250 Words on Tough Jobs

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

“There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.”
—attributed to Ernest Hemingway (but maybe not actually by him).

The Tortured Artist is an archetype. Creativity is agony, but that agony yields exquisite beauty. 

Well . . . maybe if you’re Hemingway, Van Gogh or Plath.

I had other careers before becoming a professional cartoonist in my forties, and one perspective I gained from that late start was that a bad day writing and drawing is better than most good days doing those other jobs. 

I see it like this: In a previous career, I was a journalist. If I got a story wrong, I could ruin a life or a business. Later, I was an environmental chemist. If I did an analysis wrong, I could endanger public health.

One of my sisters was a registered nurse. If she made a mistake, a patient could die.

A college friend analyzed terrorism for the CIA. If he made a mistake, thousands could die.

Making art takes thought and skill but it ain’t curing cancer or fighting terrorists. Don’t be too precious about it. If I have a bad day writing or drawing, I toss my disappointments into the bin. I’d like to do it well and be successful, but if I fail? Nobody dies. Nobody cares. Nobody gets hurt but me. 

Create art or don’t. If it’s such agony, find something else to do. The world will still spin and life’s too short.

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Enjoy Beautiful Lake Illinois!

My delight of the day comes courtesy of Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker, who called a press conference to announce that he was changing the name of Lake Michigan to Lake Illinois, and that his state would be annexing Green Bay, Wisconsin "to protect itself against enemies, foreign and domestic."

It's expert trolling that only slightly exaggerates the ridiculousness of the actual federal policies, which I think makes it very effective. Autocrats hate being laughed at. I'm laughing.

A Suggestion for Troubled Times

I go light on politics online because Internet arguments don't change minds and few care what I think. Still, I think it's worthwhile to clearly state where one stands from time to time, and I have what may be a helpful approach for some of my friends . . .

I am as distressed, anxious and enraged as any intelligent American who's mourning our apparent national suicide. I can't think of any time in the history of the world when a dominant empire simply decided to take itself out at the height of its power--to threaten its allies, cozy up to its enemies, and withdraw all the peaceful levers of soft power (USAID, CDC, WHO, NOAA, the G20) that make it a leader. It's inexplicable to me.

Here's the problem: if I stay revved up about that continuously, I don't get anything done during the day and I don't sleep at night. Me being anxious and sleepless doesn't do anything to help the good guys or stop the bad guys.

Here's my solution: engage during the first half of the day. Read the news, Heather Cox Richardson, Rebecca Solnit, half a dozen writers I follow on Substack. Give money to causes, contact my representatives, work up a solid knot of stress and agita.  

Then disengage during the second half of the day. Stay off social media. Write my little 250-word essays, work on my art and new books I'd like to get published someday. Watch funny YouTube videos and TV programs. Read books. Try to go to bed with a clear mind.

This is a new approach for me but it seems to work. Every day I try to get a little something done to defend my country plus a little something done to nourish my career and soul. That, in addition to our regular work for the local food bank and other do-gooders, seems like a balance I can live with.

It's a marathon, not a sprint. Democrats simply don't have the votes to stop the carnage, so nothing's going to change until Republicans' constituents start to feel the pain. They will. Then, as Ms. Solnit wrote this morning, I think the challenge will be not to say "I told you so" but "Welcome."

250 Words on Musical Appreciation

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

One of my life regrets is that I have little facility or deep understanding for music. 

I’ve tried. I can’t sing. I played violin for a bit when I was very young, then picked at guitar through my teens, but showed no aptitude. I don’t think I’m tone-deaf but I may be tone-impaired; simply tuning an instrument was a struggle because I couldn’t really tell when two close notes sounded the same. I think if I’d stuck with guitar I could've become a competent player, but no more. Never a musician. 

I love classical music and took deep dives into Beethoven and Bach in college, which became slogs of sheer brute force memorization. Harmonics, counterpoint, the circle of fifths: music theory might as well have been quantum theory, which I actually understood better. Those two classes taxed me more than most physics coursework did.*

And music composition? Sorcery!

Watching a good musician play fills me with admiration and envy. They’re not thinking about where to put their fingers or how to move their hands. It’s all muscle memory—playful, expressive, intuitive. Beautiful.

I think I know what that feels like when I’m doing art, particularly using a brush to ink or paint. I’m not conscious of pressing hard or light, moving fast or slow, or how the medium will flow. It just does what I want it to. It’s my instrument and sometimes I can make it sing. 

And sometime it surprises me. I bet musicians get that, too. 

.

*I expect some smart readers to point out how music actually is physics, with mathematically related vibrations and such. Yes, I know. I don’t find that as helpful as you might think. Why does a major chord sound triumphant while a minor chord sounds sad? How does a composer weave melodies together to tell a story and, while they’re at it, know to play some notes with an oboe and others with a trumpet? How can a song make you cry? That’s the ineffable magic. 

