(from my Substack: October 18, 2023)
“And I watch the black clouds roll in,
chasing me back again
Back to the flat fine line,
the Wichita skyline…”
Wherever you go, people ask you where you’re from. For me that was always a difficult question to answer, because I never felt “from” anywhere. We moved around so much when I was growing up that I never really felt like I had a hometown (or a home state). But the answer I usually gave (and give) is that I went to high school in Wichita. Specifically in Andover, just East of Wichita.
So, Wichita is easily the closest thing I have to a hometown. We landed there when I was in eighth grade, and I ended up spending all four years of high school there. Once I got acclimated, and realized we were staying, I became deeply involved, and developed a strong group of friends, many of whom I’m still close to, or in touch with, today. For whatever reason, there seemed to be an unusual number of interesting and dynamic people in a high school of just under 500 students, and that’s been borne out as those kids moved into adulthood. It’s not unusual to reestablish contact with someone and be impressed with where they’ve been in life, and who they’ve become.
The point is, Wichita became my home.
I think most creators are fascinated by the places that spawned them, whether they look back in horror or with fondness. For me, Wichita makes for an interesting backdrop to a particular kind of story. Especially when looking back. It’s in the very middle of the country, surrounded by miles of flatland, creating a near constant wind that blows stronger than that of Chicago. It’s been the manufacturing hub for commercial and private aircraft since the twenties (hence its nickname, “The Air Capital of the World”). It’s blue collar, with a strong population of well-to-do white collar workers and entrepreneurs.
My buddy Scott Phillips wrote a fantastic crime novel set in late 70s Wichita (THE ICE HARVEST), when the city was still operating under a number of blue laws that made drinking in bars difficult, and created a strange battle between the city’s strip clubs and lawmakers. The book does an extraordinary job of capturing a particular time and place, and the subsequent film (while still enjoyable) suffered by making the story contemporary.
I’ve always wanted to tell a story set in Wichita, hopefully reflecting the strange tug and pull people feel when growing up in the Midwest. Weighing the comfort of home with the desire to find something *more* in the world, and how often people find themselves pulled back into that orbit after they’ve left.
By the same token, having spent most of my adult life just up the road from Wichita, in Kansas City, there are a lot of elements specific to KC that I’ve wanted to work into a story. Notably some often overlooked crime-related history from the seventies and early eighties. (and someday I want to dig into the outlaw Pendergast era, but I digress)
Not long ago, all of these elements tumbled together in a weird rush, and the entire foundation for a story that tied everything together was built in my then muddled brain. Of course, the key to making any story set in a particular place work is to make it accessible to people who couldn’t give a shit about Wichita or Kansas City, or flyover country in general. With the help of genius(ish) artist/collaborator Mack Chater, I think we’ve done that.
Mack and I are currently working our way through a political horror series that should be officially announced soon (spoiler alert: It’s called BLOODLAND), and our goal is to follow that with a series of crime-themed original graphic novels, set loosely in the same “universe,” but each with its own strong hook, story, and cast of characters. The first two books are plotted, and our only real problem might be filing away the rush of ideas we keep swatting back and forth across the Atlantic. (see, Mack’s in the UK, and I’m in … well, I guess you know by now)
We’re currently mulling over publishing options and solidifying the elements of our brand, so to speak. But I think we both believe we’re on the cusp of doing the best work of our careers.
If you’ve stuck with me this long (and why would you have), I’d say keep your eyes peeled for more concrete information as we figure out exactly how we’re going to pull new rabbits out of old hats.
And if you’re from Wichita, I hope you’ll look forward to supporting a (kind of) hometown dude and his British collaborator as they mine some good old-fashioned mayhem, intrigue and violence from the howling Kansas wind.
B. Clay Moore 