s eyes. They glow with a hero’s strength. And delta radiation. The glow is both literal and figurative.
1. RADIOTRON: Just like you!
PAGE 42 (4 PANELS)
PANEL 1
Driven by mingled fury and grief, RADIOTRON tears through his bonds. SEDUCTRA’s gone, just like his mother, sister, neighbor, and wife. Thanks to their sacrifices, he can strike the next blow.
1. VEXUS: Impossible!
PANEL 2
RADIOTRON strikes the next blow, punching through VEXUS’s stomach.
1. VEXUS: Impossible!
PANEL 3
VEXUS stares down at the hole in his stomach. There’s no robot, clone, or hologram this time; he’s suffered a mortal wound.
1. VEXUS: Impossible!
PANEL 4
VEXUS goes limp. RADIOTRON holds his oldest foe in his arms. Taking a life, even one as twisted as VEXUS, weighs heavily on him.
1. VEXUS (weakly): Impossible!
PAGE 43 (2 PANELS)
PANEL 1
Close on the fading VEXUS, who smirks.
PANEL 2
With his last wisp of spite, VEXUS presses a hidden button on his collar.
1. VEXUS: I may die . . . but you’ll never defeat . . . Radiotron Dark!
2. SFX: Doot.
@Copyright J. Ruvola. All rights reserved.
To: opensubmissions@readprime.com
From: J.Ruvola@gmail.com
Subject: Query: Radiotron Force
Dear Ms. Hayes,
I couldn’t help but notice your name before submitting. It’s a great name, rich in history. That, even more than your work at Prime Comics, gives me faith that you’ll appreciate Radiotron Force. You understand legacy.
Radiotron Force is my love letter to the mercenary teams of the nineties. It merges that era’s unapologetic grit and testosterone with today’s structured, character-focused narratives. I think it offers the best of both schools, and the attached sample pages reflect that.
The soldiers of Radiotron Force defend a dying world. Their childhood dreams of splendor are a fading memory, reducing them to life on the plasma knife’s edge. As barbarians encroach on Zero City, the last bastion of civilization, it’s up to the hard-edged Dutch Bronzer to save what’s left of mankind. His squad, named after humanity’s fallen hero, holds the line.
It’s a natural fit for Prime Comics. While Gamma churns out identical cape after cape, Prime blazes a braver trail. That courage has made a generation of creator-owned work possible, and I’d be proud to join that legacy. The first graphic novels my father ever bought me were Prime.
Thank you for your time. I put everything into Radiotron Force, and hope it shows. You’re holding my world.
Best,
Jeremy Ruvola
Jeremy Ruvola is an up-and-coming Queens writer of fiction, graphic novels, and screenplays. His work, bucking experimental trends for purist adventure, can be found in Pocket Galaxy, Southern Lights, and Freer Press. His cat, Nebula, sees great things ahead.
P.S: I have a presence in Free Panels, which has something of a reputation. To clear the air, given the trolls you’ve dealt with in the past: We support everyone. Free Panels is about telling better stories, not hate. We just don’t want your movement reduced to a marketing prop. That’s essentialism by another name.
[Attachment: Radiotron Force (1 of 77).odt]
Excerpt: Radiotron Force
PAGE 1 (2 PANELS)
PANEL 1
Wide on the ruined wasteland. Traces of a better age dot the landscape—little things like solitary skyscrapers and the Washington Monument. A lone silhouette appears before a rolling cloud of dust and smoke.