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POW! BAM! LumaCon 2025!

I had a terrific Saturday at my favorite little comics convention in the world, LumaCon, organized by librarians in the town of Petaluma, Calif., to promote reading and creativity. Admission is free, and it's a family-friendly event for people who like comics, manga, anime, fantasy, science fiction, cosplay, and related tomfoolery. 

I love it for a few reasons. One, I get to see my cartooning friends, some of whom are shown in the accompanying photos. Two, I love the energy of the event: everyone is there for fun and love, and these days that feels necessary. Three, I get to sell some books.

Fourth and foremost: I love to talk to young people (and some older ones) about making comics. Most people don't give much thought to how stories get published. It just seems like something that other people somehow magically do. But it's not magic, it's a process. I like to show my original art beside the printed page and describe how I turn THIS into THAT. I make the point that if you fill two sheets of paper with words and art, fold them in half and staple them in the middle to make an eight-page comic, you're doing pretty much the same thing I do. I have fancier toys, but that's not what's important. You told a story only you can tell. THAT'S important. 

I think demystifying the creative process matters. Every comic, painting, song, novel, etc. you've enjoyed was made by a real person. No tricks or shortcuts, they just sat down and did the work. I know that at least some kids need to hear that because, when I was young, I was lucky enough to see some original cartoon art and meet some published writers, and it meant the world to me. If they could do it, so could I. 

And if I could do it, so can you.

That's my pitch, anyway, and I met some young (and older) people at LumaCon who seemed receptive to it. That's why I keep going back. 

In addition to the friends I got photos of, I touched base with too many others to list. I enjoyed quick greetings with many and quality conversations with a few, with promises of "We've got to get together soon." I'd like that. 

Thanks, LumaCon! I hope to catch you next year.

My set-up. I accidentally arranged my table with my nonfiction books on the right and my fiction books on the left (or, as I sometimes called them, "my serious books and my happy books") and it turned out to be a nice way to talk about them. I'll remember that for the future. My portfolio is open to two pages of original art that became the two pages from my Avengers story in the "Marvel Super Stories" anthology on the table in front of them. I like to talk about process. I sat beside Maia Kobabe (on the right), which is interesting because Maia's book "GenderQueer" is the most banned book in America and yet I always overhear two or three people telling Maia how it saved their lives. Go figure.

An overview of the main LumaCon room. Notice all the young people sitting at tables and peddling their art. That's one of this con's main missions. I took this photo standing on a stage with tables for kids to glue together craft projects. Other stuff happens in the lobby and a few side rooms. It's a friendly full house. The LumaCon organizers don't track attendance, but I'd guess 2,000 or more people came over the course of the day.

A vaguely helpful signpost in the lobby.

The Art Room, which was nothing more than a quiet place with paper, pens and crayons for people to draw with. Isn't that terrific?

Some finished drawings pinned to the wall of the Art Room.

The Bake Sale! Every comics convention needs a bake sale. The kids at the table to the left sold baked goods, while the kids behind the window in the back wall were serious culinary students turning out legitimate food. I enjoyed a fancy chicken sandwich as well as a cup of mac and cheese with bacon.

Inside the Cosplay Room. Pros, semi-pros, and kids with cardboard boxes over their heads. Everybody's welcome.

A trio of cosplayers. I didn't notice the head peeking through the neck of the character on the left (Khonshu from Moon Knight) until just now. Smile!

Luckily, I did not witness this Dalek exterminating anyone.

My friend, cartoonist, and Schulz Studio staffer Denis St. John.

The creative couple of Emily C. Martin and Brett Grunig. We have comics in common but I really wanted to talk to them about printmaking, at which they are experts. Brett even teaches it, and it's something I'd like to get better at. 

Maia Kobabe in intense conversation with my friend, cartoonist, and Schulz Studio editor Lex Fajardo, with creative powerhouse Gio Benedetti (in yellow-sleeved shirt) at the table behind them. 

Librarian Nathan Libecap, one of the core group of high school and public librarians who put on LumaCon, and make it just a bit bigger and better, every year. The blue flannel shirt in the background is on cartoonist and Schulz Studio Creative Director Paige Braddock. 

As much as I enjoyed my day, walking down an aisle and finding Steve Oliff was the highlight for me. In some circles, Steve is a giant. He's won multiple Eisner and Harvey Awards, and is known primarily as a colorist. In fact, he was one of the first artists to do digital coloring in the early 1980s. A pioneer. Steve is also a few years older than me and grew up in Point Arena, on the northern California coast, and when I was a teenager his name was whispered in reverent tones at the local comic book shop as "the hometown guy who turned pro." That was a big deal. So I had a chance to babble all that to Steve, and I think he appreciated that not only did someone there know who he was but seemed familiar with his entire career. Being able to talk to someone like that as a peer is a real treat.

