The Arctic Fox

When I was around 8-9 years old, my father worked for an oil company way up near the North Pole and, while there, he made friends with the native Inuit population. One day, a man named Levi gave my father the snowy white fur hide of an Arctic fox, a fresh kill from a recent hunt, as a present.

Upon my father’s return home for a short visit, he gave me the sensuously thick fur hide, which was complete from nose to tail, including the paws. I stared at its dried and wrinkled face, touched the ears and whiskers, imagining what it might’ve looked like when it was alive and roaming the Arctic tundra. I was sad that it was killed for sport (just to obtain the fur), of course, but I nonetheless accepted it as a gift from a loving father. My mom tacked the hide up on my wall, right at the foot of my bed, so I could look up at it every night as I fell asleep. In retrospect, that might not have been a great idea.

A few days later, I awoke from an unsettling dream about the fox hunting me down in a vicious snowstorm, and at the foot of my bed, lying across my legs with its vacant eye sockets staring right at me, was the fur hide. Somehow, it had come lose from the wall and fell on top of me in this perfect position. Weird, right? Well, this story gets even weirder.

Over the next few weeks, I kept waking up from nightmares about the fox chasing me across a baren northern landscape only to find the fur hide lying on top of my bed, its head always facing me. My mom would tack it back up, using stronger and stronger nails, until its paws were decimated with Swiss cheese-like holes.

Finally, after a couple months of this, I decided that I needed to make peace with the soul of this once majestic creature and thank it for its sacrifice – something I doubt Levi did when he was ripping the fur off its still-warm carcass as a trophy. I was only nine at the time, but I had an intuitive, dare I say psychic-empathic, understanding of these kinds of metaphysical and theosophical situations, and so I just knew what had to be done in order to release the fox’s soul from what was left of its body.

I laid the fur hide out on the floor and performed a little ceremony, the details of which I won’t get into, as it was a very personal and private thing between me and the fox’s angry, vengeful spirit. Once it was over, I slept with the fox hide beside me for a few more days, just to make sure its soul had finally crossed over into the netherworld.

Hooray! No more bad dreams. So, I tacked the hide back up on my wall where it stayed for another twenty-five years, without incident.

Spooky, eh?

KJC

Satanist! Sinner! Repent!

Soon after I moved to Nanaimo from Toronto I got a fantastic new job as a café attendant at a charming little inn on the shores of Long Lake. James, the manager, was impressed with my 20+ years of experience in hospitality services, and loved my warm, friendly disposition and “can-do” attitude.

I took to the job like an old pro, learned quickly, and became fast friends with the front desk and housekeeping staff. I was having a great time – and it showed! I greeted every person who entered the quaint little café like they were guests in my own home. I was engaging and enthusiastic, talked to everyone I had a chance to while keeping the coffee hot, the milk cold and the muffins fresh and pretty.

Every day, the feedback I got from hotel guests was nothing but positive. Men gave me their business cards, telling me they looked forward to their next visit to the inn, so they could see me again. Women approached me with warm hugs, saying I was the best café hostess they’d ever seen. A perfect fit for the job – and it was evident in the tips I was getting. The usual take from the other café girls was about $3 to $8 per shift, while I was finding $20 bills in my little TIP BOX, wrapped in notes saying: “Wow, you’re awesome. Thanks for starting my vacation off on the right foot!”

So, four weeks into this wonderful new job, the manager called me to a meeting. I thought perhaps it was to discuss a raise or promotion to a supervisory or front desk position, as I told James during my interview that I intended to work at the inn for many years and eventually work my way up to a management position. But, sadly, that was not to be. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

In his office, James looked across the desk at me, a frown on his face. “I’ve been getting some...strange feedback from guests about you,” he said.

I paused, bewildered. “Strange how?”

The manager fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “Just...people have been making some weird comments about you and I, uh...I just don’t think you’re a good fit here.”

My heart sunk.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, James,” I said quietly. “I’ve gotten nothing but positive feedback from hotel guests. I’m warm and friendly to everyone. I love my job and I do it very, very well, so I’m really confused, here. Can you please explain to me what you mean by ‘weird’ and ‘strange’ because that makes absolutely no sense to me?”

“I’m not going to get into any details or name names,” he said, nervously. “You’re just not a good fit as a café attendant.”

I stood there in stunned silence for a moment. “So...you’re firing me?” I managed.

He lowered his gaze, nodded.

Tears began to well up in my eyes. Again I tried to pry some more information out of him about why I was being fired and, again, he was evasive and dismissive. I stormed out of his office, furious and in tears.

About an hour later, as I sat down on my sofa at home with a huge bowl of ice cream to pacify myself, I went over and over in my mind every possible reason why I was just fired from a job I was so obviously perfect for...and there was nothing.

I turned on the TV, started watching Brad Meltzer’s Decoded. This episode was about the Statue of Liberty’s connection to the Illuminati, a secret society of powerbrokers who seek to rule the world in a New Order of government. And that got me thinking about other secret societies and their connection to pagan religions —

“Holy shit! Is that it?! Is that why I was fired?” I said, as I jumped off the couch.

You see, about a week earlier, as I was putting out a fresh batch of cinnamon buns at the café, a middle aged black man and his sister came in, my very first guests of the day. The woman sat down at a table, the man approached and asked for my name. After I told him, he said, “Kelly, have you accepted the Lord as your true God and Saviour?”

I cringed a little but it’s my job to be polite and engaging to everyone who walks through my doors, so I said, “Yes, the Lord is with me.”

“And do you talk to God every day?” he went on.

I smiled. “If by ‘talk’ you mean have a face-to-face conversation with God, then, no. But I do feel her presence, guiding me through life.”

The man cocked his head, visibly confused. “Her presence? God is male not female. What religion are you?”

I looked around at the empty café, hoping that someone would walk in and interrupt our conversation. But, alas, it was just the three of us. So, I took a deep breath, said, “While I do have an appreciation and respect for all religions, my interests and beliefs tend to lean more toward Buddhism and Wicca.”

“What does ‘Wicca’ mean?” his sister asked from across the room.

“It means I’m a witch,” I said matter-of-factly.

The man’s face went ashen. “You are an agent of Lucifer, the Dark Angel. A minion of Satan.”

Oh, Jesus, here we go, I said to myself. And then I thought, This is a perfect opportunity to dispel a few myths about Wicca, and engage the man in a rational, intelligent theosophical discussion about the existence of God. (Yeah, I know. Naïve. But that’s me.)

“Actually, Wicca has absolutely nothing to do with Lucifer or Devil worship,” I said, with a gentle tone in my voice. “It’s a nature-based religion with a female deity at the head, sometimes called Gaia or Diana. We’re all about love, charity, compassion and acceptance, respect for nature and the protection of animals. We don’t fly around on broomsticks or dance naked around bonfires, sacrificing newborn babies to the Devil. We rescue abandoned kittens, pay the vet bill for stray dogs that have been hit by a car. We organize bake sales to raise money for kids’ sports uniforms. We reduce, recycle and reuse. Basically,” I said, laughing, “we’re all just a bunch of tree-hugging granola-crunchers trying to do good in the world.” (BTW, I know there’s a lot more to Wicca than what I just said here, but I didn’t want to spend an hour trying to explain all of THIS to him.)

The man frowned, shook his head. “Lies. It’s all lies,” he said. “Lucifer is trying to trick you into thinking you’re doing good when in fact, it’s all just a ploy to seduce you. Diana is really Lucifer in disguise and he’s tricking you because he wants your soul.”

“That’s not true,” I said as gently and politely as I could. “I’m a good person, with a loving heart and compassionate soul. I’m not being tricked by anyone.”

He grasped my hands. “You must believe in God, Kelly. You must pray for forgiveness for your sins. Otherwise, on Judgment Day, your soul will be damned to eternal hellfire if you continue on this path to wickedness.”

I was starting to get a little nervous, now. I’d had religious debates with Christians, Jews, Wiccans, Buddhists – even a few Scientologists – many times in the past, and they were all perfectly sane and enlightening discussions. But here I was, stuck in a room with a religious fanatic who, I started to suspect, was playing with one card short of a deck.

“Do you believe in Jesus?” he pressed on. “Do you believe that he died on the cross for your sins?”

“I do know for a fact that Jesus, the son of Mary and a carpenter named Joseph, existed 2,000 years ago, yes,” I said, nodding. “I’ve seen the documentaries on the History Channel — ”

“Then you must repent or your soul will be lost to Satan.”

I was getting really uncomfortable by this point, so, an attempt to end the discussion and get back to work, I said, “Sorry, but my soul doesn’t really need saving. But thank you, though.”

I took a step toward the kitchen, he grasped my hands again, tried to pull me to him. “Kelly, what can I say? What can I do?” he asked, an almost desperate tone in his voice. “I have to find some way to save you. Judgment Day is coming. You don’t really want to spend eternity in Hell, do you? Pray with me now. Deny your allegiance to Lucifer and pray to God for forgiveness.”

