Writer seeking an Artist for Action/Adventure Collaboration

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Writer seeking an Artist for Action/Adventure Collaboration

Postby KriegAdler » March 12th, 2018, 7:40 am


I'm in search of an artist to collaborate on my comic, "Jungle Work." It will feature graphic violence and a gay romantic subplot (I hesitate to call it BL, as that isn't the main focus), so the artist must be comfortable doing both.


Mike is a Vietnam Veteran, distraught after the end of "his war" and left emotionally unhinged after four years in the CIA's "Phoenix Program." He's close to being done in by the banality of civilian life until, out of desperation, he answers a want ad in the back of a Soldier of Fortune magazine.

Billy is a closeted gay, Catholic kid from Northern Ireland who finds a perfect outlet for his pent up teenage angst - conducting bombings for the Irish Republican Army. After a botched assassination attempt ends with the SAS gunning for Billy and his associates, the leadership in Dublin order his execution. With the help of his brother, Billy manages to flee Belfast to one of the most chaotic places on the planet - the Mercenary playground of Central Africa.

The story takes place in the fictional former Belgian colony of Shangani in Central Africa in the mid '70s. It will draw heavily on historical conflicts of the era (Rhodesian Bush War, Portuguese Colonial Wars, Congo Crisis, The Troubles, etc.), as well as my personal experiences as a combat veteran of Afghanistan.

I'm hoping to find someone who can illustrate in the western style - finding just the right balance between webcomic and realistic. I'm not looking for the series to drag on, and have a concise story outlined from start to finish. Some excerpts from the rough drafts of the first two chapters (I plan about ten in total) are included to give an idea of my writing style. This is my first time making the jump from short fiction to comic writing, so I would also love to hear input from any comic writers out there that are interested.

Spoiler! :
Page One
Four Panels
1.1) Day. A strip-mall based store front, like you’d find anywhere in America. An Eagle, Globe, and Anchor painted on the plate glass window with the words “United States Marine Corps Recruiting Station” stenciled above it.
NARRATION: I was destined for the Marines – fated I guess you could say.

1.2) A group of Marines in World War I Era uniforms, cloaked in smoke, charge with fixed bayonets across a wheat field into German machine-gun positions during the Battle of Belleau Wood.
NARRATION: My Grandpa was with the 6th Marines in France in the Great War…charged across the wheat field at Belleau Wood…you know Teufelshunde and all that jazz.

1.3) World War II Era Marines raise a Confederate battle flag over the ruins of Shuri castle during the Battle of Okinawa. (Reference: http://www.ww2incolor.com/us-marines/Ma ... .html)
NARRATION: My old man fought his way across the Pacific with the “Old Breed,” and helped raise the ‘Stars and Bars’ over Shuri Castle on Okinawa – like a proper rebel sonuvabitch.

1.4) Korean War Era Marines fight a desperate last stand against a human wall of Chinese soldiers during the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir in the snow of North Korea.
NARRATION: My Dad’s kid brother bought it in Korea at ‘the reservoir’…and was practically deified by my father as a result.
Page Two
Four Panels
2.1) A white, flat front, government bus drives down a country highway surrounded by farmland.
NARRATION: So naturally, just a few days after my high school graduation, I left my small town in North Carolina, on a bus headed to Parris Island.

2.2) A young terrified Mike, his head shaved bald, stands at attention while looking straight ahead. A Marine drill instructor screams at him, veins bulging from his neck, the rim of his “Smokey Bear” campaign cover pressed against the side of the recruit’s head.
NARRATION: With the war escalating in Vietnam I could’ve just picked up an Infantry contract and gotten into the fray.

2.3) A small shrine back at Mike’s family home sits on a table. A framed picture of his uncle, killed in Korea, in his Dress Blues. His posthumous Navy Cross medal, still in the presentation box, sits before it.
NARRATION: But, no, I wanted to be a goddamn war hero.

