DOING THE WORK // 2.27.03

EMPTY CITY
by Harris O'Malley

February 26, 2003

It's about 23 degrees out right now. The steps leading up to my apartment are covered in a nice sheet of ice, covering the snow beneath. Obviously, something has gone horribly wrong and we are facing the end-times.

This is central Texas; it never snows in central Texas. Last time we saw any snow, it was 1984 and it led to the arch-bishop running around talking about how the lamb had opened the fourth seal.

As is, nobody in this damn city knows how to deal with winter conditions. There've been raids on every single grocery store, deli and Kwik-E-Mart in Austin; if it doesn't warm up around here, the world's going to start getting stories about gangs of shotgun-toting soccer moms, prowling the city streets in their SUV's, gunning down pedestrians and hauling them away to serve as food and heating oil.

I almost look forward to it.

In the meantime, I've been spending the evening walking around downtown, ostensibly to take reference photos. It's fascinating; the streets are absolutely deserted. Except for the occasional whine of the EMT's responding to yet another crash, the city feels empty. Makes it the proper environment for me right now; suits my mood perfectly at the moment.

I'm hunting inspiration. Ever since I got back from APE, I've been having a hard time getting back to work. It's not Writer's Block, not exactly; it's more... intertia. Metaphysics, almost. A creator in motion wants to stay in motion. A creator at rest tends to stay at rest.

It's irritating in a way, but in an almost distant way. For lack of a better term, it feels more like apathy than anything else. I fire up the computer, I sit down, get ready to type and... nothing. I've got the story in mind. Hell, it's already half-written; it's just a matter of adapting it for comics. But I seem to have no feel for it. I type the same thing over and over again, delete it and then find myself trying to beat the next level in Timesplitters 2.

This is not a good habit for a self-publisher to cultivate.

Objects at rest. Objects in motion, Got to get back in motion.

So I'm walking the empty streets of an empty city.

There's a coffee shop I've been going to, taking my Palm Pilot and my sketchbook. Ostensibly, I go to do some sketching and do some writing, get inspired by the creative energy at the Open Mike nights; in reality, I'm more interested in getting out of my apartment for a couple hours. If this means listening to the occasional "protest" song that seems to mostly involve starfish and environmental fables, so be it.

Thank God most of the regulars are pretty good. But there's just the one wierdo who's constantly singing about the president and the war in Iraq and the environment, and frankly he makes me want to go club baby seals for Jesus.

Tonight though, I can't seem to concentrate. The music just seems to grate across my nerves, the smoke makes my eyes water a little too much and my head hurts. So I'm walking.

Empty streets. Empty city.

It's fascinating how different Austin feels right now. It feels like Abbott. The shadows are a little deeper. The emptiness and the silence almost feel oppressive. Most people are hiding themselves away, safe in their homes and only the foolhardy, the brave or the naive are abroad tonight.

People like me. Looking for ghosts. Hunting for a muse. Trying to capture some inspiration.

I'm trying my damndest to etch this feeling into my memory. I want to be able to reproduce this in my work. It makes me want to write. See if I can capture this and bend it to my will.

Objects at rest. Creators in motion.

Gotta get in motion again.