“That would be a complete waste of my time,” I said, perhaps a little too curtly.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because, while I have an interest in and appreciation for all religions, I don’t actually believe that there’s a supernatural creator of the universe, pulling the strings of fate and deciding who lives and who dies. It’s all just myths and fairytales.”

Thankfully, another hotel guest entered the café and I excused myself to tend to his needs. Moments later, as the brother and sister got up to leave, he approached me one last time.

“God bless you, Kelly,” he said.

“And may Diana bless you, protect you and surround you with love,” I responded as sweetly as I possibly could.

The man winced, as though I’d just insulted him, then left the café with his sister. Never, for a moment, did I suspect that he would go to the manager with a complaint about me.

So, why, exactly, did I get fired from a job that I loved and did exceptionally well? Was it because I refused to be converted to Christianity by a mentally unbalanced evangelist? Was it because I expressed my interest in pagan religions with a hotel guest who, by the way, had no right to prod me for information about my personal beliefs? Or was it because I said I didn’t believe in God?

To this day the manager of the Inn on Long Lake refuses to tell me. Lesson learned. Moving on.

So mote it be.


KJC



ADDENDUM: For those of you who might be a little confused because I said, earlier in my blog post, that I feel the presence of God guiding me through life and, yet, later deny the existence of God altogether, please allow me to clarify.

I believe that every living, sentient creature on this planet has a soul (an energy source or battery, if you will) and these souls are all interconnected, yet independently functioning parts of a greater force in the universe, which is completely neutral. It has no thoughts, no feelings. It does not make decisions or manipulate the fate of anyone. I call this universal force, Gaia, just for the sake of giving it a name. And when I think of Gaia giving birth to all the suns, stars and planets in the universe (the Big Bang), it just makes sense for me to refer to it as female as opposed to male. Even though, as I said earlier, I believe it’s actually a neutral force and, therefore, sexless.

I absolutely do not believe that there is an all-knowing, all-powerful God floating around in the sky, deciding whether or not a terrorist bomb will kill 30 people or 300, cursing a man with cancer for being a homosexual, or manipulating it so a six year girl from Alabama wins a beauty pageant because her momma prayed real hard.

In that same vein, I also do not believe there is an equally powerful opposing deity (Satan, Lucifer, the Prince of Demons) who spends his time seducing members of the Human Race into doing his evil bidding, with the promise of great wealth and power in return for their servitude.

I appreciate and enjoy the concept of God as a benevolent female entity. Something to focus all of my thoughts and energy on during my yoga/meditation sessions in order to feel centered and at peace. Open to all the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead. That might seem like a lot of far out, New Age bullshit to some of you. But, hey, it works for me. Find what works for you.

A Moving Experience

The last week of June, 2011, I moved from Pickering, Ontario, to Ladysmith, which is a small town fifteen minutes south of Nanaimo, BC. I’d had plenty of experience moving from town to town within Ontario, so I thought I could handle a move halfway across the country without too much difficulty. Boy, was I wrong!

My first mistake was hiring Metropolitan Movers to load up my belongings (Vega Line Moving & Storage, in Richmond, BC, would deliver the stuff to my door in Ladysmith). They’d quoted me a reasonable price of $560 for the first 500 lbs. of furniture and personal belongings, then 11 cents for every pound after that. I lived in a 350 sq. ft. basement studio apartment with very little furniture, so, I’d calculated a final price of about $1,300, which represented every last dollar I had on this earth. I couldn’t afford one penny more.

Moving day came, and I waited for the movers to arrive at 10am. I waited...and waited. I called the office around noon to find out why they hadn’t shown up yet, and a female rep told me that their truck had broken down but would be at my place within the next two hours.

OK, shit happens. My flight to Vancouver didn’t leave until 1:30am the next morning, so that was fine.

And, so, I waited...and I waited. Called the office again around 4pm, and was told that the truck was now behind schedule picking up other peoples’ stuff in Toronto but would be at my place, for sure, around 6pm. That was cutting it a little close for my non-refundable flight to Vancouver. But, hey, no sense getting worked up over something that I can’t control, right?

I started to get hungry (threw out all of my perishable food), anxious and tired as my watch ticked past 8:30pm, with no moving truck in sight. Finally, while on the phone with a company rep at 9:37pm, the truck rolled into my driveway with three very tired men inside. Desperate to move things along as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t miss my flight, I helped the men load all of my stuff onto the truck. It didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked but, thankfully, there was no major disaster to contend with.

The man in charge of the move filled out pages and pages of paperwork for me to sign, then asked for my destination address, which I’d already given to several other people at Metropolitan Movers during previous phone conversations over the past two weeks. I gave him my new address in Ladysmith, on Vancouver Island, where I’d be staying with my father until I found a new job and apartment in Nanaimo.

“Vancouver Island?” he asked. “You know there’s an extra $550 charge for the ferry ride, right?”

I panicked. “Uh, no. No one at Metro Movers told me anything about that – and I can’t afford it, either. I’m already giving you guys every last penny I have in this world.”

He shrugged. “Well, can you charge it to a credit card or borrow the money from someone?”

In desperation, I called my father and he offered to throw in the extra cash. (Yay, Dad!)

Exhausted and in pain from all the heavy lifting, I signed the paperwork and asked the man in charge how long it would take my stuff to reach my new home in Ladysmith.

“Five to seven days,” he said, which I thought was reasonable. I bid the three men good-bye around 11:30pm and called a cab to get me to the Toronto airport ASAP.

The flight was uneventful. Well, as uneventful as it can be for someone who hates to fly, is afraid of heights and gets serious motion sickness.

Nine days after getting all settled in at my father’s place, with only one change of clothes, my iPhone and the miscellaneous contents of my purse, I called Vega Line Moving & Storage to find out when they were going to deliver my stuff. The female customer service rep told me that the truck had yet to arrive at their warehouse in Richmond but was enroute.

I expressed my disappointment, since I’d been told it would only take seven days, at most.

“That’s seven days in transit,” said the rep. “Once your belongings are unloaded from the truck into our warehouse, we have to wait for the first available truck to take your stuff on the ferry to your home in Nanaimo.”

“Ladysmith,” I reminded her, then asked how much longer I had to wait.

“Next Wednesday, at the earliest,” she informed me.

“Another full week?! But you have all of my clothes, my government and legal files, my computer, which I need to write resumes and cover letters in order to find a job!”

She offered me a 5 percent discount for the inconvenience. I hung up the phone in disgust.

A week later, smack-dab in the middle of July, I called Vega Line again to get an ETA on my stuff, and the customer service rep (a different woman this time) said, “We have 6,000 pounds of furniture and belongings to deliver, and no truck big enough to carry the load across the ferry to Nanaimo, so you’re looking at another 7 to 10 days until one is available.”

I was livid. Again I explained that I had been living with only one change of clothes for three weeks, no computer, no interview outfits, no make-up or hairdryer, and it was imperative that I find a job before the end of the month (automatic withdrawals from my account with an 87 cent balance). I demanded that Vega Line deliver my stuff within the next three days.

“We don’t have your address,” the rep said, incredulously. “How can we deliver your stuff when you never even gave us your destination address?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it in disbelief. She didn’t just say that to me, did she? I wondered to myself. I put the phone back to my ear. “You have my address. I’ve given it to every driver and every customer service rep I’ve talked to for the past six weeks.”

I heard her fussing with some paperwork, then, “Oh, yes, here it is. It just hadn’t been entered in the computer.” With a stern, unapologetic tone the woman insisted that I would just have to wait another week. End of discussion.

On July 20th, I called Vega Line Moving once again, certain that I would get another run-around. But instead I got some good news...sort of.

“Oh, yes. I remember you,” said the perky female rep. “After looking at the truck full of your personal belongings we guessed that it weighed a lot less than our original estimate, so, we re-weighed it and discovered that the load was 3,000 lbs. less than we originally thought. So, it looks like we actually could have delivered your stuff to you last week. Sorry about that. Anyway, it’s all sorted out now and we can deliver your stuff next Tuesday, the 26th.”

Awash with relief, I thanked her, said, “So, you’ll call for sure on Monday to confirm a delivery time on Tuesday?”

She agreed.

Next Monday I got the expected call. All was good – except for one thing. One huge thing.

“So, the total cost, including the ferry ride and taxes, minus the 5 percent discount we promised, is $4,069.24,” the female rep cheerfully informed me.

I sucked in a breath. “Uh, no. No, it isn’t. I’ve already done the calculations and it should be somewhere around $1,600.”

She tapped on her computer. “No, it’s definitely $4,069. And how will you be paying for that?”

“Look,” I said, “There must be some mistake. Three thousand-eight hundred pounds, at 11 cents per pound, is — ”

“It’s 75 cents per pound.”

“No, it isn’t,” I insisted. ‘When I booked this move almost two months ago, the rep at Metropolitan Movers quoted me a price of $560 for the first 500 lbs., then 11 cents for every pound after that.”