2.4) Mike, wearing a pair of short khaki swim trunks, his feet bound together, and his hands tied together behind his back, holds his breath at the bottom of a cement swimming pool, his eyes wide. Around him, other Marines attempt to swim back to the surface of the water while bound. (Reference: https://www.dvidshub.net/image/1676098/ ... ourse)
NARRATION: It was Recon School for me – and after several months of getting my fucking balls hazed off, I was finally on my way to the big show.

Page Three
Four Panels
3.1) A group of Marines in camouflaged utilities, full olive drab sea bags slung over their shoulders, walk down the ramp of a C-130 cargo aircraft on a massive airfield at Da Nang Airbase. The base is busy with movement, as other planes take off and helicopters depart in the background
NARRATION: I made it to Vietnam at the beginning of ’68 – a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Force Reconnaissance Scout Sniper – ready to make a goddamn difference in the world.

3.2) Mike sits on the bench of a UH-1 ‘Huey’ Slick helicopter in flight, looking out the open door at the jungle landscape, a door gunner rests on his M-60 machine gun, blowing a bubble with his chewing gum.
NARRATION: It didn’t take long for me to get a first-hand masterclass in just exactly what the war in Vietnam would entail for me.

3.3) The helicopter touches down on a dirt landing zone at the top of small firebase on a remote hill. A single guard tower and a few sandbag bunkers surrounded by concertina wire are the only distinguishing features. Mike and a few other Marines hop out of the helo with their bags as the blades continue to spin.
NARRATION: I’d only been in country for a few weeks when they dropped my team and I at a Firebase on a small hill outside of Khe Sanh as the siege was beginning to pick up.

3.4) Night. Close-up on Mike’s face as it peers over a trench wall, a look of complete despair. Tears form at the corner of his eyes, already wide with terror. All of the dead space of the panel is filled with exaggerated SFX style screams (AhhHHhhhhh, etc.).
NARRATION: First night in the bush and I was treated to the sounds of ‘ol Victor Charlie torturing two captured Marines to death within earshot of us as they shouted insults in broken English – it took about four hours for those poor bastards to die.

Page Four
Splash Page
Early morning. Mike and several other Recon Marines stand at the base of the hill that the firebase is on, oriented in the rear of the panel. Mike still has the look of terror on his face, his weapon held loosely in front of him, seemingly frozen in place. A Marine to his right violently retches into the bushes. At the foreground of the panel, taking up most of the image, two bloody, flayed skins are perfectly draped over a coil of concertina wire.
NARRATION: We found their flayed skins left for us in the wire the next morning.

Spoiler! :
Page One
Three Panels
1.1) Day. Billy stands in the shadows of an alleyway off of a dingy backstreet in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His arms crossed, leaning against the alley wall with a look of casual indifference on his face. He is dressed in fashions typical of the youth of the mid ‘70s, concealed under a khaki trench coat, with a black beanie on his head.
NARRATION: Growing up gay and Catholic in Ireland was bad enough.

1.2) Close up on Billy’s face as he blows a bubble with chewing gum, the same look of indifference in his eyes.
NARRATION: Growing up gay, Catholic, and Irish in Northern Ireland in the ‘70s? It was like I was trying to win the fuckin’ oppression Olympics.

1.3) Panel shifts to the view from behind Billy, we see his back in the foreground, arms still crossed, leaning against the wall. Across the street is a small typical English pub. The sign above the door reads “ORANGE ORDER.” Union Jack and Ulster Banner flags hang lazily from short flag poles mounted on either side of the pub sign. A poster in one of the windows celebrates the Ulster Defence Association (Reference: https://www.google.com/search?q=ulster+ ... tY_9Gw4M:).
NARRATION: Luckily for me, I had an outlet that worked exceedingly well.

Page Two
Four Panels
2.1) Billy looks down at his wrist watch nonchalantly, worn so that the face is on the underside of his wrist, clearly waiting for something.

2.2) Close up on the front of the pub as it explodes outward in a massive blast, clearly the work of a bomb.

2.3) Close up of Billy as he spits his gum out to the side and reaches up with both hands to begin pulling down his beanie, revealing it is actually a black ski mask.

