Life Changing Moments, Thirty-NineYears On
Nine years ago, my dear friends Wendy and Richard Pini — the art-and-word magicians behind ELFQUEST, the longest-running independent fantasy graphic novel series in the USA, with more than 20 million comics, graphic novels and other publications in print — sent their treasure trove of Wendy’s original work on the series to Columbia University. And as someone who (under the name “Joellyn Dorkin Auklandus”) had been intimately connected with the series and their company since 1983, I had a few reflections about it. It came up in my memories today, so it’s appropriate to share my thoughts. Here’s the piece from 2013.
So it’s been a couple of weeks since we all marveled at the idea of ELFQUEST and Wendy and Richard Pini’s lifework housed at Columbia University — a collection, a treasured group, something that is considered Big, Seminal, Important and Worth Studying. And while there is much celebration going on, Richard himself said, as he packed them up, “We’re still inexpressibly honored — but at this moment, no nest could possibly feel emptier.”
I was taken aback to find I felt the same way.
I think it was Dr. Phil who talked about “five life changing moments.” I define that as mental YouTube videos: no matter how far away in years the memories go, or how inconsequential they appeared at the time, they always stand bright-burnished and clear as the moment they happened.
One of those moments for me happened in the fall of 1983, when I was 28.
At that point, ELFQUEST was the only comic I’d ever read, or was interested in. I met Richard Pini at a Philadelphia convention, and we got to talking. It was one of those lovely click-and-lock experiences, where a five-minute conversation quickly morphed into lunch, dinner, and serious discussions, which started with “bounced check” (ask me sometime when I’m feeling loquacious) and ended with “100 words per minute” (which was then, and is still, my typing speed).
It was in the early days of Warp, when it was spelled WaRP, and it was still being run out of Wendy and Richard’s basement-turned-publishing-office.
Synchronicity was indeed at work: I was stationed with my folks in Cherry Hill NJ trying to decide where to live and what I could do that would be more fulfilling than working for a law firm (at which I was wonderful, but which I loathed). Richard was at that point looking for an administrative assistant that would be part Radar O’Reilly, part apprentice wordsmith, and part something-else-they-weren’t-sure-what.
I was invited to Poughkeepsie to meet Wendy and to discuss matters further. It was a two-day interview.
In hindsight, some of it was about skills — but mostly, I think, it was about chemistry. And the life-changing moment happened in their little kitchen.
Wendy hitched herself up on the counter, looked at Richard, and said “I think we ought to hire her.” And Richard looked at her and said, “Yeah.” And they both looked at me expectantly. I gaped at them, flabbergasted. I thought it would take more than one interview, and negotiations (remember: law firm), and weeks of wrangling.
But in those 48 hours I was ushered into the Magic House, and into a relationship that’s lasted thirty years and has more than a little flavor of “tribe” about it.
I’ve trod a lot of other career paths before my current one — actress, author, legal assistant, executive recruiter, video producer. Yet none of them ever taught me as much, fed me as much, or asked me to grow as much as being part of Richard and Wendy’s vision.
Being able to quietly stand at Wendy’s shoulder, watching the lives and the stories flow from mind to fingers to ink to page, was endlessly fascinating.
And occasionally, I got a chance to stick my oar in: as she was designing the original Wolfrider and Go-Back armor for the Battle with the Trolls that won the Palace, I noticed that she was simply having the elves put metal over skin. I’d been active in the Society for Creative Anachronism for a few years, and knew more than a little about the Wars of the Roses and 15th century England.
So I asked about padding, and why it wasn’t there, and explained what I knew about how one dressed for battle from shirt to gambeson to however-many-layers before the chain and plate.
And the frisson of delight when I noticed the final art had padding included…well! (I still smile.)
There are lots more stories about my time with Warp, which went from 1983 to 2001 in “active mode.”
As well as working behind the scenes, in the 1990s I was asked to write for several of the titles, and edit others.
I learned the difference between being a writer and being a storyteller.
I learned about who I was and how that was always reflected in what and how I chose to write.
And I got the chance to create three wonderful canon characters — Angrif, Lehrigen and Teir — who have remained vibrant as part of the World of Two Moons long after my time there.
The elves?
Even though I’ve stopped writing for Warp and Richard and Wendy have settled into the “lifelong friends” category, Cutter and his folk have never left my psyche.
When you work with them, think with them, learn with them, understand the layers of nuance and life-lessons they have within each line and shadow, you become every bit as much a part of their tribe as the ones you create in this world’s Here-and-Now.
So as Richard leaves pages and pages of cover and issue art with Columbia, there is a tiny part of me that also grieves that all of that won’t be just two hours south anymore. Life moves on. Everything changes. But knowing that pages I watched “get born” are now ensconced in a university archive is like having a friend move far away. Yes, there’s always visiting electronically.
But it was so nice when you could get together at the local pizza joint for coffee.