“It’s 75 cents. No one charges 11 cents. The standard fee across Canada is 75 cents per pound. That is the agreement we have with Metropolitan Movers. If you disagree with that, you’ll have to take it up with them. In the meantime, if you want your stuff delivered to you tomorrow morning, you must pay us $4,069.24 immediately, or we will sell your belongings at auction in order to recoup our money.”

By this time, I was on the floor in tears. Barely able to speak or think. I told the rep that I would call her back later in the day, once I’d straightened out this mess with Metropolitan Movers.

The female customer service rep at Metro couldn’t have been nicer to me. Once I had explained everything, through my sobbing gasps for breath, she informed me that the rep I first talked to in May, to book the move, had been fired for incompetence. Giving people the wrong quote etc. She told me to calm down, that everything would be OK. She’d talk to her boss and see if he could negotiate some sort of special arrangement with Vega Line, to get me a credit of some kind in the weeks ahead, as restitution for their massive screw-up. In the meantime, I did have to pay Vega Line the full amount they were asking for, or they would indeed sell my stuff.

My father, bless his eternal soul, is not a rich man. But he nonetheless offered to put the entire $4,069 charge on his credit card in order to ensure delivery of my belongings the next morning. If I thought that was the end of my nightmare...Oh, no, my friends. I was deeply mistaken.

The truck pulled up right on time the next morning, and the men started unloading all of my furniture and boxes. Furniture and electronics that were chipped, scratched and cracked with pieces missing. Boxes that were ripped, crushed and smushed, with contents missing, slightly damaged or a complete write-off. Eighty percent of my artwork and ceramics were destroyed. Twenty percent of my furniture and electronics had to be thrown right into the trash. My toiletries (i.e. deodorant, razors, body lotion, Q-Tips etc.), vitamins, hairdryer, make-up and professional cosmetic brushes (estimated value: $400) wasn’t in the box I packed it in. In fact, it was completely missing. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my $5,000 worth of suede and leather clothing (all of it custom dyed and custom tailored) was dumped in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a 5 ft. high box which was filled to the top with miscellaneous crap – after I’d been promised (and paid $25 for) it would end up in a special wardrobe box with a hanging rack to keep them neat before making the trek across Canada.

I looked over my contract to see how much the moving company’s insurance would pay for the estimated $900 in damage...and discovered, much to my dismay, that they only pay out a few CENTS PER POUND for damaged or missing goods. Not their actual replacement value. So, I was looking at a refund of maybe $18 to $20?

Forget it. Just...forget it.

So, here it is, seven weeks later. Metropolitan Movers has yet to contact me again about a refund or credit because of the screw-up on their quote. And Vega Line blissfully trucks on, completely unconcerned about the chaos and emotional strife their profound incompetence has caused one of their customers.

KJC

Closing the Book on 'The Black Tower'

It was a hard decision but after 2 ½ years online, during which I'd established a worldwide fan base of over 50,000 readers, I've decided to shut down the website for The Black Tower webcomic series. It's not a permanent thing. I've kept the domain name ( www.theblacktowercomics.com ) and fully intend to relaunch someday, probably with a few altered illustrations and a line or two of dialogue. But I just felt that the time had come to abandon one creative venture that wasn't really working out for me, financially speaking, and get cracking on developing some other ideas that have been kicking around in my head for quite a while.

I'm very proud of the hard work that I, my co-writer, Jeff Mariotte, and illustrator/colorist, Donald Jackson, put into this project, which has been a labour of love for me since I started working on the project back in 1996. First conceived as a series of adult novels, it later evolved into a TV series concept before I finally settled on the format that my writing skills seem best suited for: a webcomic/graphic novel series.

Throughout every phase of The Black Tower's metamorphosis I had dozens of supporters who eagerly anticipated the project's debut, whether it was in bookstores, on TV or the Internet. Most surprising to me was receiving emails from some pretty big names in the entertainment industry. Folks who write for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Smallville, Supernatural, Lost, Heroes, Star Trek, Stargate, Battlestar Galactica, The Collector, Blood Ties...all of them asking to write scripts for The Black Tower, should I ever manage to sell the TV rights.

Also surprising to me was getting emails from some equally impressive names in the comics industry asking to contribute to the webcomic/graphic novel series. That's how Jeff Mariotte came on board the project – and I am profoundly grateful for his guidance and friendship as I stumbled my way into an unexpected career as a graphic novelist.

A few months after The Black Tower's successful debut as a webcomic back in August 2008, David Wohl, Editor in Chief at Radical Publishing, contacted me to say that he enjoyed the premier issue and although they could not, at that time, publish TBT in book form, he liked my writing style so much he wanted me to submit five or six comic book pitches for future development by Radical Comics (and, subsequently, their feature film division).

Well, you could've knocked me over with a feather.

An opportunity like this is literally once in a million...and I'm squandering it. So consumed have I been over the past two years with trying to secure financing for a second issue of The Black Tower, via corporate sponsorship/advertising, that I've neglected every other opportunity that's come my way, both in the comics and TV industry.

Well, not anymore.

David Wohl has been incredibly patient with me over the past year or so. But now the time has come to temporarily set aside my aspirations for The Black Tower and deliver those pitches I promised Radical before they finally get fed up with me and move on. I also have a few TV series ideas (supernatural dramas and reality/lifestyle series) I'd like to develop for network television.

Once I've reestablished myself in the comics industry, and amassed an even larger fan base through the publication of new books under the Radical banner, I'll hopefully have the money I need to continue self-publication of The Black Tower webcomic series. In the meantime, I intend to turn the premier issue of TBT into a .PDF file for fans who wish to receive a copy via email.

Hugs and blessings to the thousands of you, from Japan to Chile and everywhere in between, who have supported my efforts to turn The Black Tower into an outrageously successful transmedia project dedicated to social, environmental and animal welfare causes. Although I fell far short of that mark – mostly because I launched the project at the beginning of the economic crash of 2008 and couldn’t secure the advertising dollars I needed to stay afloat – the fan mail, and support from my industry peers, keeps coming. That means a lot to me and I thank you all very much!

KJC

Bullies 101

I've had to deal with bullies all of my life. Some of my earliest memories, since the age of five, have involved encounters with physically and emotionally abusive assholes who, for whatever reason, decided to make my life a living hell. Regrettably, the growing use of cell phones, social media websites and blogs among adolescents, teenagers and supposedly mature adults has only made the bullying phenomenon worse since I first faced these pathetic douche-bags back in kindergarten, and it breaks my heart every time I hear about a young person committing suicide because they think it's their only means of escape.

In an effort to share what I have learned and, hopefully, be an inspiration to others to stay strong and not give up hope, below is a list of some of the bullies I've had the misfortune of encountering in my life.


SCHOOLYARD BULLIES
I grew up in Cornwall, Ontario. A small mill town on the St. Lawrence River, about an hour’s drive west of Montreal. Every brick, every tree, every molecule of oxygen in that grimy little town was saturated with the stench of sulphur and other noxious chemicals from the Domtar paper factory, located in the west end, and (IMHO) it greatly affected the brains and personalities of the 45,000 denizens who dwelled there. Anyone who expressed a talent or interest in the creative or performing arts was outcasted and bullied by their peers, as actor Ryan Gosling can attest. He and I both grew up in Cornwall and, although I was a few years older than him, we were both repeatedly brutalized by schoolmates who had little tolerance for anyone who dared to be different, to express freedom of thought and exercise their gifts. Fortunately for Ryan, his mother removed him from that situation and home schooled him. I, on the other hand, was not so fortunate.

I had a bit of an attitude problem when I was a kid. By “attitude” I mean I was courteous and respectful, and expected the same in return from those I befriended. I was also far more mature than my peers and had a strong sense of right from wrong. Sadly, I was disappointed time and again by schoolmates who were arrogant and cruel to everyone around them, who borrowed my belongings and then either lost or damaged them beyond repair, who threatened to end our “friendship” (or beat the shit out of me) if I didn’t do whatever they demanded, which sometimes included shoplifting, throwing rocks through peoples’ windows, smoking, drinking, taking drugs or giving the cold shoulder to other friends who’d been nothing but loyal to me. You know that old saying “With friends like these, who needs enemies?”. Well, my entire childhood was filled with ruthless frenemies that I could never trust or count on to behave with decency and respect.

It also didn’t help matters that I was...shall we say gifted with paranormal sensitivities? Somewhere around age eight or nine I became aware that I could, on occasion, sense the thoughts and feelings of those around me and predict future events. FYI: it is so not cool to tell a classmate that you’re sorry his grandfather is going to pass away in his sleep the next morning – and he does. That little slip-up got me branded as a witch by my peers at a Catholic grade school, and for the next two years I endured some pretty brutal taunts and beatings. The classmate whose grandfather had died cornered me on the school bus and blew salt into my eyes in an effort to exorcise the evil inside me. Later, I was run over by a boy on a bike (still got the scar on the back of my leg), held under water and nearly drowned by three girls during swimming class, poisoned with Drano by a classmate who cheerfully offered to share his can of Coke, and set on fire – twice – by a group of kids chanting “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

Back in those days, virtually nothing was done to help the victims of schoolyard bullying. As far as the school staff was concerned, if they didn’t witness the event, it didn’t happen. In fact, reporting the abuse only made thing worse. As for parental intervention...well, my parents were clueless and ineffectual in dealing with the issue, so, I was left to fend for myself. It wasn’t until I reached age 15 that the schoolyard bullying stopped. By then, I’d learned to love and accept everything that was weird and wonderful about me, and made short work of anyone who tried to take a stab at me, both literally and figuratively.