2.4) Billy steps out into the street, the ski mask only revealing his eyes and mouth as he draws a Beretta 9mm pistol from his trench coat. Further down the street several other ski-masked IRA members step out from additional alleyways. Flaming bits of debris (wood, glass, cloth) fall from the sky around them.

Page Three
Four Panels
3.1) A man stumbles out of the doorway of the ruined pub, his hands held over the raw mass of gore where his eyes used to be, his face wracked with agony. His clothing his torn and burnt in places and spattered with blood.
MAN: Fenian, bog-trotting, Papist fucks! Burn in hell, you fucking bastards!

3.2) Billy steps up and shoots the man in the head, point-blank.
BILLY: Looks like you’ll beat us there.

3.3) Panel shifts to the interior of the pub as Billy steps in through the ruined door. The room is utterly destroyed - the bomb was clearly placed under the bar itself as it has been blown outwards towards the center and sent wooden shrapnel fragments out in all directions, imbedded in the walls and ceilings and in most of the bodies lying around the room. Smoke fills the room, and a few small fires are burning.

3.4) Billy stands in the middle of the room, his ski mask pushed up to reveal his face, he has a sly smile played across his lips as he admires his handiwork. In the background of the panel, two other IRA members shoot a wounded man and woman lying on the ground as they weakly plead for mercy.
NARRATION: …exceedingly well.

Page Four
Four Panels
4.1) A black and white family photograph, Billy stands with three other men, his arms resting on the shoulders of the ones on either side of him - two are similar in age to himself (brothers), the other significantly older (father).
NARRATION: I’d been at it for a while…family business and all that.

4.2) Aerial view of Her Majesty’s Prison Maze.
NARRATION: Dad died in an escape attempt in ‘the Maze’ in ’71.

4.3) The interior of a small room in a second-floor apartment. A masked IRA gunman lays on the floor, riddled with bullets, blood pooled around his body. Empty shell casings and rifle magazines for his Armalite AR-18, still clutched in his hands, litter the floor. Bullet holes fill the walls and the splintered frame around the room’s window looking out over the street below. In the foreground, a British soldier stands with his back to the reader, his weapon pointed at the body, still smoking after firing the killing shots.
NARRATION: Kieran was killed by the Army the next year.

4.4) Billy stands next to his surviving brother, Sean, at a funeral, surrounded by mourners on either side of them. Billy comforts an older woman in a black funeral veil (mother). Both brothers are dressed in black funeral suits, watching as the casket is lowered into the ground. A Catholic priest makes the sign of the cross over the casket.
NARRATION: So, it was up to Sean and me to carry on the tradition.

Page Five
Five Panels
5.1) Billy stands in a small garage before a workbench, busying himself with something in a wooden green grocer crate. Billy whistles along to the music emanating from a record player on a nearby shelf as he works.
NARRATION: I wasn’t really into the politics of the whole thing.

5.2) The panel is filled with the contents of Billy’s workshop. Jars and bottles full of caustic sodas and other industrial chemicals, along with old tea tins full of nails and other sinister pieces of shrapnel cover all of the available space. A block of Semtex high explosive that has been cut up into segments sits on the workbench next to the wooden crate.
NARRATION: I mean, yeah, I wanted a united Ireland as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t trying to usher in some delusional Socialist utopia or anything.

5.3) Billy’s scarred hands lower a small block of Semtex high explosive, rigged to a timer, into a wooden crate.
NARRATION: I really just liked being a part of something that made my father proud of me while he was still alive.

5.4) Billy liberally sprinkles a mixture of nails, screws, shards of jagged metal, and other dangerous looking elements around the explosive in the crate, sitting on a work bench in front of him.
NARRATION: If you were a Catholic kid in Northern Ireland, full of piss and vinegar, it’s just what you were doing.

5.5) A Royal Ulster Constabulary Police Station explodes.
NARRATION: …and as fucked up as it sounds, it made me feel…normal.

Thanks in advance,
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