TDC's First Artist Search

Are you an artist? Are you willing to get paid cash money for your illustrious talents (that was almost a pun but not quite)?

Welcome to TDC’s first artist calling! We’re looking for a talented and professional artist to bring the latest Street Light Story webcomic script to life. This is a three page story and if the collaboration goes well, there is opportunity for quarterly work. We will pay competitive rates.

Interested? Sure ya’ are. Send an introduction and sequential page samples to: thisdesperatecity@gmail.com. In the spirit of sharing, the first page of this new script is attached here. And remember, head to the ‘Webcomics’ tab above to see what’s already been done and to get a sense of the style we’re looking for.

Now get drawing!



                                         TDC Street Light Stories Presents:
                                                     Infinity
                                                 By J. J. Sinisi

PAGE 1:

Panel 1: Close up of tense knuckles gripping steering wheel.

NARRATION: Sal Dobkin’s mind tallied calculations. A forty-three year old man was about 324 times more likely to die than the average seven year old.

Panel 2: Pull back a little. Looking over his shoulder, out at the windshield and the wipers swiping the rain. But the rain doesn’t exactly look like rain. Instead, they are numbers, raining in buckets.

NARRATION: The Force of Mortality.


Panel 3: Pull all the way out of the car. It eases down a suburban street, raining numbers.

NARRATION: His daughter Clara, a career woman in the field of risk management, had enumerated its precepts to him months ago.

NARRATION: Since the accident he couldn’t stop ruminating on it. It consumed him.

Panel 4: The car stops in front of a big attractive suburban house. The rain slims to little ones and zeroes, falling from the sky and fading before the ground.

NARRATION: He’d dream in the cold morning about his wife Sandra, sheathed in numbers. She was thirty seven when she passed. That wasn’t fair.

Panel 5: Low shot from behind, out of his back pocket we see a hammer hanging to the side. Beyond that is the mail box in the background, a faded 44 on the post.

NARRATION: His father appeared too, glasses a tilted figure eight atop his nose, a ninety year old man at his death, defying the odds.

Panel 6: Dark shot of Sal walking up the walkway of the house. The house is large in front of him, he is nearly a silhouette. All around him, the numbers fall like rain.

NARRATION: His dad’s number was probably even higher, given his time in the service.

Panel 7: Sal’s feet, he walks up a little step in front of the door.

Panel 8 (and 9 combined): Glen Anderson opens the door. He’s a perfectly average middle age white guy. Receding hairline, thin but not fit, wrinkled but not old. The back of Sal’s head is visible, curly gray hair. He’s wearing a collared shirt, as is Glen. They are two normal men on a normal night.

SAL: You’re forty three right?

GLEN: What are you doing here, Sal?

SAL: Just answer the question.

GLEN: I don’t have to talk to you. You’re not even allowed to be here. That’s what the court said.




END Page 1 of 3.