I’m a die-hard fan of zombies of all descriptions. I refuse to admit that we’ve reached “peak zombie” in our pop culture. That said, I also admit that I’m constantly looking for something fresh in the genre. This search has led me to 28 Days Later, Shaun of the Dead, The Reapers are the Angels, The Girl with All the Gifts, and so on.
Crack open The Secret Loves of Geek Girls, and you will find comic strips, essays, memories, observations, self-help tutorials, and, most of all, very personal confessions. In short, Secret Loves is a massive collection of individual voices of the geek and the girl varieties. Every story has one thing in common, though…raw and honest accounts of geeks searching to understand themselves and their connections with others.
There is an opening line of dialogue in Lumberjanes / Gotham Academy #4 that perfectly illustrates one of the fundamental truths of living in the Lumberjanes universe: “Captivity could be worse, I guess.”
At the end of Lumberjanes / Gotham Academy #2, we had left Jen, Olive, Professor MacPherson, and Rosie participating in the strangest Sweet Sixteen dinner party ever, and the balance of the Lumberjanes and Gothamites were gathered outside the party venue, ready to break in to rescue them.
Being a geek means occupying a constant state of wishing you had MORE: more of your favorite characters; more world-building; more detail; more conversations; more involvement; more adventures; and so on, world without end. Sometimes, this need is met with whole universes of satisfying detail. Open the pages of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings and you will end up in a world fleshed out with whole languages, annotated histories, compendiums, and additional stories that exist solely to tell the backstory of a character’s distant ancestors.
I jumped right into the newly released Torchwood #1 from Titan Comics with absolutely no preparation. It’s been awhile since I visited the intrepid Cardiff Torchwood Three crew, so I’ll admit right up front that I was very happy to immediately encounter a “Previously on Torchwood” page as I opened the issue.
“Maybe we’ve finally entered the Twilight Zone. Really, it was bound to happen.”
These worlds are spoken by Jen, the Lumberjanes' long-suffering and continually frazzled camp counselor. She longs for normalcy and calm but inevitably gets reality-bending, supernatural chaos instead. Really, at this point, what else should she expect as the “responsible adult” in charge of the adventure-magnet Lumberjanes. And nothing has changed as she’s taken on temporary babysitting duties for the recently arrived group of Gotham Academy students.
I spend a considerable amount of time these days trying to think like a 9-year-old. This is because I have a 9-year-old tromping around my house, and it’s a very good thing to try to predict what fascinating, new mischief he might be planning. Actually achieving some precognition in this matter, though, is difficult when the target changes their mind so abruptly.
It feels like an impossible task to sit down and write coherent words about Anton Yelchin’s sudden and tragic death in a freak, single-vehicle accident in Los Angeles. On hearing the news, my immediate thoughts were stuck in a numb refusal to accept the idea. “This has to be a hoax.” “He’s too young.” “He has too many movies coming out.” “But his career is just getting going.” As the news was confirmed, I started to look through his IMDb credits and realized that, with 65 roles under his belt by the age of 27, Yelchin was much further along that I realized.