Journal Entry: Mon Apr 7, 2014, 4:04 AM
It was the Christmas of 2012, right after the first season of RussoTrot, of which led me to do a story based off of the Krampus. Before that point, I’d never heard of such a thing. That sounded made up on the spot as my cousin was letting me in on the old, old, oooooolllllddd new. She claimed this had been around a while, but I swore she was either misled at an earlier age(as my uncle Jack and aunt Pat were apt to do for their own amusement) or she was just making it up for the sake of something to say. It was like hearing my grandmother talk about “White Heaven”. Hearing her talk about it made me cringe, not just for the obvious issues imbedded in the statement, but the fact that surely… SURELY no one else believed that nonsense. I lived for a great portion of my life thinking my grandmother invented that in her racist head, not from actually hearing it from another source. Sure enough though, I was watching the last Boondocks cartoon of the first season, and damned if Aaron McGruder didn’t bring it to light with Uncle Ruckus(No Relation). The second time in my life I’d ever heard someone talk about a “White Heaven” was from a former comic strip artist… The point is, no matter how ludicrous something sounded, I began making a habit of looking it up. I’d found that even the most absurd of claims have some origin which, even if false, retained some degree of interest to me... or at the minimum, a bit of morbid curiosity. In this I found the Krampus was a thing, though long past its prime. Some creature that would come for the bad boys and girls of the world, and varying on your acts, delve out the punishment accordingly. Eventually it was dropped from what substituted as popular culture of the time, and into mental oblivion of the masses. Flash forward and we find a movement had been building among the art community to bring the Krampus back to the modern day, though more as an oddity than as part of the traditional tale told to our children. As my cousin had told me of it, I’d found an urge, as most comic strip artists are apt to do, to make a Christmas story based around the concept. The novels I’d written prior are rather… NC-17 in nature, and a toning down was the least of my issues in taking this side project on. The last time I had written anything worthy of a children’s story was a poem about a wolf and a pig with wings. The pig with wings was eating the wolves one by one, and the one wolf who witnessed everything could not convince the other wolves of what he’d seen. Kind of a reverse boy-who-cried-wolf scenario. Though I’m not what I would consider good at drawing anything, I illustrated the whole story myself. This was my pride of the pen, and I was but sixteen at the time. It was when I made the mistake of showing it to my mother that this poem would be forever lost to the world. My mother loved it, don’t get me wrong. She asked if she could keep it and show it to “some people”, and that should have been an indication I should say no. But hey, it’s your mom, right? A month later I’d asked her where it was. She didn’t know. I asked her to look. Couldn’t find it and didn’t know where it could have gone. Wasn’t even that bothered that she’d lost it. I, however, was angered enough to never write another children’s story again. Until A RussoTrot Krampus. It is a fine work, and I am quite proud of the writing. People should never be afraid to use bigger words in a children’s story. Then, I hadn’t done poetry since my pig with wings poem, as they don’t appeal to me whatsoever. I hate poetry slams… “Does my saying that shock you?” …uuughh… gross… There was, though, a section of my poetry that took me four hours to complete, and it went as such, “From a place upon high/ Above brought I the fire./ Place did I, bat to eye./ Sight I did, a quick retire.” This poetry style is rarely used, but for some reason I was compelled to try. First, it had to fit the ongoing story, then it had to be legible… mostly when I’d seen it done before, it turns into forced gibberish. Last, the pattern must meet the rules of which make this style relevant, in this case the wordplay feeds into itself. The last word of each section and the first word of the next create a word or description. So with this poem we have “High Above”, “Fireplace”, and “Eyesight”. Then the ending word of the poem also feeds back into the first word of the start, thus we have “Retire From”. Four… friggin’… hours… In retrospect, I should have gone out on that date. At any rate, this last Christmas, I gave my cousin a gift. A book version of A RussoTrot Krampus as a thank you. It was, after all, her explaining it in such detail that lent me the inspiration to give children’s stories just one more try. Of course I can never sell the book… Something about me being a plagiarist and riding that fine line of fan art and outright copyright infringement… well, ya know. Things and stuff.