What you see here is the official "badge" of the Sooner family of Rafferty, a kerchief of a unique and particular design and color.

Each Sooner family has there own particular kerchief design--the fact that some of the non-turquoise kerchiefs seen in Chapter 7 : Scene 5 have no design means I'm still working out what they are.

Naturally I had to figure out the design of Mare's family, the Raffertys, up front. I derived the Rafferty design from an old Coat of Arms of Rafferty:

Rank and place are indicated by the color variations. In the example below, the color combination on the left indicate the wearer is a guest of the Raffertys or as-good-as-family. This is the variant that Griffen and Molly are seen wearing; they are under the Rafferty aegis and part of the same contract.

The variation on the right indicates a boss or chief of the family. You seen the current family matriarch, Mare's mother wearing this in the third panel of page 27. Mare, as heir apparent, also wears this variation, as do several other higher ups in the family. The high muckety-muck has no other distinguishing badge, you just know who they are.

I know some folks have noticed that the lettering on various background elements tends not to be the Latin alphabet, but a made up alphabet which I call ALS:

As you see, it's an alphabet created in direct correlation to the English/Latin alphabet--a phantom alphabet. The reason I call it ALS is because it is in large part the phantom alphabet created by Amy L. Sacks for a comic she abandoned over a decade ago. Alas. I liked it, the way you could see the essence of the origin letter in the alphabet, and since I needed a phantom alphabet for Dicebox I happily adopted and adapted hers. With permission, of course.

Here's Amy's final version of the alphabet from her sketch book:

I altered some of the letters: the F, J, M, N, W and to a lesser degree the L, R, T, V and Y. The alterations I made were mostly in order to simplify the character in question, though sometimes it was to add consistency or difference. This I did after reading Adrian Frutiger's theory of reduced hand movements as being a main cause of the evolution of the Latin Alphabet, both in how the capitals changed and the creation of a lowercase. And it was either in Frutiger's Sign and Symbols: their design and meaning or Writing Systems of the World by Akira Nakanishi that I read the additional theory that the most successful alphabets, those truly known and used by the common populace have characters that require no more than three or four lifts of the pen. Amy had a gorgeous, almost calligraphic number system that broke that rule big time and was less intuitive to me, so I created my own number system.

Why did I need a phantom alphabet? Well, I didn't want it to be assumed that the dominant language is english in Dicebox, In fact I don't imagine that the common language everyone is speaking is strictly English. I think of it more it as a creole with an English/Spanish base, with healthy additions of Dutch, Japanese and Ukraine among others.

But I suck at language beyond English and so didn't feel comfortable to fool around with other languages or alphabets. Besides, I wanted to do something that could technically be interpreted by the average reader of English. I have included English words in the background and do plan to tap the linguists among from my friends and family for Japanese, Chinese, Russian, etc. But the main thrust will still be ALS spelling out English words.

Here's the first clear use of ALS seen in the background of Chapter 1:

It reads "Transient Skin." There are uses before this, but they are obscured or half nonsense.

In order to try to give it a living use feel, I have created different fonts of ALS absed on early 20th century typefaces, like Bastion:

Here's a side by side look at some type I used in a background flyer set in English and then ALS in the Bastion Style:

Here you start to see the another aspect that really appealed to me about Amy's alphabet, the dipthong rule:

Vowels are indicated by two dots, and when combined into a dipthong they share these two dots. Adds variety without extra clutter.

I will Include ALS in the Explication page soon, after I settle on what ALS stands for in the Dicebox universe, as well as articulate how I figure it came into use--basically utilizing the long travel of the main colonization fleet as a time of restructuring and new culture conceptualizing. (Yes, this where "peh" comes from.)

Photo reference part 2: environments I don't really reference actual buildings or interiors in Dicebox. I'm inspired by some in books and real life, but I tend to alter or adapt what I find, though occasionally a conceptual building from a book does make it into the odd back ground.

I do take lots of random reference photos of buildings and cityscapes that appeal to me, but I collect these more to use as reference for a particular sense of environment then for any particular architecture style.

Here is the photo reference I used to create the industrial district that open Chapter 7 : Scene 5:

The photo is of Portland's SE industrial area as seen from the Hawthorne Bridge. This is probably the closest I've cribbed a cityscape photo within Dicebox. Beyond being able to quickly create a believable neighborhood, I was able to get my perspective from the building in the photo and build on it. This how I often use my building reference, for a perspective map, something I learned in David Chelsea's excellent reference book, Perspective! For Comic Book Artists.