CO-WORKER BULLIES
A few weeks before my 19th birthday, in 1987, I got the coolest job ever. Working the confection stand at the only single screen movie theatre in town. The manager, Glenn, was quite a character. His very first job was working at the theatre as a teenager, training to be a projectionist. As the years passed, he moved up the ranks to manager. A position he, regrettably, was not entirely qualified for.

I loved Glenn like a favourite uncle (I got married at the theatre 30 minutes before a Saturday matinée, and Glenn was my husband’s Best Man), and did my best to keep things running smoothly. I had a strong work ethic and always did what I was told, when I was told. After a couple years working the concession stand, he promoted me to assistant manager (unofficially and with no real power, mind you, because Glenn didn’t think a chick should have that much control over the theatre – or him). My responsibilities were to train new staff, ensure guest safety and comfort, fill in for ill or vacationing staff and assist with minor repairs to the building. Because of my background in business management, marketing and public relations, he also relied on me to be the friendly face of the theatre, to warmly welcome guests, promote the business in the community and devise marketing strategies to bring kids into the Saturday afternoon matinées. I absolutely loved my job but it had some serious – and I mean serious – drawbacks.

As I said earlier, I adored Glenn but he was truly inept when it came to managing a constantly revolving staff, and the thousands of customers who poured through our doors to see movies like Aliens, Terminator 2, Die Hard, Ghost, and Star Trek V & VI. He had no backbone when it came to enforcing workplace policies and procedures, and often hired losers and slackers who were only putting in face-time for the cash ($3.75 an hour. Wow!). They cared very little for the job and even less for their co-workers.

One co-worker in particular, I’ll call him “Steve”, was a bad apple, right to the core. A 21 year old gay man with a major chip on his shoulder, he hated everyone and had a persecution complex that bordered on psychosis. He bullied the staff and dominated Glenn, who mostly just hid in his office when things got ugly, too afraid to fire him for fear of repercussions. All of the staff, including myself, tried to stay the hell out of Steve’s way in order to avoid the stinging insults, snide remarks and threats of violence. He occasionally got physical with me, grabbing my arm, pushing me against a wall – he even threatened to kill me when one of his 16 year old boy-toys started flirting with me. It was a major relief to everyone when Steve quit after four months in order to attend college in another city. Good riddance to bad rubbish!


EMPLOYER/CLIENT BULLIES
Soon after my divorce in the late 1990s, I launched a temporary services agency, called P. A. Plus (your personal assistant – plus!), which remains my main source of income to this day. I provide a wide range of services, including secretarial and administrative work, catering and event-planning, floral arrangements and gift baskets, shopping and errands, house/pet-sitting, home and office cleaning/organizing, writing, graphic arts and photography services, marketing, public relations and promotions. I even do haircuts, manicures, make-up application, wardrobe/fashion consulting and hypno-therapeutic massage (I put people in a light hypnotic trance as I perform a full-body massage to help them relax, overcome personal/professional issues and motivate them to fulfill their ambitions and desires).

I’ve had dozens of clients from all walks of life. Architects, accountants, interior decorators, structural engineers, general contractors, computer scientists, waste management consultants, real estate developers, bike shop owners, photographers, commercial property managers, fitness club owners – even a few celebrities. My training in psychology and sociology, combined with my natural empathic abilities, has helped me cope with a wide variety of personalities. I’ve had some frustratingly indecisive clients who constantly changed their minds about what they wanted from me, while other clients were very precise in their instructions and expectations. I had an Academy Award nominated client who gave me expensive gifts in an effort to woo me into his bed (not gonna happen!), and a few high-octane clients with big personalities – and even bigger egos (think Tony Stark/Iron Man). That’s cool. I can totally handle that. What I can’t handle are the ruthless, caustic, self-indulgent whack-job clients.

In the spring of 2010, I moved from Ottawa (my home for the past 15 years), to Toronto in order to take a full-time, live-in position as the personal assistant and household manager of “Gary” and “Mary”, a wealthy, jet-setting couple in their 50s, with a five year old boy that I was expected to baby-sit from time to time. During the first few days of my employment I developed an affection for their son, “Evan”. Sweet kid, very well-behaved. The same, however, could not be said for his mother. By the end of my first week, I realized I’d made a horrible, horrible mistake. As kind, gentle and respectful as Gary was, Mary was the complete opposite. An immature, selfish, self-indulgent Jewish princess who went out of her way to make me feel small, insecure and unappreciated at every opportunity.

I’m a well-educated, highly-skilled professional in my early 40s (not to mention a public figure in the entertainment industry with a worldwide fan base), and yet she kept treating me like I was an insignificant peasant, fresh off the boat from Cambodia. Remember the original Star Trek episode entitled “Elaan of Troyius” about an abrasive spoiled brat of a princess whose tears made men fall in love with her? Well that was Mary, only without the tears. She bullied everyone around her, in person and on the phone, trash-talked people behind their backs all the time, and had the same kind of tantrums you’d expect from a three year old (screaming, throwing things, slamming doors etc.), with no regret or remorse for her actions. Embarrassed by his wife’s behaviour, Gary felt compelled to explain that because Mary had come from a wealthy and privileged background, with a throng of servants who catered to her every whim since she was a child, she treated people in the “service industry” (meaning everyone from general contractors and interior decorators, to teachers, nurses, waiters and nannies) like they were beneath her.

Naturally, I was dreading the idea of spending the next five years of my life working for that bitch on wheels (I signed a long-term contract), and wondered how the hell I was going to get myself out of this situation. Thankfully, the perfect solution presented itself less than two weeks into my new job when it was discovered that Evan was allergic to my two cats, Aries and Gillian, who lived with me in the nanny’s suite. With her thin mouth twisted into a grimace of distain, Mary insisted that I just had to go. A few days later I was outta there, dead broke but very, very happy to be free of the clutches of that screeching banshee.


CYBER BULLIES
Because I work in show business, I have intimate access to certain people in the industry. Actors, screenwriters, producers etc. A few years ago, I contacted a Los Angeles-based actor I’d never met before, hoping he’d be interested in a supporting role on a TV series I was developing for network television. This actor, let’s call him “PL”, was married, with a successful career in the industry up to that point. Although he was not an A-lister, he had an international fan following and an official website in order to promote his work and make himself available to his fans.

PL liked my pitch and agreed to come onboard, both of us hoping that having his name attached to the project would increase my odds of selling the show. With PL’s permission, I posted a notice on his message board to introduce myself and announce that he was involved with the project. Dozens of fans from all over the world posted their congratulations and well-wishes. I even got an email from “Trista”, one of PL’s most ardent admirers. She was very excited by the news, so I emailed back to tell her how much I appreciated her support. She replied, telling me a little about herself and I responded, telling her a little bit more about myself. Soon, we were corresponding eight to ten times a week, getting very friendly and personal with each other. At no time did I suspect that Trista wasn’t nearly as mentally or emotionally stable as she seemed in her emails. It was only after about seven months of communicating with my “sista-friend” via email that I discovered some very shocking and disturbing news about her.

While surfing the Internet one afternoon, I stumbled upon a website whose sole purpose was for people to post rude and disgusting jokes, stories, insults, celebrity rumors, porn pics…just the absolute worst things you would never want to see on the Internet. To my absolute horror and dismay, I found several posts from Trista discussing me and my relationship with PL, who had become a dear friend of mine by that point. She copy/pasted excerpts from our numerous email exchanges where I mentioned my unhappy marriage and subsequent divorce, details of my health/weight problems and brush with cancer, my social, religious and political views…just so many very personal and private things. In Trista’s posts, there were about 25 of them, she insulted and scoffed at every aspect of my personal and professional life, my physical appearance, my intelligence and various creative talents. She condemned my relationship with PL and suggested that he and I were having an affair on his wife. Trista encouraged anyone reading her posts to join in the “fun” of insulting and degrading me and, much to my chagrin, many people did.

I emailed Trista to confront her but she just laughed me off saying she had the right to free speech and would go on saying anything she liked about me. It was only now that I realized just how jealous she was of my friendship with PL. He and I emailed each other and talked often on the phone, and yet he never replied to any of her emails. Now that she knew I found her disgusting message board posts, she went back to the website and posted my real name (I had a different professional name back then), my email address, home address and cell phone number, urging anyone reading the info to find me and take me out – and I don’t mean to dinner!

