The new comics - Buffy Season 8 - are not that much to cheer about. I have a read a lot of comments and many people are disappointed. 

They should be.

Once I was a comic fan and I was also interested in art. These comics are not great, they're decent. There is nothing personal or interesting about them. Hence the boring and ugly. Much like sex, art should never be boring.

If things don't change drastically with the comics, I can't see how they can survive. Or maybe I'm just naive, thinking people won't spend their money on crap. It seems like most people who read the comics are more interested in getting The True Gospel of Whedon than getting good comics.

That's really sad and brings me to the canon part. The only way these comics can be considered canon, is in comparison with other comics that describe the Buffyverse. It's impossible to compare with the television shows,  because the two medias are so very different.

Everything that made the TV-show(s) fantastic is absent in the comics. Mostly the actors/actresses and the way they interacted with each other and brought the characters to life, but also the visuals and the sounds - and you get it. There is just no way no compare.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" is the best television show created this far. There is no doubt about that. But you have to understand that making it so, was a team effort and not just up to Joss Whedon. The magic that happened was also due to some incredible luck, but maybe that luck could occur because of the circumstances created.

The comics are a completely different arena and require very different tools. I really admire Joss Whedon, but I'm not a fanatic member of The Church of Whedon. Everything he does isn't marvellous. He's just a man.

And so far, the comics suck. Big time.

Tags: comics

 I wrote these 100 word drabbles for a BtVS 10th anniversary fanfic challenge. The setting is Welcome to the Hellmouth and The Harvest.

Disclaimer: None of the charachters are mine, of course. This is for fun, not profit.

Author to all four drabbles: that would be me, Clem's Kitten Basket.

Beta reader: AthenaMuze. Thank you!

Ratings: Well, I suppose FRC for the first and the third and maybe FRT for the second and the fourth. Hard to tell.

An Irishman in Sunnydale

Angel was leaning against a wall in an alley outside the Bronze. Although his features were almost pretty and his trousers freshly ironed, he was brooding heavily.

He murmured something profound in Irish and sighed. His mothertongue was such a good language to express misery with. Too bad no one around here understood a word of it.

And there she was. Tripping, skipping, bouncing. He erected himself and began slouching towards her. Seeking eye contact with the girl, he twisted his hands.

"Angel?" The tiny blonde approached him. He bent down and whispered in her ear: "I missed you, Darla."

An Irishman in Sunnydale - 2

Lurking in the shadows, smirking, throwing bones at the little girl. Life was good. He had his place now. Better clothes, too. Personal hygiene was more important than it had been for many years.

Yeah, life was good.

She tensed, eyeing him up. He could feel it, smell her inexperienced teenage arousal. So pretty. Made him feel important, made him feel manly.

It was flowing freely through him now, intoxicating, invigourating. Fuelling long overdue bodily needs.

God, how he'd missed this. The feeling of being in control, of having power. He looked up at her.

"Don't worry, I don't bite."

Missing in Action

Oh, lord, I can't believe this is happening.

Giles was frantically going through the tomes that were aligned on the table. No, no, no. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he felt the sudden urge to unbutton his vest. This would simply not do!

Think, you fool, think! he scolded himself. Retracing his actions, he searched the desk, his office and the cage. Nothing. He climbed the stairs and investigated every inch of the bookshelves. Still nothing.

The doors swung open and Buffy entered, holding out her hand.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

Giles sighed contently. She'd found his handkerchief.

The Last Dance

Yesterday, well, to be honest, all the yesterdays, were a waste. Trying too hard, hanging with the wrong people. Seems so long ago. In a different life. Fuck, life is overrated. Seriously, man.

Self esteem is everything, isn't it? I have it now and she feels it too. Oh, yeah, she feels it, all right. My body is strong and I'm confident. She likes that. Hell, she's practically melting right in front of me. I love it.

Sweet. Not so innocent, but innocent enough. More than she thinks, anyway. And I'm connected.

This one's mine. I hope she'll scream.

"Cordelia...?"

Tags: drabble

So, this is what it's like to have an LJ?

Maybe I'll get used to this, but right now I'm feeling like a duck in the desert; so out of water that it isn't even funny.

But I'll be brave and keep on trying. Sooner or later I'll get it. Go me!