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storymask
08-22-2006, 03:45 AM
Hi, my name is Ben Marroquin and I'm working on a writing project for my After School Program (5th and 6th graders).
It's a two stage step by step project that I hope they'll enjoy. First Stage: Write a Story. Second Stage: Convert
it into a Graphic Novel/Comic Book.

I have written an 18 page step by step guide for them that we'll go through on a day by day. Anyways, I'm leading by
example, so I'm writing a story as well. I will first write the complete story, then I'll look into transforming
it into a Graphic Novel or Comic Book.

I plan on purchasing a couple of How to Write Comic Books guides from Amazon to read over the holiday vacations
in order to be prepared for stage 2 of our project. If you know of a couple of
guides worth purchasing, I'd appreciate
your guidance.

If I get enough encouragement, I plan on saving money in order to publish it... even if I have to look into
POD services.

Anyways, here's a rough draft of my first and fourth (or 5th) chapters. I do plan on making changes, but I want to first
concentrate on writing the complete story and then on making changes.

Target Audience: 5th grade - Middle School

storymask
08-22-2006, 03:46 AM
Title: Seraph Hunters

Chapter 1: Gift or Curse

It crouches, hidden in the shadows of the bushes, unseen. Muscles taut, forest green eyes fixed on it’s prey which
is searching the ground for its next meal. A tiny rustle catches the raven’s attention. Nervously, it looks around,
takes a couple of hops and spears its head towards the ground. The raven lifts it head triumphantly with a leggy
creature in its beak.

From the bushes a cat explodes into motion; a blur of black fur, claws and fangs, and it’s over for the raven.

From the backyard of a beige suburban house with burgundy trimming, a sliding glass door opens. A young raven
haired girl emerges with laundry basket in hand. “Ashcot… Ashcot…” her voice calls out.

She looks around. No sign of the cat. It’s busy finishing its meal.

“Where’d you go?” she asks to no one in particular. She hears a faint thump-thump-thumping noise coming from the
side of the house.

Placing the empty laundry basket on the porch ground, she walks towards the sound. “Ashcot… Ashcot…” she calls out. Still no answer.

She turns at the side of the house and quickly locates the source of the strange thumping sound: The weathered
wooden fence door is open, the warm wind thumping it against the large rubber trash cans located on the front
side of the house. She causally walks towards the fence door to close it and notices the long shifting shadows
cast on the ground heralding in the evening.

I wonder what school will be like in this city. I hope it doesn’t su… no, no… think positive thoughts… “I so miss
my friends,” she says with a soft sigh.

Clinkclinkclinckclink clankclank…clank… clank…CRASH!

The sudden flurries of sounds startles her, causing her to jump. What was that? It’s then that she notices that
the side door leading to the garage is ajar. It’s only a few feet away from her.

She gulps, clenches her fists, and steadies herself as she edges near the darkened doorway. “Ashcot, is that you
kitty?” her voice is tight with tension. She moves closer to the burgundy painted door, places one hand on the
doorframe and the other on the doorknob. She gently pushes it further open, in hopes of allowing more light into
the dim cluttered garage.

“Ashcot… Ashcot, are you in there you silly cat?” Her foot slips a little; her hands clench their holdings,
keeping her up. She looks down on the freshly stained cement floor and sees a trail of blood leading into the
garage.

Her eyes follow the blood trail while she fights the mounting urge to run. Please… Please, don’t let it be her,
not mom… I can’t lose her too… she takes a deep breathe of air, washing away those dreaded thoughts and fears,
slowing her rapidly beating heart.

Steady now, hands by her side clenching her flowery summer dress, she takes a few unsteady paces into the room.
Eyes wide, she takes a sweeping peek inside. Her dark brown eyes stop on a form, dressed in a white type of
outfit, huddled on the floor between torn bags of spilt aluminum cans and fallen bikes. The shadow figure groans,
clutching its red drenched abdomen as a pool of blood grows on the ground.

Her eyes, adjusted to the dimness of the garage, take in the figure; Long strands of dark hair covers it’s… no…
his face, but she can tell that he is not much older than her. From cracks in the hair “mask” she sees a pair of
yellowish glowing eyes looking at her. She feels something furry brush her leg, startling her, making her jump
again.

With pounding heart, she quickly looks down and notices that it’s only Ashcot. The stranger lifts his blood
stained hand towards her, wanting her to get nearer, as if wanting to tell her something. No… I don’t think so
she thinks to herself, but Ashcot has other ideas and approaches the stranger. She tries to stop him, but it’s
too late.

As if in slow motion, she sees the stranger grab the cat in one hand around the neck and, thinking only of Ashcot’s
safety, she lunges forward to pull him away, but is instead caught by the wrist by the stranger’s other hand.

