🌋In the Lava Tube of Life
Adventure is where you make it.
Every Into the Storymaze = writing ideas or writing-in-progress; something creative I’m excited to share; a highlight from my comic book writing; and a quote that’s worth a think .
We were off to Arizona as part of a massive multi-state, multi-location road trip that started in Utah with dinosaurs and went to Moab for arches and somehow missed Monument Valley and trekked over to Arizona on the way to Nevada for a Las Vegas layover to see what that was all about.
(Definitely arrange your trips in reverse of this. You do not want to fill yourself with red rock majesty and then end on ersatz Las Vegas glitter, wherein you must negotiate your way out of smoke filled "non smoking" rooms. I say this even though our alternate tour of Vegas detoured around the expected casinos to discover cool shipping container malls, and amazing museums dedicated to mobsters, atomic power, pinballs and neon signage.)
Our central point of visit was the Grand Canyon. "Hmm," said my son dismissively. "Not so grand." He was understandably a victim to the fact we'd gone on the bus tour to maximize our time and travel to multiple viewing spots, vs. our usual travel investment of getting down into the thick and depth of things. Mistake made and lesson learned.
But the tour guide made an interesting mention on the way out, taking us through a park near Flagstaff that referenced the lava and volcanic activity of Arizona. I'd never associated Arizona with molten rock before.
As we got out of the bus for a leg stretch and a walk around, we did see some of that very lava rock in evidence — and an offhanded mention of the lava tubes that delivered this to the surface. 2+2 curiosity took over — or the Storymaze did — and as the bus brought us back from the Canyon I got to thinking if there were any of those lava tubes that we could see for ourselves.
And just so happens there is. In nearby Coconino National Forest is the Lava River Cave. This would definitely be an off the books expedition: an unguided, your-on-your-own journey into a lava tube cave that stretched a full mile under the earth and back.
It was a one way trip, with no offshoots to speak of — so no chance of being lost forever and living out our lives among the creatures of The Descent. Or traveling further on and reliving a Jules Verne tale. (Which also began in a lava tube. Ended there too, I believe. Or so the 4:30 Movie would play during sci-fi week when I was growing up.)
There were no signs in the forest, just vague internet directions. "Go this way…down off the end of this trail in a clearing…you'll know it when you see it." And that was true. Wandering in that vague internet direction we discovered a large excavated pit — or maybe a sinkhole of rock extending down into the ground.
Big boulders were heaped around, narrowing down to a smaller opening which was the real descent into the earth. The boulders above were dry — which, as we'd find out, were a bit of a fake-out to the slick lava rock within.
To the side was a small metal box on a pole with a notebook inside. The idea here was to put your deets down in case maybe you didn't come back out of this — so someone would know that you had chosen to go on down. Because…no guides, no guts, no glory.
We'd hit up the big box Super Walmart the night before for head lamp lights — because word had it that it was going to be dark under the earth. Not too far down into that main opening, my wife had to turn back. It was too steep and clearly was going to become too slick: there was dampness if not outright water, and the rocks — that black lava rock — was a slippery devil. So me and my boy turned it into a father and son expedition down into the earth.
Maybe it was only 60 feet down. But when you're under the earth and it's a rock tunnel of dark, dark, dark stretching in front of you — it's truly its own thing. We saw a few other folks along the way, others who had been inspired or stumbled on this in the "You Should Try This!" guidebook.
Some had nothing more than their cell phone flashlights held aloft as they made their way onward. Others were on the return circuit shining their own Walmart mini lights.
At least one couple of old ladies sneered at us like cave bats as our headlamps swung in their direction and momentarily blinded them — or at least glinted off their beady eyes. Fortunately, they had their echolocation to continue their journey through the cave dark.
While lava rock is smooth, lava tubes are not. Uneven footing was a near constant, the result, presumably, of a rush of superheated rock coming in waves and cooling at different points. The temperature was a chilly constant, somewhere in the mid fifties, even though it was scorching in the world above. The chill put a sheen on the rock that caused uncertain footing and — for me at least — more than one slip and slide.
There was a split in the passage, a left and right passage along the run. We knew this from the description, but it was still an unreal moment. Both would come back together to the same single passage — but what if we didn't know that?
What if we were having to make a decision in the dark? And what if we chose wrong, or didn't have a clear path back from where we'd gone to where we'd been? That wasn't the case, but down there — even just 60 or 100 feet under the earth — it's enough to erase assurance and make you anxious.
The far end of the tube got more and more narrow. It finally closed off to a fissure that continued, but no one could continue into. That's where we crouched down together and turned off both lights at once. Cowards we were, we quickly switched them back on, but not before wondering… what if they didn't turn back on?
What if that was it on the batteries? What if the Walmart bargain had cheaped-out on the charge and gave itself up and left us there in the black until the next explorer came to share the way out?!? Or where we'd have to feel our way along the wall and skitter/stumble a full mile back, step by slick step?!?
The utter darkness, that complete silence was not something to forgot. Nor was sharing this experience together for me and my son: something we had made our own and would own forever. And that truly was — and is — very Grand indeed.
In that lazy space of streaming service subscription, I’ve still got HBO Max. I pay a chunk of change every month for more options that generally don’t add up. For every spectacle of Dune or Kong vs. Godzilla, there’s a lot of meh movies or series that are “nice to have” — but don’t seem like required viewing, ‘cept as maybe nostalgia or comfort viewing.
