Chapel, an unfinished novel, on Production IG Studios Red Factions

 Chapel

By J.F. Malewitz

1

The thick manuscript sat on the desk between the two men

“This is Watchmen.” Arnold Orton declared.   “No doubt about it, this is going to be big.  And not just in the states, we’re talking Japan too.  The answer to Akira, that’s what we’ll say.  I’m no editor, but I can tell you have an editors credentials. R.L.Stine was an editor before he took off with his stuff.  We’ll offer you an editorial position immediately—if you’re interested.   We don’t publish horror comics very much, but we do accept their submissions and try to get one or two out a month.  We’re trying to follow Marvel and DC—like when they were in the seventies with those expanded fifty-cent editions.  No vampires either, only one good vampire story was ever written and I’m not talking Anne Rice, I’m talking Bram Stroker.”  

“The script is fine.  I like how you split it up into three parts.  Good move on your part.  I hope you’ll take this editing job.  I need someone with talent on it, I don’t need to win any awards but I want to get noticed.  Something with demons maybe, or the devil.  Killers are far to often used. I shy away from that.  But the devil, something like Mephisto in Marvel comics, that’s never overused.  People eat that stuff up like it were candy.”

For a moment he stopped speaking.  He stared at the comic book writer sitting across the desk.   His name was Doug Chapel.  He was about to make a name for himself in the comic business.  But right now he was small time.  He had a good deal of publishing credits, the occasional short story, unsuccessful attempts at novels, and then there was comics, his one true passion.  At first he had written black and white action comics.  He had tried and tried to get into Marvel and DC without success.   Occasionally on the rejection slips would be a note: “Keep trying, we like your script but you need to improve your dialogue.” 

Arnold Orton lit a cigarette.  “Now mind you we aren’t Dark Horse or Image.  We’re smaller than that.  Your first run will be about five thousand copies.  It is a standard for our six major titles to publish this much, everything else is four thousand or fewer.   I’m gonna take a chance with you,” he took a long puff of his cigarette.  “I’ll offer you five hundred up front against royalties.  Another five hundred when you show me a outline for a sequel.  

“There’s no sequel to be written,” Chapel said.   “I hate sequels, I’m going to start something new.  Something fresh.  Hopefully you’ll like it as much as Natures Greeting.”

“What’s your next one about,” Orton asked, “is it a man vs. nature piece like this one.  Or are you working on a new subject.”

“Completely new.  No doubt about that.”  Chapel showed a thin smile.  “Do you want me to give you the gist of it?”  

“Certainly.”

“Well.  It’s a science fiction epic.  It will be shorter, I always try to write something smaller after a big piece.  It will be a tour-de-force.  It’s about a Space Marshal named Hawke.  Lots of Blade Runner story-line in it, but I didn’t swipe it.  I changed the story considerably, but Blade Runner was my main inspiration.  You see, these androids were created for humanities defense.   But they rebel.  Space Marshals are ordered to track them down.  Hawke is one of them.  He perfects the process, makes it an art.  He captures more androids than any other Marshal. It will be about four issues long.  A mini-series.  I have a rough outline for it already, if you want to see it.”

“I definitely would,” Orton said, “tell me, do you want this editing job or not.  You have a good eye for story, for potential, it’s only seventy five bucks a week.”

“I would be interested.  I write every day, though, even Christmas, I have to.”

“Now we have to find some people to draw and ink this for you.  And it will take a month per issue.  We have house artists who do all this kind of work. We’ll find someone, someone with the talent that matches your writing.  I want you to meet Jay King.  He’s the head editor of GNR.  He wrote The Quickening, a major science fiction epic in its own right.”   

They walked out of Orton’s office and into the hallway.   Chapel heard a voice coming from inside another office.  Though he couldn’t make out the words he had a premonition that this was the same man Orton wanted him to meet.  Orton gestured to the office that was adjacent to his, and Chapel walked in.  The man inside looked tall, though he was sitting, had thick glasses and a mug of coffee in his hand.  On one side of his desk was a pack of lucky strikes and some power bars, on the other was a stack of manuscripts.  In fact, stacks of manuscripts covered the room, some three feet high.  The man, named Jay King, was on the phone but right before Chapel sat down King quickly said he had to go and hung the phone up.  

“Names Jay King.  You must be Doug Chapel.  I read Natures Greeting.  You’re a regular Balzac of the comic medium aren’t you.”

“Well I would say Mark Twain, Balzac is foreign to me.  Never read him,” said Chapel.  

“Nature’s Greeting eh. You have to tell me how you came up with it.”  

For several minutes Chapel explained to King how he first came about with the idea.   He spoke with no hesitation, he was prepared for this question.  

After Chapel finished explaining to King his inspiration for Nature’s Greeting Orton spoke: “I told Chapel here we need an editor for horror.”

“True,” said King, “our last editor got a job at some unknown college mag, but it paid better so I can understand his reasons.  Are you up for it?  I just love editing, keeps me going, so many good ideas can come out of it.  It’s become a muse for me.”

“I certainly need the paycheck.  Ever since I got fired from the factory for telling my supervisor how much I disagreed with him.  I’ve been scrounging for loose change ever since.  The paupers life sucks.”