I think maybe the biggest challenge about promoting Belief System is going to be that we have to talk about some quite difficult prejudices by default.

The basic idea being, of course, that suddenly the UK starts to be overrun by belief, and that which the overall mob thinks to be true suddenly is true.

The rich are ignorant of others’ problems.
Teachers do nothing over the summer break.
The referee *is* a wanker.

Of course, none of those are that worrying – people will recognise that it’s a bit of fun. Some things, though are going to be harder to swallow. I went through the headlines of the top three newspapers in the UK for research into this comic (and I know some of you will already be wincing if you’ve clocked what they are), because it’s arguable that they represent (and of course shape) public opinion. So when you’ve got sensationalist sneers and screams colouring everything with a murky shade of shit-brown, unfortunately that’s going to have to be faithfully acknowledged by our story line.

If you’re to believe the vindictive bullshit of the tabloids, the NHS is killing everyone, the police are all thugs, anyone who isn’t Caucasian is somehow by default more dangerous, people on benefits are lying and whichever political party is out of favour at the time absolutely hates the working class. Shocking opinion polls will back me up on this being the general thought process of your average Brit, so I think I’m pretty safe.

Even writing that gives me the fear a bit. Because I worry that people will say ‘those are rob’s opinions in the comic’, and miss the point. And then set fire to me (even the Caucasian ones! I know!).

It would be probably be easier if I was trying to make a point about anything, or getting righteous about the dangers of an apathetic, uneducated consciousness. But I’m not Alan Moore, and I’m not doing anything other than adhering to the paradigm of the story that I’ve set. It’s only going to work if we don’t hold back, and I hope you’ll afford me that creative risk while you read everything through.

 Should we ever make it big with Belief System, I wonder if a tabloid will ironically call me a hate monger. I hope so.

Nerd n an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a non-social hobby or pursuit.

I was putting together a completely different post for today’s update when I came across The Big Bang Theory. Obviously I’d heard of it before, I’d just never really taken the time to get acquainted with the show until now. The crux of the episode, and every joke in the episode, and I suspect the entire series is DO YOU REALISE: NERDS. YOU GUYS.

But it was interesting not to actually watch (it’s pretty dire), but to think about why the show successfully exists, and why shows like the IT Crowd (which is much, much better) have done so well.

I’m not inside the writers’ heads, sure, but I’m pretty positive that the hugely one-dimensional caricature portrayal of nerds has become particularly light relief lately because less obvious nerds are everywhere. We hang out with them, we date them and in my case, we are them (dun dun duuuuun). And in all of those instances, we want to believe that being a nerd these days is still cooler than the people in the sit coms getting ridiculed: über nerds (only a nerd would say ‘über’ of course – hoist by my own petard).

That’s not to say that all nerds are considered cool and socially acceptable these days, it’s just that some interests appear to have snuck into a less-ridiculed position in the past decade. Sony managed to convince the world that video games were a general consumer thing. Suddenly the bloke coming back from the pub half cut and sporting a beer belly was just as likely to put on the Playstation as he was the football.

It changed gaming, too, because the cartoony platform games were eschewed in favour of the more realistic FPS and driving games by adults who wanted an adult gaming experience. There’s an irony lurking in the mainstream grown-up world’s abandonment of a short, fat, moustachioed and badly dressed plumber whose princess stood by him nonetheless; many an infinitely-patient girlfriend tolerates the adventures of their own hairy, stocky dwarf glued to the Xbox every evening, no?

Pratchett, Rowling and Pullman brought fantasy novels into the ‘mainstream’ (whatever that means) consciousness – and even though the Potter series in particular was very definitely a children’s series, the adults not only bought into it, but actually defended it. Endless rhetoric poured zealously over a million dinner tables, reminding us that “it might be kids’ stuff, guys, but it has adult themes.”

ADULT THEMES.