Eyes wild, he whispers through clenched teeth “You must save them all… You must become one of us…”

It is then she notices that the blood tainted white outfit the stranger is wearing is really a straight jacket.
Oh no, he must have escaped from the asylum! she thinks as towering waves of rolling panic pound into her.

Before she can react, the stranger bites the inside of his lip, making it bleed. He lifts Ashcot, scratching and
clawing, and stares into the cat’s angry eyes. He utters some strange unknown words and the cat goes limp.

In horror, she sees his jaws open and stretch, contorting into some huge beastly fanged filled mouth! She hears
herself scream out “NNNOOOO!!!” as his fanged mouth bites into Ashcot’s neck, mingling the cat’s blood with his
own in his mouth.

He gently sets the limp cat aside and brings down the horrified little girl to him with both hands. She wants to
scream, but fear clutches her voice. He looks up into the dark, as if seeing the velvety night sky and softly
chants as blood drips from his lips.

His body begins to pulse with a soft bluish white glow which reaches into the depths of his eyes; looking into his
eyes, she sees him reflected within, bright and shiny and corporeal. His ethereal self looks up into her through
those pulsing eyes, wings spring forth from its spirit body and launches towards her. The angelic-like spirit
shatters through his eyes and enter hers.

Sensing the moment, the stranger moves her head aside with his free hand, and with mouth filled with his and
Ashcot’s blood (and unknowingly, the blood of the raven), bites down on her neck. His fangs sink softly into her
flesh and pierces the jugular vein, injecting the mixture of blood in his mouth into her body as waves of bluish
white energy envelope her.

She feels the burning liquid mixture injected within her course it’s way through her veins towards her heart,
leaving a numbing trail of searing pain within. She gasps as the infectious liquid spears her heart and is rapidly
pumped throughout her body. She seeks refuge from the pain in her mind but the infectious storm within rains down
as her world begins to fade…

Gently laying her down on the ground, the strangers last fading whispers enter her; “I’m sorry… but I must do what
I must… you will be reborn… you will be seraph hunter… beware the forsaken… save them all from… apocalypse…” She
hears no more as her world is swallowed by the darkness of unconsciousness.

Dingy green hued walls of stone surround her, caging her in like some kind of wild beast. She is chained to a
bolted down metal framed bed, able to raise her head enough to see that ominous black metal door which bars her
way to freedom. A calliope of screams and wailing echo into her chamber, bombarding her with images of people
losing their minds, of people in excruciating pain, of people being consumed or worse.

She hears the distant sound of scratchy footfalls making their way towards her. She knows that her body cannot
take anymore of the cocktail of drugs and torture these forsaken beasts have been putting her through. She cannot,
will not give them the information they want.

She hears keys jingling and sees the door rattling and closes her eyes, not wanting to see them again. They enter
her room and unlock her chains. Large ragged hands with long tendril fingers grasp her arms, claws biting into her
flesh as they yank her up. Her feet drag as they half walk, half drag her through maze-like corridors.

She hears a door open and is taken inside and strapped to a table. The door then closes. She opens her eyes and
takes in her surroundings. She’s in what resembles a hospital surgery room; a room which has been turned into a
torture chamber as instruments crafted to heal life are used as weapons of pain and, in the end, death. The red
stained room reeks of it.

She hears the door open and sees him, the torturer. His ashen hued face is covered by a green surgical mask. He
is tall and thin and stark. He seems to glide as he moves across the room. His onyx eyes show no emotion as he
moves a tray filled with surgical blades next to her table. With a flourish of hand gestures, he selects a long
slender blade and holds it over her heaving chest. Her eyes widen in pain filled anticipation of what’s to come…

The blade plunges down… “AAAAIIIIIIGGGGHHHH!”

Jovi wakes, heart pounding, limbs shaking, stomach churning, and body soaked with sweat. Several minutes pass
before she gets her bearings. She bolts upright suddenly as her memory comes flooding into her mind, making her
world spin. The vertigo causes her to spin to her hands and knees and spew.

She shakily gets to her feet as her head begins to burn with heat and her body pulses with chills. Her pitch black
world begins to swish left and right. Guided by memory, she wobbles her way to the garage door leading into the
kitchen, opens it, and is momentarily blinded by light. Slowly but surely she makes her way to her room and
stumbles onto bed. Her eyes close just as the front door opens…

storymask
08-22-2006, 03:47 AM
Chapter 4 or 5: Night Life

The concert at Crossings left Jovi teary eyed and hurt. How could she say those things about me? She said she was
my friend. They said they were my friends… She sobbed as she continued walking the dark lonely streets of the city.
A tear glistened down her cheek as she turned the corner. She was hidden in the shadows of the trees lining the
sidewalk, lost in thought, when guttural laughter snapped her out of her pain filled reverie.

