This week features the final two interviews that Jeremy was able to cram into his trip to GenCon.
First we are joined by Chris Seaman and Jim Pavelec to discuss their innovative book, Ink Bloom.
Then Steve Ellis joins the fray to discuss his comics work and digital distribution and Comixology.
Finally, Socar and Jeremy are joined by talented illustrator, Mu Young Kim to talk about Non-Disclosure Agreements, video games, Zombies, and haggis. Not to be missed!
http://mchughstudios.com/ninjamountain_podcast/episode_77.mp3
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If you've read Ink Bloom, Box 13, or High Moon let us know what you thought of them!
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6 comments:
YAAAAAAY new one! listen to it soon! :D
Wow...I can't believe I screwed up the name of my own work...the creature scene Socar mentioned was Seven Arches...
Geeze.
:P
Thanks again for having me (on) guy and gal! :D
Haggis is lush!
Hmmm...I'm not sure I want my food to so readily fall in the "lush" category...jungles are lush too and are also full of things that view you as either "food" or "incubator"...
:P
Haggis totally rots! Anyone who eats haggis is a dirty haggis-eating haggis-eater!
Ohhhh, show me your haggis; raise your right arm to the sky! Stand on one leg, flip it round, and shout "Och, aye!" Saltire for Scotland, and hoick it to the right--then, grab your neighbour's shoulder, and Nessie through the night!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrNLm0w0mDs
(Really!)
ODE TO A HAGGIS
By Robert Burns
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
You pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’need
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead
His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, rich!
Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive
Bethankit hums
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle
Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!
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