For the factory interior, I first hunted around the internet for shots of factory floors that had the feel I was after--old school factory, floor space used efficiently but awkwardly:

Using the reference above, I was able to create the look I wanted for the Tidsanden factory:

Now, I had collected some lovely and innovative factory interiors, but this factory was to be neither. Also, I purposefully do keep certain things in a visually anachronistic vein whenever I feel justified doing so. I want people to respond to the imagery on an empathic level, almost as if I was using icons to convey a recognizable experience more than simply a place. And also to serve as a contrast for those things I intend as strange and unfamiliar.

Hello and welcome to the first installment of Jenn's penance present for missing updating Dicebox this week! I'll be updating this process journal three times on Wednesday, May 9th and then once a day for the next week with sketches, thoughts, and, well, my process notes for how I go about creating Dicebox. I'll also be updating the Dicebox Explication Page a similar amount. And I'm taking requests, either via email or in the comments below, for explication points, story notes or even which concept I should sketch next off of my Sketch Table. Anyway, like I said, here's my first offering, and as you might have guessed, it's about how I employ photo reference.

Above you see a pretty straightforward use of photo reference featuring my latest lovely model, Dylan Meconis. The main reason I asked her to strike this pose was so I could check that I had the shoulder action correct ( I did, actually.) But I got an extra bonus in how Dylan's left arm ended up underneath her and the lazy elegance her left hand over the edge of the bed. This is a detail I wouldn't have necessarily thought of on my own, and it kind of makes the panel for me.

I can go pages without having a strong desire or need for photo reference; the time I desperately want it is usually is during a conversation heavy scene. I want to make the figure drawing as interesting as possible with all those odd off hand details that occur in real life, those touches that give real life and personality to a pose.

Another big reason reasons I want photo reference is to illustrate for me how a person actually, say, rinses a cup out in the sink.

As you might have noticed, I ended up drawing a totally different view than the one I got of Dylan at the sink. And yet, this photo still gave me all the information I needed to execute the drawing. Which is good, as I often try to plan in advance what I think I'll need for photo reference as to not overly impose on my gracious models' time. Then, as often as not, by the time I layout then draw the page or scene in question, I've rewritten and re-staged the scne or page in question.

Case in point, I actually took reference shots for Chapter 7, Scene 3 more than a year in advance with Dylan and Erika Moen. Yeah, well, beyond actually moving this scene from Chapter 6 to Chapter 7, things got rewritten by the time I actually drew them, as is my wont. Still, these photos were incredibly useful despite not following precise layouts.

As you can see, I shifted who struck what pose and created my own. Still, having two people interacting was invaluable. My biggest complaint about pose books, even my favorites, is the lack of person/person interaction, that's some of the most time-consuming stuff to figurre out.

I've really been fortunate with having such willing, co-operative and talented models. Rebecca Woods is an amazing and dynamic model for the comicker--heck, she was willing to pose on a step ladder so that I could actually get the pose and angle I wanted for a scene.

And last, but not at all least, there's my constant in-a-pinch-model and in-house editor who does the absolute best Griffen hands:

Alas, poor Dicebox Process Journal. How I've neglected you, much to my regret and against my will. And this is just a prelude to a hope to return to it on a more regular basis. As folks have been loving the t-shirts of the latest scene of Dicebox, I thought I'd show the designs at a larger size and show their inspiration and source.

First, the Holy Artichoke on Mare's shirt:

I'm not sure exactly what inspired this idea, I imagine it's partly due to Artichoke Music which I past every day on my way to work. And it was another store on Hawthorne that inspired the final color palette for the design and shirt, Powell's Books for Home and Garden:

And then there's the art on Molly's shirt

Which I didn't draw but merely colored. The source of the illustration is my new favorite Dover Book, Medieval Life Illustrations. I found this book while browsing Powell's Books on Burnside, killing time with Kip before meeting some folks for dinner. It was actually this illustration—

—that provoked me to buy the book as a source of random t-shirt art to use in Dicebox. And I will use the above illustration somewhere at some point, because how can I resist a portrayal of a medical cure that requires you to put toads on your face.

Sketch three for the sketch table.

Done in 90 minutes, pencil sketch, Photoshop colors.