Hell, even Trekkies seem to get a pass because of the nostalgia of laughing at Trekkies – some kind of incredible self-perpetuating cycle of respect that thrives on its traditional reputation as an isolating love.

How then, despite the often-successful, occasionally-shonky film reworkings of DC, Marvel, Vertigo, Darkhorse and Oni Press, have comics managed to avoid the same green light into daily life? They are still a fringe interest, and noses are still wrinkled when you mention them, usually by the same people who have used the word ‘muggle’ in public without a hint of shame. Even if we’re talking about the most ‘embarrassing’ comics – cape ‘n’ cowl stuff – is it any less preposterous an interest than a magical school complete with frolicking unicorns?

Case in point: there is only one famous comic book guy that millions upon millions of people are acquainted with: that one, yes. And no matter what the odd Kevin Smith film has tried to do for the art, most will never be able to get over that pony tail, that crap beard, that belly shyly poking out from an ill-fitting t-shirt and that endlessly quotable dialogue from an endlessly derisible voice.

Is there a definable reason? Are they too little reading for people devouring novels but too much for those who just want to sit in front of a telly and watch a film or an episode of something? Is it perhaps the often-ongoing universes that are too complex and overwhelming to step into unless you’ve kept up with the stories and themes from day one?

Maybe it’s a little bit about that. But when I sat down to write the first few issues of Belief System, there was something else, something a little darker, which struck me about the whole sordid love of comics that many fans have.

Pedal back to being 10 years old and being fascinated with Superman, Spiderman and the X-Men. It’s little wonder that the kids who weren’t/aren’t popular during their tenure at school would be captivated by a cover like this:

It says it all – the loner science nerd transforms into a man who saves the world every day, while being adored by beautiful, successful women. It’s wish fulfilment of the highest order, and if we’re talking a young teen fascination then that’s one thing, but as that interest grows and sort-of matures over the years, there’s something… selfish about it all?

When people are talking about Harry Potter, about video games where teams run around shooting each other or even about period drama, there’s a wish that everything and everyone was a part of it – wouldn’t it be amazing if we were all magical, wouldn’t it be great if we were brothers-in-arms tackling the foe together, wouldn’t it be amazing if the men rode around on horseback charming the be-corseted brides to be?

With comic books, the interest that the reader harbours is of a very isolationist dream – what if I could save you, what if you saw the worth in me, what if you were proved wrong? It is hard for us to involve ourselves with someone else’s dream, especially when we feature solely as bit parts and cameos, and I think that is why it is hard for the masses to humour the comics nerd.

And so we remain largely outsiders, and maybe we should be if that’s the mindset and secret wish we’re aspiring towards. Of course, that’s largely not the case, and although many comics fans start with superheroes, they move onto the wealth of material out there that takes on bigger ideas and steps away from that indulgent premise. Look at the Walking Dead: we the many, not we the few, are against the whole wide world.  Scott Pilgrim is as much about the company he keeps as the sweet moves he has. But very few people will assume that we are reading further than the next issue of Deadpool, so who can blame their puzzled superiority?

Maybe the comics world is non-social because we’ve always dreamt for a non-social world. If we change the foundations of that wish fulfilment, perhaps we’ll change the perception of that wish.

Fan as I am of at least 80 per cent of Alan Moore’s output, I recently picked up an absolutely beautiful book, half interview-based biography and half gallery. The hardback is something to treasure in itself, and I’m already well on my way to finishing the tome before it’s inserted into neat alphabetical order on the bookshelf, never to be dog-eared, so-help-me-God.

However, making my way through the first few chapters yielded not only eye-candy and insightful notes on the artist, but also a couple of surprising facts and one hell of a nostalgia trip.

First of all, it turns out that Moore was born and grew up in Northampton. I’m from Northamptonshire myself, so it was more than a little excellent to discover that a hero of mine was peddling a miscellany of award-winning comics just down the road.