She nearly gasped out loud when she saw them. Unconsciously, she backed her way into the darkness of a storefront
doorway and crouched down not wanting to believe her eyes… not wanting to be seen.

There, a mere ten or so yards away, in the middle of the streets stood three monsters. No, three werewolves.
Their attention focused on a young battered girl recently tossed across the rough asphalt road. Bleeding and
bruised and scared beyond belief. She crawls backwards away from her beastly attackers, scanning side to side
for help.

“There’s no one here to help you my tasty little flesh-ling.” He laughs. “You can’t even call out for help!” The
largest werewolf growls while the other two simply laughed.

It is then that the girl’s head turns towards Jovi and squeaks out the words “Please… please help me…” The shortest
and youngest werewolf follows the girl’s gaze and catches sight of Jovi hidden in the shadows of the doorway.

“Peek-a-boo, I see you my little snack-ling. First sight, my bite!” he drools as he breaks away from the other two.

Jovi tries to push herself further back into the shadows but her back presses against the wall. She whimpers as she
sees the beast through fear filled eyes make his way towards her. The beast’s canine maw snarls in pleasure as he
stands above her savoring the stench of her fear. His fur is dark gray, with white going up from his stomach to
the bottom of his lower jaw. Drool drips down his large fangs and he opens and clenches his clawed hands in
anticipation of this small feast.

“You sure your wolf enough for her Lucus?” the other young wereling says laughingly.

Fists clenched, he stares down at Jovi and turns his head to snarl back his reply “Oh yeah, this little morsel…”

Jovi stares down at the ground and clenches her fist on the ground as her body begins to tremble with something old
within… something powerful. No… no… no, I won’t let it kill me. I WON’T LET IT WIN! Back against the wall, her eyes
rage an ocean of blue, muscles grow strong and taut, ears become pointy and fangs grow from her mouth. Her clothes
rip and fall from her body…

“...is dead meat!” the young wereling finishes as he turns his head back toward Jovi, just in time to see her
spring from the ground and sink her sharp clawed hands deep into his throat and claw their way to grasp his collar
bone as her clawed feet rake down from his chest and sink deep into his stomach. She looks into his dying eyes as
black fur covers her body from head to toes. He never had a chance to scream.

Hands in throat and feet in stomach, Jovi rides him as he falls to his knees and begins to slump backwards. She
looks at the other two beasts as the younger wolf begins to step towards the girl on the ground. Jovi launches off
the falling body with clawed hands and feet, his innards spilling on the ground as she is propelled through the
air, landing between the younger wereling and the girl.

Completely startled and a bit unnerved the younger wereling leaps back by the elder’s side. The elder werewolf
takes her in and then looks to the side at the fallen wereling. “Guess you were wrong Lucus, she was too much for
you.” He utters returning his gaze back to Jovi. “Weren’t you little kitty?” He finishes with a toothy smile.

“What are you talking abo…” the younger on says, stopping once he spots his best friend on the ground. He snaps his
head back towards Jovi and glares at her. Hate and rage fills his eyes. “You’re gonna pay for that you bitc…”

“Yes, Dreygon, yes… This is your chance to become a full fledged Lycan. This is you chance to become a WEREWOLF!”
The elder says with pride.

“I will be a wereling no longer!” He spits out at her. “This is for you Lucus!” He finishes with a growl and runs
towards her. Rage and blood lust fills his very being, blocking out his elders warning against being “rash and
reckless.” A warning that Jovi hears and uses to control her own growing fury and blood lust.

In one moment Jovi is standing five feet in front of the charging beast, and the next is filled with a flowing
motion of cunning and power: Seeing his prey standing a mere five feet in front of him, Dreygon launches himself
into the air, arms extended forward with hands clawing in anticipation of ripping her flesh and tackling her to
the ground where he would simply rip her to ribbons with claws and fangs.

Jovi has other plans; her hands ripped Dreygons hands apart as he flew towards her. She begins her backward roll,
her hands clawing there way down his arms, sinking deeply into his shoulders dragging him down. Her back touches
the ground as her feet find his stomach, with a powerful stomach raking thrust, using his own momentum, she
launches him over and past her through the air.

Jovi finished her roll, crouched on the road facing the elder while Dreygon’s bleeding body lands in a crumpled
mass, ten feet past the girl still cowering on the floor.

“Silly wereling,” the elder begins “but such is the way of the young. Rash, brash, and filled with blood lust,
still though, he will learn from this experience unlike Lucus.” He finishes staring at the lifeless wereling lying
broken and ripped on the ground.

