This then, of course, led me on a hunt for a couple of old Alien trade paperbacks published by Dark Horse Comics, some of the first comics I ever owned: the grim and moody Book 1, told in eerie black and white, about whatever happened to Hicks and Newt if they ever got home to Earth; Book 2, a luxurious airbrushed marvel, like a film come to life on the page; and Earth War, shredded with Sam Keith's signature artwork, a post-apocalyptic end to a series that took a very different turn on the screen. I lost all three in a fire over twenty years ago. I remember trying to salvage them, sooty and moldering.
I mention this because I can easily and immediately recall entire panels and pages from these books. Iconic imagery, each volume distinct but burned into my mind forever. The storytelling left a lasting mark on me as a writer. I've joked about how the only way I knew how to communicate what I needed when I've directed films in the past was due to what I learned reading comics, but picture books can turn you into a writer eventually. They leave cave paintings on your brain, waiting to be unearthed.