Gunpowder: A Story That Took a Decade to Ignite

When I first wrote Gunpowder after graduating film school in 2011, I had no roadmap for where it would eventually land. There was no pitch deck, no market strategy, no plan to turn it into a “franchise.” There was only a story that refused to leave me alone.

Back then, Gunpowder existed purely as a screenplay — raw, uncompromising, and unapologetically cinematic. I was heavily influenced by films like The Road, Mad Max, and The Book of Eli. And like a lot of kids who grew up loving fantasy, I also spent way too many hours playing Diablo. Somewhere in that mix, a world started taking shape — one I can still sum up with the simplest, most honest elevator pitch I’ve ever found:

Mad Max fighting demons.

But inspiration isn’t the same thing as meaning. What gave Gunpowder its spine — the part that makes it feel lived-in rather than just “cool” — came from life experience too. Elements of my Army service shaped the emotional core of the story: the weight of survival, the scars people carry, the way trauma follows you even when the war is “over.”

And that decision — to write honestly instead of strategically — shaped everything that followed.

Writing Without a Clock

From the beginning, Gunpowder demanded patience.

It wasn’t a concept that could be rushed into production or flattened into something safer. The world was too layered. The characters were too morally compromised. The consequences were too permanent.

I’ve learned that some stories don’t respond well to pressure. They resist being hurried. They fight being simplified. Gunpowder was one of those stories.

So instead of forcing it into immediate production, I let it sit. I kept revisiting it over the next five years. I tested its internal logic. I asked the annoying but necessary questions:

• Was this world consistent?

• Did the power structures make sense?

• Would these people realistically behave this way under sustained collapse?

• What happens to someone like Jacob after war — when survival becomes a habit?

Every time I came back to the script, I found something new — something that needed refining, expanding, or confronting more honestly. That process didn’t weaken the story. It strengthened it. 

The Concept Trailer (Before the Comics)

A few years before Gunpowder became a comic, I tried something that felt both ambitious and necessary: I filmed a concept trailer.

It wasn’t a proof-of-budget — it was a proof-of-heart.

We shot it on a very limited budget, without massive sets, big visual effects, or a Hollywood lead. What we did have was atmosphere, intent, and the emotional core of the story — enough to show the tone and the world I’d been carrying around in my head for years.

And in a strange way, the limitations helped clarify something important: Gunpowder could absolutely work on screen… but to tell it properly — to do justice to the scale, the wasteland, and the supernatural weight of it all — it would require a huge budget.

That trailer wasn’t the final version of Gunpowder. It was a signal. A spark. A glimpse of what the story could be — and a reminder of why patience, the right medium, and building the foundation first mattered so much.

Letting the Story Reveal Its True Form

At some point it became clear: Gunpowder wasn’t meant to exist only as a screenplay.

The arcs were too long. The character evolution was too gradual. The consequences were too layered to squeeze into a single film-shaped container. That realisation didn’t feel like a failure — it felt like clarity.

Comics became the natural next step.

Comics offered something film development often doesn’t: freedom.Freedom to world-build without permission.Freedom to explore tone without compromise.Freedom to let silence, framing, and visual rhythm do heavy lifting.

The Gunpowder comic series wasn’t an adaptation so much as an evolution — the world finally getting the space it needed to breathe.

Each issue became a chapter of a longer story. A slow escalation. A cumulative pressure. No resets.

Time as an Asset, Not a Liability

One of the biggest misconceptions about creative development is that time is the enemy.

In reality, time is only dangerous when it’s wasted.

For Gunpowder, time was an asset.

Over the years, the story matured alongside the world around it. Themes like scarcity, power concentration, social fracture, and the psychological cost of survival only became more relevant — but because Gunpowder was never tied to a single headline moment, it didn’t “age.” It sharpened.

I didn’t have to retrofit meaning into it. The meaning was already there — I just had to protect it long enough for it to fully show itself.

Why Gunpowder Refused to Be Rushed

There were definitely moments where it would have been easier to push Gunpowder forward prematurely — to soften its edges, simplify its conflicts, or reshape it into something more immediately digestible.

I didn’t do that, because the cost would have been too high.

Gunpowder only works if it stays honest:

• The world is not comforting.

• The characters don’t always make noble choices.

• The outcomes aren’t reversible.

• Survival has a price — and somebody always pays it.

Rushing it would have meant compromising those truths. And once a story loses its spine, it doesn’t recover.

The Current Chapter: Issue #3 Is Live

Right now, Gunpowder is in a moment I’m genuinely proud of: Issue #3 is live on Kickstarter.

This campaign is focused on Issue #3, but it also includes ways for readers to catch up across Issues #1–3.

Issue #3 is 40 pages total — 35 pages of story plus extras — and it’s full colour. We’re also offering a Kickstarter-exclusive variant cover, which is always a fun way to give collectors something special tied to this moment in the journey.

And I’m lucky to be working with an incredible team on this issue:

• Writer: Damian Hussey

• Illustrator: Mauricio Caballero

• Colorist: Daniel Junior

The campaign ends March 5, and every pledge goes directly into making this series real — printing, postage, and getting the next chapter moving sooner.

From Comics to Animation: The Next Phase (Early Concept)

As the comic series has grown, something else has become obvious: Gunpowder was always meant to move.

The visual language is cinematic. The pacing suggests motion. The world demands sound, timing, and breath. That’s why the next phase for Gunpowder is early concept development for an animated series based on the graphic novels.

To be clear: this isn’t a pivot, and it’s not a reinvention. It’s the natural continuation of a long arc that began with that first script — and grew stronger as the comics built the world and proved what the story is capable of.

The comics remain the foundation. Animation is the next lens.

Why This Matters to Me

I’m often asked why I didn’t push harder earlier — why I didn’t try to make Gunpowder fit industry expectations sooner.

The answer is simple:

I didn’t want to lose it.

Some stories are fragile in their early stages. They need protection, not exposure. They need time to become what they are, rather than what they’re told to be.

Gunpowder took more than a decade to ignite because that’s how long it needed.

And now that it’s burning, it’s doing exactly what it was always meant to do.