Sketch number two for my 100 sketches challenge. Didn't mean to let it go so long, good thing I didn't make weekly sketches a definite goal of mine.

Like the first, this one broke my two hour rule, but still was under three in actual drawing time. I lost a bit of what I liked about the pencil drawing, but it still came out pretty well considering my learning curve. And I did learn a lot with this one, including how to scrub and lift color after one has accidentally dabbed one's brush in blue instead of brown.

I'll probably continue with watercolors for a while in doing these sketches in order that I might become more comfortable with that medium again.

This drawing is for a drawing challenge I set for myself for the Dicebox Process Journal (more details here.) Well, a sketch challenge really--I want to get used to the idea of sketching and playing again and so have a goal of spending only 2 hours per sketch max, maybe 3 if I do something tricky. This one might've logged in at about 2 and a half, but partly that was me getting used to watercolors again--which is another purpose of this exercise, to play with half abandoned art supplies. Though I also want to try to get comfortable sketching directly on the computer.

Anyway, it's been a while since I did a watercolor, last time was this Mare sketch I did in 2003 and that actually has a good amount of color pencil involved. Getting this art to scan well is a bitch, this is an okay representation on the sketch in question, at actual size (3.5" x 6")

And, as explained in the entry that contains the prompt table and guidelines for this sketch challenge, the subject matter will be of situations before or after the actual time period of Dicebox the story. This is after by several years.

A recent mention of Dicebox on Fleen has given me reason me to re-read some earlier interviews I did including one for Sequential Tart that, like the Fleen entry, concentrates on the story side of Dicebox, as opposed to simply the art. Both say some nice things about the writing and I'm pleased particularily pleased with Kate Ditzler's response to the dialogue. But what provoked this process entry is one comment from Lee Atchison's introduction to the Sequential Tart interview where she praised the story for "its careful, deliberate pacing." I get a warm glow from that remark--but is it true? I mean, can I safely take credit for it? Yes and no.

It's true that I have my outlines, charts, plot points, symbolic climaxes, etc and so forth written down, planned and mapped for each book and encompassing the entire story that is Dicebox. But I actually run on a lot of gut instinct when I write Dicebox, I have strong emotional impressions of certain passages that I can't quite quantify, let alone articulate--don't get me started on scripting it. I know what needs to be accomplished in each book for the growth of the story as well as the growth of the characters, and have outlined each book pretty thoroughly.

And yet I can totally tear down and rewrite the outline for Book Two (like I did this past winter) and have the same things happen in a broad sense even if the events, sequence and supporting cast almost all change--if in purpose if not presence. And end up with that Book telling the same exact story as before--only more so.

I know what the story needs to be, how it ends and the major moves that'll take to get there, logistically and emotively. I really don't grok the idea of hanging a story on a plot structure formula, not Aristotle's three act, nor Freytag's five act, both of which are defined in this diagram:

But, to my horror, I might be following this charted structure. Kinda. I mean, I do describe Book 4 as a dénouement, and it is the natural end of the story. But I say it ends a bit higher on the tension axis; I'm definitely untying things but not necessarily relieving anxiety. Maybe I've been influenced by a life time of being told stories in following this structure. As Dicebox is a reaction to all the stories I've yet read, watched or listened to, I guess that's okay.

All that does still feel pretty considered and structured, huh? But I'm not mentioning my spur of the moment rewriting of a page because of how an expression came out in the second [panel that was a mistake transformed into inspiration. Which can mean I'm rewriting the following pages if not the next chapter. Or, hey, the fact that I haven't actually fully scripted the second half of this chapter. I know what happens, it's three distinct scenes and all that. And I keep debating if that second half doesn't actually begin Chapter 7. Because the end of scene 6 of this chapter would make a damn nice end to this Chapter and bring it to about 34 pages at that point. If I did that, it would mean that I'd break an earlier promise and give lie to this cover art for Chapters 4 through 6. Never mind I might not be giving my next fill-in artist enough notice.

Hmm. I am really fond of how Chapter 7 begins at the moment, though I don't know if not having the formal break of a Chapter before that current opening scene would change its impact--perhaps just having the break of a scene change is good enough. 'Cause the natture of that break is important and meaningful to me, part of where I'm very deliberate in pacing. But equally as important are the themes of each Chapter, and, man, moving those three scenes to the start of Chapter 7 would actually strengthen the theme of that Chapter. A lot. Damn.

I might have just talked myself in to this.