(We won’t even get into the whole Warner/Discovery meltdown/realignment and where that leaves the programming lineup. I’m guessing “Less choice, more money.”)
Then again, this is the environment where I got to revisit The Sopranos. And what started as a, “Let me fill in the couple of episodes I think I missed…” became a whole other thing. Watching it now, through the lens of time — its influence, and my own self-perspective — it’s an even richer piece of storytelling.
What began in the shadow of Goodfellas and Godfather (which the show acknowledges, successfully walking a meta razor’s edge of self-referential gangsterism), with a little spin of Analyze This, evolves into a series of meditations, metaphors and murders that establishes its own distinct place in genre and entertainment. Two things stood out for me this time around, forcing me to abandon my “casual watch” and sucking me into the screen:
First is a renewed appreciation for James Gandolfini. His Tony Soprano was always the centerpiece, and he was rightly, richly celebrated for it. But while some performances fade, this seems even more grand, his creation — both a character and a caricature — more menacing, comic, tragic, flawed, inspiring, human and inhuman.
His presence dominates every scene, whether he’s in it or not. It’s quite the achievement as an actor, and something to admire whether you’re a student of story, or an audience looking to get lost in a world.
Second was a renewed affection for all the words and rhythms of my Italian-flavored youth. Of Sunday’s at my nonni’s, where the conversation among my extended family of aunts and uncles on the Buchetto side was always filled with the same tastes (gabagool, pasta fazool, prujoot, gravy) and curses (madone, a fa nabila, fungule) as these Jersey mobsters. With my own family circle shrinking so much over the years (😭), the Sopranos and Silvios and Paulies felt like a small-dose surrogate.
For characters that start off with so much swagger, so much larger than life…they all end up so small and petty. And maybe that’s the point.
If you haven’t seen The Sopranos in a while (or ever!) it’s a good morning to wake up and get yourself a gun…
The next installment in the afterword to BOOM Studio’s fab Nightbreed collection. With quotes from editors Marcus McLaurin and Gregory Wright…
HERE THERE BE MONSTERS
“The title was not just ‘Nightbreed,’” Marcus points out. “It was ‘Clive Barker’s Nightbreed’, and his name over the logo spoke directly to that master storyteller’s involvement. He didn’t just lend out his name and ideas, he leased his direct involvement in quality assurance and creative development. He was involved in reviewing the plot and art for every issue.”
That commitment on Clive’s part was evident from the first meet. For my part, I was a squeeing fanboy in rushing out to the Marvel lobby to greet him. Mark Chiarello — who has gone on to great, deserved success in the DC Comics pantheon of stars — was at that time the Epic admin, and he would have been the one to typically escort visitors back to our offices.
But my horror jones got the better of me, and I literally pushed Mark aside (!) to guarantee my face time with the visiting author-filmmaker. As would always be the case, Mr. Barker projected intense charm — but with enough wicked to test your limits and remind you where his rep came from.
By the time I hit the lobby, I’m reasonably certain I came across like something resembling a professional — but no matter. He was there to collaborate with Archie.
In the many “How did I get here?” moments of my career(s), I had landed a job working directly for Archie Goodwin, one of the most amazing forces for good ever to influence the comics medium.
A tremendous storyteller, a stellar editor, a red-headed wit bar none, he was universally acknowledged as the nicest guy in the industry. (But never get on his bad side, for to see Archie in a rage was to put Peloquin and Pinhead to shame!) With an incredible enthusiasm for comics, and a mind wide open to the range of possibilities for story and art told across pages, there could be no better partner than Archie to realize the high interest Clive had for the medium.
“Clive was just so jazzed to see his work translated to the visual medium of comics,” recalls Greg. “Clive is an artist himself, so I think he really enjoyed seeing the artwork in various stages. We had some GREAT artists on the series. Jim Baikie, Jackson Guice, Paul Johnson, Joe Chiodo. Clive loved to see the different approaches they each brought.”
Marcus agrees on the quality of the illustrators. “What I remember most about the series was working with some of the artists - Brett Blevins, Mark Nelson and Mike Manley among others, who delivered some spectacular work in an imaginative playground that seemed tailored to their fantas-mic artistic abilities.”
“I always find myself gravitating to the analogy of a maze. Think of film noir and if you picture the story as a maze, you don't want to be hanging above the maze watching the characters make the wrong choices because it's frustrating. You actually want to be in the maze with them, making the turns at their side, that keeps it more exciting... I quite like to be in that maze.” — Christopher Nolan
Amazing Times
I’m D.G. Chichester. If that looks pretentious, feel free to just call me “Dan.”
I earned my storytelling cred writing comic book titles like Daredevil, Terror Inc., Nick Fury Agent of SHIELD and Clive Barker’s Hellraiser, along with digital widgets in the world wide web of advertising. I like weird tales, so if things here bend that way — now you know why!
Folks seem to like the comic book adventures I’ve written, so if you haven’t checked one out — please do. Many are now available in fab collected editions.
For the eager moments between newsletters…
@dgchichester — 280 characters from the Twitterverse
@dgchichester — images via Instagramland