The next few weeks were pure hell for me. I got dozens of phone calls in the middle of the night from men whispering “Slut!”, “I’m gonna get you, cunt!”, “You’re dead, you fucking bitch!”. I also got anonymous emails from people detailing how they were going to kidnap, rape, torture and kill me. I wanted to go to the police but, after discussing the situation with PL, we realized that if I did, this whole thing – which, so far, was just a bunch of really juvenile assholes having cruel fun – would turn into a media shitstorm that would deeply affect his marriage and his career.

So, I changed my phone number, cancelled my email account, went totally off the grid for three months while I waited for things to die down. I had my lawyer monitor the offending website and track Trista’s actions, in the real world and online, over the next year or so. Eventually, she got bored with attacking me and moved on with her life which, unfortunately, hasn’t amounted to much. As for PL, he got divorced a couple of years ago (which had nothing to do with me), moved to Europe and started a family with a lovely young woman. We remain on friendly terms to this day.

KJC

Happy New Year?

Well, there’s no other way to put it:

2010 blew chunks!

With the fallout from the economic crash of 2008 still affecting people and businesses around the world, jobs were scarce and money was tight. I managed to keep my head above water for the first few weeks of 2010 but then I lost a few more clients due to the recession and, by mid February, found myself unable to pay basic living expenses.

There was a ray of hope in March, when I found full-time employment as a live-in personal assistant and household manager for a wealthy couple in their 50s. But that ended less than three weeks later when I was let go due to their infant son’s allergic reaction to my two cats, who lived with me in the basement nanny’s suite. So, just days before my 42nd birthday, I suddenly found myself homeless, unemployed and flat, dead broke.

If that wasn’t bad enough, while I was living in Toronto, a water pipe broke in my former apartment in Ottawa, which was storing about 60% of my belongings (clothes, shoes, books, legal documents, income tax returns, office supplies, school records and diplomas, movie and TV memorabilia etc.) turning everything to mouldy slush in the 8” flood. Thankfully, my cousin Tina and her husband, who live in a quiet suburb just outside of Toronto, let me sleep on the floor in the basement of their home (with what little I could salvage from the flood piled in boxes beside me) while I tried to find a job and get my life back in order.

After a few weeks of living with my cousin, her friend, David, who owns a janitorial services company, hired me to clean a glass factory (which I was very, very grateful for). Then, I got another job working at a health club in Toronto. Over the next few months, both clients increased my hours/pay to the point where I could financially support myself and I moved into a little bachelor apartment in Pickering (a 10 minute drive from Toronto) at the end of July.

October was a bad month, with the double-whammy of losing my beloved pet bunny, Gemini-Omega, to a slow, cruel death (chocolate poisoning combined with physical injury from a fall), and finding out that I had Type 2 diabetes. At least now I knew why I’d lost 50 lbs. and had been experiencing blurred vision, excessive thirst and fatigue, and loss of feeling in my fingertips over the past year or so. Unfortunately, the devastating diagnosis meant that I would be forced to make a major lifestyle change – a change that I continue to resist to this day, much to my detriment (No chocolate, donuts, cakes, pies and ice cream? Yeah, well, fuck you! I’m eating them anyway.)

December brought even more financial stability, with a further increase in my hours/pay and some promising job prospects in the entertainment industry, including a few comic book deals, which would boost my public profile/fan base, making it possible for me to resume work on The Black Tower project. I haven’t given up hope on that. Never will.

So, 2011 is looking pretty good right about now.

KJC

The 'Honesty" Meme

1. What was the last thing you put in your mouth?
Coffee (still drinking it).

2. Where was your profile picture taken?
In my living room.

3. Can you play Guitar Hero?
No. I have no interest in that stuff.

4. Name someone who made you laugh today?
My darling feline children, Aries & Gillian.

5. How late did you stay up last night and why?
It was about 4:30 a.m., my usual bedtime.

6. If you could move somewhere else, would you?
I’m in the process of doing that right now.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks?
I haven’t attended a fireworks celebration since about 1989, so I can’t say for sure.

8. Do you believe ex's can be friends?
I’ve only had one serious boyfriend and one husband, neither of whom I’m still speaking to. So, based on personal experience, I’d have to say no.

9. How do you feel about Dr Pepper?
I’ve never really cared for it.

10. When was the last time you cried really hard?
I cried when I lost my bunny, Gemini, to a deadly illness. I cried when my cat, Tia, got lost/ran away. But I think the last time I cried so hard I was down on my knees sobbing in agony was when I learned that an actor friend I was about to become romantically involved with back in 2005, shot himself in the head while on the run from police after shooting a stalker fan/ex-girlfriend in the face, blinding the mother of three and disfiguring her forever. Rest in Peace, Mal.

11. Who took your profile picture?
I took it.

12. Was yesterday better than today?
About the same.

13. Can you live a day without TV?
HELL NO!

14. Are you upset about anything?
Trying to renovate my apartment while preparing for a move to Toronto has made me very anxious and a little upset because things keep going wrong.

15. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it?
No, no. no. I wish to remain gloriously single for the rest of my life.

16. What items could you not go without during the day?
Computer, TV and iPhone. You just try to take these away from me and I’ll stab you in the eye with a pencil.

17. What does the last text message in your inbox say?
A message from my employer. It reads simply “k”, which is short for OK.

18. How do you feel about your life right now?
After years of struggling to make a decent living in Ottawa, I think the move to Toronto next month is going to change my life for the better.

19. Do you hate anyone?
I hate a lot of people. Do you want a list?

20. Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass?
Yes. I don’t touch that crap.

21. Has anyone ever called you perfect before?
Not out loud – but I know they’re thinking it.

22. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be?
Ed McMahon telling me that I’ve just won $10,000,000. But he’s dead, right? Just my luck...

23. Name something you have to do tomorrow:
Clean and renovate my apartment for the new tenant.

24. Do you think too much or too little?
Way too much.

25. Do you smile a lot?
While in conversation with people, yes. When I’m alone, no. It gives me a migraine.

The 3s Meme

My sister sent this to me to fill out. Kinda gives you an insightful peek into my personality, eh? Anyway, here it is:

Three names I go by:
1. Kelly
2. Pookie
3. Miss Jackson, if you’re nasty.

Three Jobs I have had in my life other than my current one
1. Movie theatre candy/popcorn girl
2. TV production assistant
3. Radio personality

Three Places I have lived
1. Cornwall (aka the Armpit of Ontario)
2. Resolute Bay, NWT, when I was 10 years old. Hell truly had frozen over
3. Oshawa. I was six. I liked it there.

Three Favorite drinks
1. Water
2. Tea, both hot & cold
3. Coffee

Three TV Shows that I watch religiously
1. Fringe
2. Supernatural
3. Smallville

Three places I have been
1. New York City, several times.
2. Vancouver, B.C.. Loved it! Gotta go back someday.
3. Toronto

People that text me regularly
1. Spencer, my favourite client/employer
2. Keanu
3. Brent

Three of my favorite foods
1. Chocolate
2. Perogies
3. Pizza

Three things I do daily
1. Work at my computer/check email
2. Tidy my apartment
3. Fiddle with my iPhone. Love those aps!

Three cars I've owned
1. Suzuki Swift
2. Kia
3. Smart Car

Three things that inspire me
1. Music, especially anything by Loreena McKennitt
2. My ability to adapt and endure. Turn lemons into lemonaide etc.
3. Art, architecture and interior design.

Three books I love
1. Dune
2. The Shining
3. Interview with the Vampire

Three pets you've had
1. Tia (cat)
2. Randy (guinea pig)
3. Ralf (guinea pig)

Three serious relationships
1. Michael (ex-husband)
2.
3.

Three secrets
1. They will remain secrets
2.
3.

Three future goals
1. Get The Black Tower into production as a network TV series
2. Establish myself in the Toronto film & television industry
3. Write articles and stories for various magazines across North America

Three of my greatest struggles
1. Never having enough money to pay for basic living expenses – and SHOES!
2. Maintaining a positive outlook when the entire world around me is crumbling to shit.
3. Understanding how cars and computers work. It just mystifies me.

Starting Fresh in 2010

Last year was far from spectacular for me, as the weak North American economy severely hindered my ability to acquire new clients and hold on to the ones I already had. A few of them went bankrupt or had to lay-off staff (that would be me) just to stay afloat. Because of that, I didn't have the money to put out a second issue of The Black Tower webcomic series which, to date, has well over 20,000 fans world wide (thanks to all of you for your continuing loyalty and interest in the project). In August, a gorgeous Emmy winning actor I'd been dating off and on for the past three years decided to try and get back with the wife he separated from nearly a decade ago (bummer, man). Then, in October, I lost my beloved pet bunny to a brutally painful chronic illness. In November, I inexplicably started to lose weight which, in the grand scheme of things, is actually a good thing considering I've tipped the scales at 188 lbs. for the past 15 years. But the dramatic loss of 23 lbs. in six weeks left me feeling weak, tired and dizzy all the time. Now that my dress size has gone down four notches, absolutely nothing in my closet fits me anymore.