He also, it turned out, worked for the Northamptonshire Co-Op, as did I. Admittedly my job involved stacking shelves on the supermarket aisles and his job involved working with animal hides, but it still counts.

I can’t decide whether I’m gutted to now know that I’ll never have a chance of being even the best comic writer from my home county, or whether I’m elated to be doing ‘the side’ proud. Either way, it’s pretty astonishing to learn that sleepy Northamptonshire sired a living legend.

But what really made me smile so very fondly was a reference to a comic story that Moore had penned years ago, for 2000AD. During my previous lyrical waxing on my connection to comic books over the years, I’d mentioned DC, Marvel and Vertigo, but had omitted the British gore-confectioners altogether.

I know why. It’s because way before I’d plumbed the depths of those publishing houses -before I’d read anything other than Eagle and The Beano, in fact, I found a 2000AD annual at an Oxfam shop, and bought it for what must have been less than a pound.

It was a collection of Rogue Trooper classic stories, both old and new incarnation, and included the wonderful tale of the haggard solider putting the wrong sentient microchips into his helmet, backpack and gun. Much arguing between said accessories ensued, and I remember being thrilled.

Anyway, I think precisely because it was an annual and I’d not really thought too much about comics up until that point, I’d just kept in amongst my other ‘normal books’ and not thought much of it.

However, it did mean that during a first foray to a local comic shop, an old 2000AD edition caught my eye, not due to Rogue, Dredd or the ABC’s, but with a collection of Tharg’s Future Shocks.

I guess this is where my endless ponderings over ‘what ifs’ must have begun, and so in that respect the Shocks are responsible for Belief System.

I can’t remember all of them, but some have fortunately lingered on in my mind:

An army of children using their innocent looks to disarm the military, and then using shuriken to take their eyes.

A cock-sure commander firing lethal missiles through a portal to what appeared to be a parallel world, but in fact turned out to be the same world a few minutes into the future.

A girl hitch-hiking and promptly killing the old lady who pulled over, stealing her car. She drives endlessly through what appeared to be shifts in time until, suddenly old and grey herself, she’s flagged down by a hitch-hiker…

A man throwing himself off of a bridge and remembering his life, the closest thing he could find to a time machine. This one was particularly astonishing.

Not as astonishing, though, as Moore’s The Reversible Man. It was a horror-tinged take on Benjamin Button, that ended with an utterly terrified consciousness protesting a final push back into the womb. Before the end/start however, there were wonderful parts to the monologue drifting over the story. His note that his marriage was getting better, before of course being unmarried and eventually never seeing his wife again, was incredibly hard to read for all the right reasons. Poignant, knowing and joyous and sad all at once.

Being reminded of this story in particular story definitely sheds light on exactly why I’ve been so keen to re-imagine the present day in Belief System. It’s because as is so often the case with parody, Moore taught me that you can say so much more about the real world around you by providing a thought-provoking alternative.

Northamptonshire represent. :)

Rob

Since as far back as I can remember, the exploration of worlds and cultures has fascinated me. As a child I found myself spellbound by illustrated books that led me by the hand through the majesty of Ancient Egypt, the might of the Roman empire and the vast expanses of space.

As I grew older, both factual and fictional realms continued to enthral, whether they were the microcosms created within videogames, the just-discovered kingdoms brought to life in National Geographic or, of course, the infinite number of universes being forever born within fantasy fiction.

Terry

It was Terry Pratchett in particular that left me utterly spellbound, not simply due to what is one of the wittiest, readable styles I’ve ever come across, but because of the commitment to cohesive, ever-building histories that the Discworld has upheld for nearly three decades now.

They were all I could read for a fair while – everything else that might have caught my eye was shunned for the exploits of the wizards, the witches and in particular the City Watch. I don’t think I will ever find characters within fiction that I’m quite so fond of as the likes of Vimes, Carrot, Nobby and Colon.

