FINAL.psd: a stanford storyboard club anthology
In Winter 2018, Storyboard Club put on an exhibit, Rebeginning: A Showcase of Multimodal Sequential Art, celebrating the messy process of brainstorming and idea development that comes before the creation of a finished story. FINAL.psd is the conclusion of that process. The title itself is a reference to the triumphant name that many artists will give their Photoshop files upon finishing a piece of art. In this book, we present the completed works of members of Storyboard Club, finalized after countless hours of writing, sketching, and revising.
In Winter 2018, Storyboard Club put on an exhibit, Rebeginning: A Showcase of Multimodal Sequential Art, celebrating the messy process of brainstorming and idea development that comes before the creation of a finished story. FINAL.psd is the conclusion of that process. The title itself is a reference to the triumphant name that many artists will give their Photoshop files upon finishing a piece of art. In this book, we present the completed works of members of Storyboard Club, finalized after countless hours of writing, sketching, and revising.
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“Mm. Would you like some breakfast?”<br />
“That sounds good, honey. Absolutely lovely, just like you.”<br />
“Oh, how endearing… I’ll go get you some porridge, okay?”<br />
Priapus watches the love of his life leave through the paper door, and his heart<br />
hurts. In the two minutes that Xinli is gone, Priapus is reduced to a crying mess<br />
because he’s a dramatic scoundrel who thinks that his long-haired paramour has<br />
forsaken him for the rest of eternity every time he’s left alone.<br />
Upon his return, Xinli wipes away Priapus’s tears with the long,<br />
thin sleeves of his robe and holds out a bowl of rice gruel and a<br />
cup of hot tea, all while smiling gently. “Don’t cry, love. Here,<br />
rice porridge with green onions, just how you like it. Just…<br />
forget about what we talked about last night, please?”<br />
Priapus slurps his porridge and nods. But he<br />
doesn’t forget about the Gundpowder Cult. He can’t<br />
forget about the Gunpowder Cult.<br />
The tiny tendrils of knowledge hinting at<br />
something—a sexy sort of something—have<br />
wormed into his brain, and he cannot let<br />
go—not of the whispers of gossip that he heard<br />
back in his hometown, not of the memories<br />
filled with a distinct alcohol flavor, not of<br />
the hushed, whispered theories about how<br />
gunpowder really works, not of the quiet<br />
testimonies as to the cult’s practices. Most<br />
importantly, the cult’s sexual practices. Which<br />
Priapus cares about. A lot.<br />
Priapus wasn’t always like this. More like, Priapus<br />
always was kind of like this, but he became even more<br />
like this when he found out about the Gunpowder Cult.<br />
That fateful encounter a few years ago, a single night in the back<br />
alleys of Ferox when Priapus was but a smooth-haired young lad<br />
at the prime old age of fourteen, the predestined moment he overheard<br />
gossip and, upon asserting that the words were, in fact, the complete and<br />
absolute truth, became enlightened.<br />
—Adam… You know about that cult thing, riiiiiiight…<br />
—Chin up, Cain. Please let go of the beer bottle, Cain.<br />
—Aaaduuum… The cult! I saw them! Wheeennn I was in Tang!<br />
—Uh huh. Let’s go home, Cain. You want to go home, right?<br />
14
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