As you can see, 2009 sucked big time!

But things are a little better now, both personally and professionally. I have a small stable of financially secure clients who pay me on time, and a promise from the editor in chief of a highly respectable L.A. based comic book publisher to seriously consider any comic book series ideas I might pitch him in the months ahead (just not The Black Tower, unfortunately). This man is an industry veteran, on the same level as Brian K. Vaughan, Geoff Johns and Jimmy Palmiotti, so I feel deeply honoured that he approached me with this wonderful, totally unexpected invitation to pitch him new ideas for potential development in late 2010/early 2011. More news on that later.

Also, after 14 years of trying desperately to earn a living in Ottawa's so-called film & television industry, I finally decided to give up and seek out new opportunities in Toronto, where many of my industry friends have made a decent living, despite the recent downturn in film & television production across the country.

I'm healthy (well, I have a cavity that needs to be taken care of). My two cats and two bunnies are healthy (considering their age). I'm exploring new job prospects in Toronto and I have a strong support system of friends, family and fans who all wish me well.

And so the year 2010 begins with so much hope and promise.

How Much More Can I Take?

October has been a really bad month. This week, the absolute worst so far this year. I just want to crawl under a rock and die.

Among many personal/business & financial nightmares I've had to deal with lately, tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the day that my darling kitty, Tia, ran away/got lost. So, I was already feeling really depressed. And then I come home from work an hour ago to find one of my three adorable Netherlands dwarf rabbits, Gemini-Alpha, dead in her cage.

Gemi would've celibrated her 8th birthday next spring, and she could've lived another three or four years, if it wasn't for her chronic allergies. Household dust, fur, dander, wood chip bedding, shredded newspaper bedding, sawdust bedding, aerosol air fresheners -- even hay and pollen. You name it. She was allergic to it.

I named her Gemini-Alpha because right from the day I took her and her twin sister, Gemini-Omega, home from the Humane Society I could see she was a fighter, always ready for a scrap with her two cage-mates. She ruled the roost and everybody just stayed the Hell out of her way. But when Gemi was sick, which was quite often, I could pet her and cuddler her and hold her in my arms, as it was the only time she was too weak to try and take a chunk out of my finger.

This last allergy attack, which lasted several weeks, just took everything out of her, and she finally succumbed to a massive upper-respiratory infection. I'm just very, very sad that she died alone in her cage, without me there to comfort her and guide her into that dark night.

Good-bye, my sweet Gemi. I'm gonna miss you, babe! :-(

KJC

Little Mischief

My darling Tia, who ran away/got lost last October 31st. I still remember the day I brought her home. Gosh, I miss her. :-(

KJC

www.icanhascheezburger.com

My Name in Lights on Broadway

My famous comic book artist friend (and The Black Tower cover artist), Jason Badower, did yet another Heroes online graphic novel, which was published to the Internet last Tuesday (click HERE). Jason tries very hard to put out his absolute best work on these webcomics -- even when he's sick as a dog -- and this issue was no exception. The poor boy was practically on Death's door while toiling away at his computer, trying to have it done on NBC's deadline.

As an added bonus, Jason managed to slip in several shout-outs in this issue, which are like semi-secret "Hey, wassup? Love you!" messages to family, friends and fans. What a thrill it was to see my name in one of the pages.

Did you spot me?

I'll give you a hint: right-hand side.

Jason's been a long-time supporter of The Black Tower, so I fully intend to return the shout-out to him in the next issue of my webcomic. When that will be, exactly, I don't know. Hopefully around October/November, but with the economy the way it is, I may not have the sponsorship money to put out Issue #2 until early 2010. Sorry, gang. I know you're all anxious to read the next issue, if the hundreds of fan emails I get are any indication, and I sincerely appreciate your patience and your support!

KJC

The Allure of the Older Man

When I was a kid, in the late ’70s and early ’80s, I had the usual school girl crushes on Tiger Beat regulars such as Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett and Mark Hamill. Y’know, young, hot, puppy-dog cute celebrities that were maybe 10 to 15 years older than me. But, at the same time, I found myself gravitating more and more towards the “mature gentlemen”, shall we say.

My first older man crush was on Michael Nouri. I was 11 when I first saw him in the short-lived 1979 TV series The Curse of Dracula and, boy, did I fall hard for this smoking hot 34 year old actor. So much so that I started a fan club devoted to him. It only had three members, me and my two best girlfriends at the time. We called ourselves the “Brides of Dracula” and used red magic markers to dot little bite marks on our necks to signify that we were his loyal servants. Looking back on it now, I can see just how silly we must’ve seemed to everyone at school and at home. But, at the time, the feelings I had for Michael seemed very real. I still get a little thrill watching him on Damages. The man may be 63, now, but he’s still smoking hot!

My next crush was on the very sexy and distinguished British actor, Terence Stamp. I first saw him in Superman II as General Zod in 1980. I was 12, he was 41 and every inch the smouldering and seductive older man I had, by then, developed an attraction to. I have followed his career ever since, and every time I see the soon-to-be 70 year old actor in a movie or on TV I think back to that moment in Superman II when he commanded everyone to “kneel before Zod!”. Oh, yeah, I’ll kneel…and while I’m down there I’m gonna do things to you that’ll have Ursa taking notes, baby!

When I was 15, my attraction to tall, dark and handsome older men continued with Canadian actor, Duncan Regehr. He was in his early 30s when he first co-starred in the campy fantasy TV series, Wizards and Warriors, followed by V a year later. Oh, those eyes…that voice! I greatly enjoyed his work in Star Trek: Next Gen and DS9 but, lately, it seems he’s put acting on the back burner in order to concentrate more on his artwork. Not too many people know this but Duncan is a very talented and successful painter. Hopefully, the still-gorgeous 56 year old will return to the small screen as a regular on one of my favourite TV shows. Hey, I hear they’re shooting a remake of V. Quick, somebody call his agent!

My crush on the delectable Malcolm McDowell came much later. I had watched some of his earlier work (Clockwork Orange, Time After Time, Cat People) on video when I was in my early 20s and thought he was good-looking but kinda geeky. Not really my type. But then along came Star Trek: Generations, the movie that first blended the folks from classic Trek with the gang from Next Gen. When I first saw Malcolm, dressed head to toe in black leather with spikey white hair, in the role of Dr. Tolian Soran, I fell madly in lust with the then 51 year old actor. Malcolm will be 66 in a few weeks and his career is still going strong. I loved him in Entourage and Heroes, and hope he’ll consider taking a role in The Black Tower TV series, should it ever go into production.

All my life I’ve been attracted to older men. My ex-husband was 10 years my senior, and the three men I’m dating now (a TV star, a movie star and a rock star) are all much older than me – although I don’t think I’d turn down a date with a 20 year old, either. I like to balance things out, y’know. Just to be fair. :-)

KJC

Hot Chicks with Light Sabres

Just go. NOW!

You can thank me later.

KJC

So, Why Isn't Issue #2 Online Yet?

A lot of people have been asking me when Issue #2 of The Black Tower will be released, as it's been about six months since the webcomic series made its debut last August. Well, the script is almost complete but the problem now is money, plain and simple. The Black Tower is ad supported and each issue costs about $6,000 CAD ($7,000 USD) to produce. After the North American economy tanked last summer I've had the absolute worst luck trying to get sponsors to help pay for the second issue. I've contacted dozens of companies. Everyone from multi-billion dollar mega corporations to small operations with less than 100 staff members. Nobody's got the cash to "waste" advertising on a webcomic (especially one about demons and vampires) when they're closing up stores and laying off workers. So, until I find sponsors willing to help out, or until I manage to scrape together $6,000 to $7,000, Issue #2 will remain on hold -- and I can't tell you how sad and frustrated that makes me feel. :-(

On the upside, there is a very slight chance that The Black Tower will be nominated for an Eisner Award later this year in the Best Webcomic category. It's currently under consideration by a committee of my industry peers. Wish me luck!

KJC

Women in Comics

As a follow-up to my recent post about nudity in comic books, I'd like to talk more about women in comics. Specifically, those who write or draw them, review and critique them as journalists -- or just love them as devoted fans.

I've been reading comic books since I was 8 or 9 years old and enjoy a wide variety of them. Mostly horror comics, followed by the classic superheroes such as Batman (all-time fav), Superman and Spiderman. I was never really into the goofy/funny stuff, like Archie. I like my comics dark and heavy, with lots of action and intrigue. The Dark Knight, Spawn and Witchblade top that list.

I've been a writer for over 20 years, only the last year of which has been as a comic book writer, and in that time I have received much praise from regular comic book fans as well as a few famous industry pros, who've not only wished me best of luck with The Black Tower but have asked to be a part of my writing team for both the webcomic and TV series (which is still in development for network television).