Jovi quickly glances back at Dreygon’s body and sees him beginning to stir. She turns back towards the elder. He
laughs as he sees the questions in her eyes.

“My but you are young. Don’t you know little kitty, we lycans heal fast, granted wounds by other lycans do take l
onger to heal…” he turns towards Lucus’ body “and unless we are mortally wounded, we live to learn from our
mistakes. I would have thought that your Handler would have told you all this before sending you out to patrol
the streets.”

He stares at her, noticing that she still doesn’t understand.

“My but you are young… maybe a newborn.” He says as he takes in the damage done. “Maybe you’re not just a little
kitty after all…” He says sniffing the air, taking in her scent. His eyes widen with recognition and then focus on
her with a deadly glare. “No, you’re not just a simple little kitty. You’re so much deadlier than that… or at least
you would have been.”

Fear begins to swell within her as she takes in the situation; a young healing wereling somewhere behind her and a
large powerful silverback furred werewolf in front of her and a frightened young girl to the right and slightly
behind her.

Turning her head towards the girl she growls out “Run! Get away from here as fast as you can. Now before it’s too
late!”

It’s then she feels the flesh on left shoulder rip as her body is sent sprawling to the ground. Her scent fills
the air as she turns to see Silverback standing over her, a wicked grin on his face. “It’s a shame you’re so young
or you would have known why she couldn’t move.” A flash of sadness touches his eyes as he speaks his mind. “Just so
you know, I take no honor in killing you. No, it’s really a shame. If only you had been older…”

Jovi looks over to the girl, sadness in her eyes for having failed her as she looks back towards Silverback whom
continues with his speech. Unaware as she is of the girl rising to her feet, brown hair falling away from her face
and dark green eyes shining in the night…

“… We’ve could have had a glorious battle, but I must follow the pack laws and those laws state that you must die.”

Jovi stares as Silverback lunges towards her on the ground. Her eyes open wide as they see a pair of thick green
snakes hanging in the air above his shoulders, and they stare in disbelief as the strike at Silverback, wrapping
themselves around his neck, catching him off balanced in mid air, sending him crashing head first into the hard
road with a wet thud. Jovi’s eyes fall on the strange eyeless green snakes and follow their writhing bodies back
to their source, the girl.

She sees the girl’s green glowing eyes fixed on Silverback, choking the life from him. Her skin seems a shade of
pale green and her hair seems to darken, but in the night she can’t quite make out the shade. A howl breaks the
silence as Dreygon runs towards the girl… he never makes it as Jovi, fangs and claws, ends the threat three feet
away from the girl.

“Is he dead?” Jovi asks the girl. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have to as the thunderous sound of a cracking
neck fills the night. The snakes release their prey and wind their way behind the girl. It is then that Jovi
realizes that the snakes weren’t real snakes at all, but some sort of snake vines which sprung from the back of
the girl’s shoulder blades.

“Are you alright? My names Jovi… what’s yours?”

“Bree…” is all she says when they see a trio of running trench coat strangers round the corner, stop and stare at
them, then the three dead bodies, and back to them again. It is then that Jovi realizes that the dead bodies had
changed to human forms and that one of the trio was reaching for something inside his trench coat. Without thought,
she crouches in front of Bree, ready to pounce as her tail swishes from side to side. Hmmm, so I have a tail she
laughingly thinks to herself as the trio approaches them.

Eric Palicki
08-22-2006, 09:22 AM
If you know of a couple of
guides worth purchasing, I'd appreciate
your guidance.



Here are the titles on my shelf. Some are guides to writing in general, rather than just writing comics:

ADVENTURES IN THE SCREEN TRADE by William Goldman
THE ELEMENTS OF STYLE by Shrunk and White
THE WRITER'S JOURNEY by Christopher Vogler (see also Joseph Campbell's THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES)

COMICS AND SEQUENTIAL ART and GRAPHIC STORYTELLING by Will Eisner
COME IN ALONE by Warren Ellis (More of a broad series of essays about the medium and business of comics in general, but this is where I learned how to write for comics.)
DC GUIDE TO WRITING COMICS by Denny O'Neil (Nuts and Bolts)
WRITERS ON COMICS SCRIPTWRITING, Volume 1 and 2



I also recommend, but do not own, PETER DAVID'S WRITING FOR COMICS, by, uh, Peter David. J Michael Stracynski has a book on screenwriting.

Good Luck!

storymask
08-22-2006, 07:16 PM
Thanks for the recommendations Eric... much appreciated. Think I'll go with:

COMICS AND SEQUENTIAL ART and GRAPHIC STORYTELLING by Will Eisner
COME IN ALONE by Warren Ellis

They sound like they'll more than cover all my bases for our project... well,back
to that pesky 2nd chapter that keeps trying to allude me.