Of course, I eventually managed to catch up with Pratchett’s back catalogue, and with a sudden lack of things to engross myself in, I plunged headlong into anything I could grab – the heroes of the beat generation, pointedly Jewish writers (in regards to writing style), all manner of horror, dramatised histories, old classics, short stories and – thanks to the local library stepping up its game somewhat – comics.

Before the rack of graphic novels and collected story arcs suddenly appeared next to the ‘romance’ section (I’m not sure the librarians really knew what to do with them, to be honest), I’d only really come across the Beano, Dan Dare and possibly The Amazing Spiderman. You have to remember that I was living in a little town in the midlands, and didn’t even know that comic shops actually even existed, so to suddenly come across a plethora of what I quickly began to see as stylised film storyboards was something of a mind-blowing moment.

I took on Marvel, DC and Vertigo all at once, and read any of the independent books I could convince the library to order in. God knows quite how many separate issues I’ve read in total, but I do know that for every two or three novels I read over the course of a week, I’d read at least double the number of comic books.

Here were worlds and universes that intertwined, crossed over and grew forever, and much like the Discworld series, a million tales could be told in isolation from each other while still feeling a part of the whole. Something about it all felt so exciting yet oddly comforting. I think you’re probably by now realising that I was a bit of a dorky kid, and concerned myself with the general embracement of fiction to escape my real life. I’m still glad I did.

Neil

Discovering Neil Gaiman, first via his work on comics and then his stellar line up of novels, was a very definite turning point for me. Something about the likes of Anansi Boys, Neverwhere and American Gods put something in my heart that I slowly realised was ambition. Telling stories – pub anecdotes; poems; the articles I write as a journo – has always been a source of satisfaction for me, but I’d never really had the chance to flex my imaginative muscles.

Gaiman also understood the boundaries between comedy and sillyness, as well as the differences between being dark and being morose. It reminded me that the fantasy genre can play with widely different degrees of seriousness over the course of a text, perhaps more so than any other.

And so I tried writing short stories and even started a novel, but it never felt quite right. My writing is by nature one that leads with dialogue – I’ve never been too comfortable describing everything in a room, or about a person, because I tend to get carried away; suddenly the chocks are off the linguistic biplane and it’s careering down the runway.

A comic, I realised, would be a perfect compromise. I wouldn’t have to describe anything other than outlining where the action was going to an illustrator, and I could focus on dialogues and monologues. Perfect. Now, if only I knew how to draw…

The thing is, I’ve been a magazine designer in the past, for around three years, and I know my way around all manner of Adobe programs, as well as the various schools of thought behind good page layout. Despite all that, my efforts at anything ‘free’ drawn are nothing short of abysmal. I have no sense of scale or angle, let alone light sources or depth of field.

Already soured so soon after deciding on the idea, I nonetheless sucked it up and figured I’d pretty much just write a script, having it ready when I one day found the right person to bring the words to life.

McKay

Tunde McKay – for it is he that has taken up the challenge – is someone I met via the wonders of internetting. I actually stumbled across his artwork by accident – linking from a lastfm page, which I’d in turn found via a forum – and was surprised not only by the quality of his work, but also the revelation that he’d never worked on a fully-fledged comic before. A designer by trade, he’d had a million different ideas that he’d commited to ink, but nothing long-form like this.

Neither of us, then, are entirely sure what we’re actually doing. I have words, and McKay has pictures. We’re pretty sure it’s a good story, and people we’ve talked to about it thus far seem to be pretty enthusiastic. God knows what will happen when we’re actually done and the first issue’s ready. Until then, I figure it might be at least mildly interesting for you to see some concept art, and to get an idea of where the script’s come from and where it’s going. Sometimes I’ll update the blog, sometimes my co-worker will. But the general idea is to map out the creation of the comic, and hopefully get some feedback, too.

We’ve gotten the ‘why’ out of the way then – next will be the ‘how’. In the past I’ve enjoyed exploring others’ worlds; now I get to lead you through ours.

Rob