But in addition to that praise I've also experienced some really irritating, contemptuous and condescending attitudes among regular comic book readers and a handful of pros (all of them men) who think that my work is too thoughtful and introspective, too much attention paid to relationships and communication amongst the characters. Not enough action, killing and destruction. They dismiss me and my work as "Chick-Lit" which I really, really hate because I don't like movies geared to women, such as Beaches, Terms of Endearment or Fried Green Tomatoes. I love kick-ass action movies! But I want to see action movies with full-fleshed characters, rich with emotional turmoil and human weaknesses. Stuff like Batman, Spiderman -- even Iron Man. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?

For the most part, people who've read the first online issue of The Black Tower, love it and email me asking to buy a print version, whenever I decide to get around to doing that. Then, occasionally, I get emails from people saying my work is touchy-feely drivel geared strictly to women -- or raunchy smut, like the last few pages were just something I threw in to appease my male readers.

Huh? You mean women don't like sex? We're too pure and delicate for that, are we?

Look, I like porn just as much as the next guy. I can fix my own car, take my own trash out to the curb, and chug a beer down the hatch just like one of the guys. So, don't peg-hole, categorize or dismiss me as an insignificant female comic book writer. I've got 12,000 fans around the world (some of them Eisner and Emmy award winning writers) who think my work is equal to, if not better than, some of the stuff written by the world's best male comic book writers over the past 30 years!

KJC

Star Wars...Sorta

Oh, God, I'm in pain! I laughed so hard, my stomach is aching and my eyes are burning from the tears.

You gotta check THIS out.

KJC (may the Farce be with you)

Always Late for Work? No Prob!

That seems to be a growing trend in the younger work force today. Being late for work every day -- and fully expecting to be forgiven for it by bosses and co-workers.

Holy crap, are you kidding me?

After I read THIS STORY in the Ottawa Sun yesterday I emailed Cathie Edmond, manager of Algonquin College's Co-operative Education program, to ask for clarification on some quotes in the article. Specifically:


"Millennials" (people born between 1990 and 2000) are usually running late.

"Punctuality is not something that this generation worries a great deal about," she said.

She had an employer complain about one student, who was very smart and talented, but was showing up consistently five minutes late.

"I told him, 'You're not going to attract the young talent if you do that.' "


I just couldn't believe it when I read that, so, assuming it was a misquote, I contacted Cathie Edmond. She suggested that she may have been misquoted or taken out of context -- but then reiterated her stance on the issue: today's employers are expected to excuse their employees for being consistently late for work and, in fact, should adjust their schedules to allow for it (i.e. don't start meetings until the employee finally decides to show up, or make another employee stay later to cover the shift until the late worker finally saunters through the door). And if the employer has the unmitigated gall to insist that the employee respect his/her time and that of their co-workers, the slacker can just laugh them off because, apparently, there is such a shortage of highly qualified and well-educated workers that the employer would have no choice but to keep them on, despite their bad habits.

Really? Well, not if you worked for me, you lazy, selfish, inconsiderate asshole!

Look, I've been an employee, a minimum wage slave, for dozens of good bosses and a few really, really bad ones since I was a teenager, and unless I had car trouble, got caught in a traffic jam or had to stay and help police as the only witness to a car accident right in front of me, I was never late for work. In fact, I always tried to be at least 5 minutes early.

Now I'm in my 40s and that work ethic has stayed with me. I don't keep clients waiting, I don't keep potential new employers waiting, and I don't create a situation where co-workers are forced to pick up the slack on my behalf because I was too lazy to get my ass out of bed or off the couch in a timely manner. If I was personal assistant to the president of NBC or CTVglobemedia, do you think they'd mind if I was 5, 10, 15 minutes late for work every day? I'm thinking, yeah. Make that, "Hell, yeah!"

I'm also an employer with two personal assistants (well, three if you count Patricia, my convention assistant, who lives on the other side of the country). They know damn well they'd better not be late for work more than two days in any given week or I'd fire their ass. I don't put up with shit like that.

Am I being too rigid? Am I asking for too much? Should employers today forgive slacker employees for disrupting the work environment on a daily basis?

What do you think?

KJC


ADDENDUM:
It's now mid February, 2010, and since I wrote this post, it's gotten 30-40 hits per week. Mostly from frustrated employers who are trying to deal with chronically late workers, most of them Millennials. Sad. So very, very sad.

Bad First Dates

I don't get out much, anymore. Too busy with work to bother trying to forge serious romantic relationships with men (Yeah, yeah, poor me. Whatever!). I do get together with some of my guy friends now and then, for dinner & drinks...maybe a show. No big deal.

Anyway, I was thinking earlier today, about my younger days, back when I was a night club dancer and lead singer of a pop/rock band, remembering some of the boys/men I knew and dated back then.

The first name that popped into my head was Gavin "Smith", born in England, kinda looked like a very young Hugh Grant. We'd known each other since high-school and socialized with a large, close-knit group of friends. We liked each other but one of us was always dating someone else, so it was a constant case of bad timing.

Finally, long after I'd graduated high-school, we decided to go out on our first real date. I was almost 20 by that time, Gavin was 17. After he and I had dinner at a really fancy restaurant, I took him to the night club where I worked to introduce him to all of my co-workers. Remember...he's 17. We weren't there 3 minutes when all of a sudden the police burst through the doors. At least 10 of 'em, all looking for underage drinkers. I tried to hide Gavin in bathrooms and broom closets, moving him around from place to place, as a rebel sympathizer would try to hide a resistance fighter during a Nazi raid. But, alas, they did eventually find him. Not only did he get a $50 fine for being in a night club -- even though he didn't have a drop of alcohol to drink, he also got a permanent police record. All because I wanted to show off my hot new boyfriend to my friends.

Thankfully, Gavin laughed it off and we remained friends for a couple of years afterward -- but not boyfriend/girlfriend, as I realized that night that he was just too young for me. I later heard through friends that he took up a life of crime. Shoplifting, break and enter, robbery, possession of stolen property...I think perhaps I may have set him on the wrong path, corrupted him, turned him into a criminal.

No wonder I'm still single. A man can get arrested just by standing next to me!

KJC

Nudity in Comic Books

My friend and The Black Tower collaborator, Jason Badower, made some very interesting observations in a recent blog post about nudity in comics. Specifically, controversy over the depiction of naked women.

There's nothing that irks me more than the ridiculously unrealistic portrayal of women in comics, with those large, gravity-defying, perfectly round orbs, and barbie doll thin waists. I don't come at this from a feminist stand-point. I'm thinking like an artist who strongly feels that works of art should have at least some grounding in reality. Otherwise, I can't relate to it. I can't relate to the character as a human being. It just becomes a fleshy, humanoid-looking...thing. An object.

When I was drawing/colouring the last pages of the first issue of The Black Tower, I got really nervous about how those hotel room scenes might go down -- both with die-hard comics fans and the general public at large. I was expecting a huge backlash, scorn-filled emails from people who didn't want to see that kind of "filthy porn" in a webcomic that was other-wise very family friendly. Well, I'm very relieved to report that, out of the 12,000 + people who've read the premier issue, I got a total of 3 scathing emails, and 5 more from folks who said they were unprepared to see that kind of thing (drugs use and naked prostitutes) but nonetheless found the issue very entertaining. They'll continue reading future issues, so long as I put some sort of parental warning up on the website, so they can check it out before letting their kids see it. I did just that, and there have been no complaints since.

I'm very proud of my work, and especially proud of the realism I showed in all my depictions of various women found in The Black Tower webcomic.

KJC

You Know You've Really Made It When...

...you're featured in COSTO magazine. Page 72 of the Jan/Feb 2009 edition of the Costco Connection. Since the magazine was delivered to thousands of homes across the country over the past few days, visits to The Black Tower website have shot up 700%.

How's that for a nice start to the new year?

KJC

A Really "Special" Holiday Special

I watched the Star Wars Holiday Special when it first aired back in 1978. Keeping in mind that I was just 10 years old at the time -- and a mega-major Star Wars fan -- I liked it. George Lucas, however, did not, and he's been trying to destroy every copy he can get his hands on ever since.

Now, 30 years later, I have to say that I totally agree with him. It's really a huge embarrassment to everyone who was involved in making it, including stars Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford. Dudes...I feel your pain!

Click HERE to experience the hilarious agony for yourselves.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

&

BEST WISHES FOR 2009!

Oklahoma!

Jeff Johncox, a reporter for Oklahoma's Norman Transcript newspaper, did a fun interview with me a couple of days ago. HERE's the link to the article he wrote.

KJC

Issue #1 is Now Online!

After eight months of pure hell, I'm thrilled -- not to mention extremely relieved -- to finally be able to announce that issue #1 of The Black Tower interactive graphic novel series is now online at:

www.theblacktowercomics.com

I'm exhausted. Physically, emotionally and financially spent. There were times, in recent weeks, when I was working 20 to 30 hours straight, without sleep and only a few cookies to fill my tummy, as I sat at my computer working on various aspects of the project, most notably the digital colouring of the pages. My artist/illustrator, Donald Jackson, coloured the people but I did everything else...backgrounds, textures, highlights, shading and other details. It nearly killed me!

I'm so glad it's over with. For now, anyway. I'll start working on a first draft of issue #2 next week and then, after getting my co-writer Jeff Mariotte's input on the final draft, it's off to the drawing board once again for me and Don.

Somebody, please...shoot me now. :-(

KJC

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Remember back in grade school, at the very start of the new school year, the teacher would ask the class to write a page or two about what they did on their summer vacation, to help them get back into the groove of putting thought to paper using proper grammar, spelling and punctuation?

Well, HERE's what The Black Tower cover artist (and all-around nice guy) Jason Badower just did on his summer vacation. Jealous much?

KJC

I'm Going to the Polaris 22 Convention

Gang:

I've been invited to be a guest at the Polaris 22 sci-fi/fantasy convention, July 11th to 13th. Accompanying me to the event will be Stargate actor (and the model for the character of Kyle Raines in The Black Tower) Cliff Simon.

My schedule's going to be pretty tight, as I am expected to attend 6 to 12 panels on various sci-fi/fantasy/showbiz-related subjects, sign autographs and pose for pics, host a Main Stage Q&A panel about The Black Tower with Cliff, and mingle with fans at various parties and charity events the entire weekend, including Friday.

I'll also be selling some Black Tower merchandise, some of it signed by the folks involved with the project, such as my co-writer, Jeff Mariotte, my artist, Donald Jackson, my cover artist, Jason Badower, and character model, Cliff Simon. Since I have yet to forge an agreement with a major comic book publisher (still working on it), I'll be offering some limited series, self-published, full-colour editions of the premier issue of The Black Tower for sale, some signed, some not. There'll also be T-shirts, cover mock-ups and copies of Jason's original art for the project etc. for you to buy at varying price points. I'm also giving away free Black Tower bookmarkers, but if you donate some spare change to the two charities I'm representing at the con (David Suzuki Foundation, World Wildlife Fund) I'll sign the back of it as a thank you for your kind and generous support!

Please note, I'll sign anything you put in front of me at the con for free, but Cliff charges a (fair) $20 fee for his autograph, whether it's on Black Tower merchandise, Stargate...whatever.

I'll keep y'all updated as I learn more.

KJC


ADDENDUM - July 9, 2008
I tried. Oh, Lord, how I tried. After working 22 to 34 hours straight, sleeping for a few hours, and then getting up and spending another 22 to 34 hours working on the first issue of the comic, for the past two weeks, I finally have to admit that it's just not going to be ready for the convention two days from now. I still have the last two pages to colour (I'm also a colourist on this project) and then it has to be lettered (only the first 7 pages are lettered at this point). So, what I'm doing instead of offering full issues for sale at the Polaris 22 convention, signed by the creative talent involved, is handing out FREE 10-page previews of the premier issue, with a link to the website so you can read the rest of it when it finally debuts on July 22nd. So long as my letterer can keep up with me, that will definitely be the launch date. I'll sign these free hand-outs if you want me to. Cliff Simon will sign for $20.

Since I have yet to forge an agreement with a print publisher (my proposal is currently in the hands of Image Comics), I will offer self-published copies of the premier issue for sale on the official website (I'll be setting up a merchandising section), signed by myself, Jeff Mariotte and Donald Jackson, and maybe a few things signed by cover artist extraordinaire, Jason Badower, and actor Cliff Simon, as well.

The New IMPROVED Cover for Issue #1!

I'm a perfectionist and a control freak, I admit that. And while I very much liked the cover that my artist, Donald Jackson, did for Issue #1 of The Black Tower, is wasn't...perfect.

Enter artistic genius, Jason Badower, most beloved of all the artists working on NBC's Heroes online graphic novel series (he really is the best out of everyone, trust me). Right out of the blue one day, he offered to do a cover for me, since he had some time to kill in between Heroes gigs, and without a moment's hesitation I asked if he wouldn't mind redoing the Issue #1 cover. Thankfully, he said "yes!"

Less than a week later, this is what my dear friend and artistic mentor delivered to me via email:

Gorgeous, isn't it? I cried when I first saw it. It's 100 times better than I'd imagined it could be -- and it looks fan-freakin-tastic in poster size (I had one printed up this morning). If you'd like to know step-by-step how Jason pulled this off, click HERE to read his fascinating blog entry about it.

So, below is Jason's artwork incorporated into what I expect will be the standard template for this and all future issues of The Black Tower, both online and in print.

Man, that is one sexy cover, eh?

Thanks a million, Jas!

A Sneak Peek at the Cover

The premier issue of THE BLACK TOWER won't be out 'til later this spring. But here's a sneak peek at the cover art, lovingly crafted by artist Donald Jackson.

KJC

Forty & Fabulous!

When I was 19 years old I had a bitch of a time getting into nightclubs because I was 5 feet tall and looked about 16/17. Even after I showed the doorman my I.D. they assumed it was fake and wouldn’t let me inside to drink and party with my friends – some of whom were actually 17/18. Bastards!

Then later, in my early 20s, I was married to a man who was ten years my senior. He looked like he was in his 30s but I looked like a college-age kid. Needless to say, my husband got a lot of dirty looks from people when they’d see us walk by, hand-in-hand, at the mall or grocery store. Pervert! Cradle-robber!

I was just starting to hit my stride as a woman when my 30th birthday rolled around. I was becoming more confident, expanding my horizons and exploring my options after a depressing 12 year marriage and painful, financially devastating divorce. I started to eat better, exercise more and treat myself with more respect. My skin still looked amazing. Fresh, flawless and wrinkle-free. But I knew it wouldn’t stay that way forever so I really made a conscious effort to avoid things that would have a detrimental effect on my complexion (drinking, smoking, sunbathing etc.). This, ladies and gentlemen, is what a 40 year old non-smoking, non-drinking chick who stays out of the sun looks like.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

How "V" Changed My Life

A few days ago I heard that "V" creator/writer/producer/director, Kenneth Johnson, was launching a new book based on the mega-hit mini-series from the early '80s, with plans for a new mini-series, based on the book, already in development.




I was a huge fan of "V" and was so happy to hear about the new book and TV project that I tracked him down yesterday and emailed him this letter:

Ken:

I don’t often write fan letters, but after hearing about the recent resurrection of “V” as a new novel and potential TV mini series, I felt compelled to introduce myself and thank you for everything you’ve done in the past which helped get me to this point in my own career in the industry.

I’m a huge fan of your work, starting with the Six Million Dollar Man, Bionic Woman, Incredible Hulk and Cliffhangers: Curse of Dracula. These shows sparked what would eventually become a life-long passion for the sci-fi/fantasy/horror genre. I had a major crush on Dracula star Michael Nouri and, at age 11, founded a fan club devoted to him and the show. We called ourselves the “Brides of Dracula” and used red magic markers to dot little bite marks on our necks. Needless to say, our parents and teachers were not the slightest bit amused. (LOL!)

Then, in the 80s, “V” came along and totally rocked my world. It changed me. No longer satisfied with simply sitting down with snacks and a drink and watching my favorite shows during prime-time, I became more involved in dissecting the characters, themes and stories from a writer’s perspective. Up to that point, I had dabbled in Star Wars & Star Trek fan-fic and it was pretty good, considering it was written by a 13/14 year old. But I decided to try something different with “V”. Are you familiar with those old Choose Your Own Adventure stories for kids? Well, I wrote one for “V” when I was 16, with the reader/protagonist having to make some hard choices about their role in the war between the Visitors and the Human race. I drew the illustrations, designed the cover, typed out every single page of the 200+ page fan-fic story which, of course, was never shown to anyone but friends and family. But, nonetheless, it sparked my interest in writing TV tie-in/promotional material and television scripts.

I’m now a screenwriter, television producer and comic book writer, with one project in the works, called The Black Tower. It’s a comic book series about a wealthy teenage girl who discovers she’s half-god/half-demon/vampire (think high-school age Ivanka Trump living a secret life as Selene the vampire warrior from Underworld). This interactive webcomic will also feature actors as live versions of the comic book characters, acting out dramatic scenes in various YouTube/MySpacetv videos, and some of the people involved with the project are the same folks who work/worked on X-Files, Star Trek, Buffy, Angel, Stargate, Supernatural, Blade, Charmed, Smallville, Battlestar Galactica, Heroes and Lost.

I just wanted to thank you, Ken, for creating/writing/directing some of the best shows ever produced for television. You got me hooked and sparked an interest which eventually evolved into a successful career in the entertainment industry.


He just emailed me back with a very lovely and heart-felt thanks. A very sweet man! Next time I'm down in L.A. I might just take him out for lunch.

If you like reading sci-fi novels, go buy Ken's book, OK?

KJC

Close Encounters of the Tasty Kind

I just had a Roy Neary moment while eating a piece of cheesecake.

I think "they" are trying to communicate to me through frozen desserts. Don't laugh. Roy was right when he started playing with his mashed potatoes. Maybe it's time for me to head out on a road trip to Wyoming, eh?

KJC