Rain did not dampen the enthusiasm of kids for pummeling each other with swords, pikes and maces under the covered walkways of the Petaluma Community Center. Astonishingly, no casualties were reported.

My last photo is dedicated to the librarians, not just for putting on this event but for being heroes of civilization in an increasingly hostile world. 

See You at LumaCon!

Overview of the main exhibition space from 2024. LumaCon is held at the Petaluma Community Center, with other activities in the lobby and nearby event rooms. 

This Saturday, Feb. 1, I will be at my favorite little comics convention in the world, LumaCon, in Petaluma, Calif. Hours are 10 am to 4 pm, and admission is FREE, so if you or someone in your family lives in the area and is comics-curious, it'll cost nothing but time to drop by.

I love LumaCon because it's put on by local librarians to encourage reading, art, and creativity. It has a craft area, a gaming room, and a bake sale. Tables are split about half and half between pros like me and young kids making their own stickers, prints, and zines on printers at home. What's neat is that LumaCon has been happening long enough (since 2015) that a few people who started out as kid amateurs have turned into young-adult pros. 

I'll be there selling books, talking about how I make comics, touching base with friends, and enjoying the pure positive energy. It's expected to rain, which will put a damper on a few outdoor activities like LARPing, but 95% of the action is indoors. Maybe it'd be a good way to spend a wet day.

Crafts.

Bake sale. Who couldn't love a comics convention with a bake sale?

250 Words on Atomic Spectroscopy

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

One skill I learned as an environmental chemist was atomic absorption spectroscopy (AAS). You dissolve samples in acid and then atomize them at high temperatures. Depending on how much light a sample’s electrons absorb at particular wavelengths, you can measure the concentrations of arsenic, lead, copper, etc. it contains. 

Our AAS instruments were made by the Perkin-Elmer company, the fine engineers who also ground the myopic mirror of the Hubble Space Telescope. I once saw one of my instruments on a television program about restoring the Sistine Chapel, where it was used to determine what Michelangelo’s paints were made of. I saw one again on a program about science in Antarctica, where it was used to measure pollutants in air and ice. 

“Hey, that’s a Perkin-Elmer 5000!”

I could have done either of those jobs.

I always had a fantasy of overwintering in Antarctica. I think I have the right temperament for it. When I saw that they had laboratory equipment I knew how to use, I realized I had the skills for it, too. Unfortunately, by then I also had a family with young children. Maybe in my next life.

If you want to impress an environmental chemist, tell them your name is in Standard Methods for the Examination of Water and Wastewater, the industry bible for laboratory analyses. Mine is in the 18th edition because I helped develop a new method of sample preparation. I still proudly list it in my bibliography alongside my science writing and comics. 

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250 Words on Time and Monsters

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

“‘It is only half an hour’–‘It is only an afternoon’–‘It is only an evening,’ people say to me over and over again,” wrote Charles Dickens. “But they don’t know that it is impossible to command oneself sometimes to any stipulated and set disposal of five minutes, or that the mere consciousness of an engagement will sometime worry a whole day. Whoever is devoted to an art must be content to deliver himself wholly up to it, and to find his recompense in it.”

Imagine how much time you’d need to create something if you had no obligations or distractions. Say one month to write that novella, compose that concerto, chisel that sculpture. 

If you have a regular job, multiply that number by ten. If you have a spouse, multiply it by another two to five; a spouse and kids, another five to ten. Now your month-long project would take years.

My observations. Your mileage may vary.  

The catch is that if you didn’t have a job, family, obligations or distractions, your work might lack the inspiration it needs. Artists who don’t experience life have little to say in their art.

The appeal of becoming an “art monster,” focused entirely on creativity with no concern for life’s mundanity, is enormous. Let someone else clean, cook, socialize, parent. “I’m creating! Leave me alone!” Picasso was an art monster.

The problem is that if you’re not a Picasso, you may just be a monster. Maybe even if you are a Picasso.

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250 Words on a Lonely Universe

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

My opinion on whether there is other intelligent life in the universe is the conventional one: the history of science teaches that there’s nothing unique about our star or planet, so there’s no reason to believe life isn’t common elsewhere. Further, there’s no reason that intelligent technological civilization couldn’t arise on one life-bearing planet out of a thousand, a million, or a billion. 

Yet I increasingly find myself mulling a more astounding possibility: what if we’re alone? As physicist Enrico Fermi asked, if the universe is teeming with intelligence, “Where is everybody?”

Skeptics offer rationales. Maybe aliens are ignoring or quarantining us. Maybe advanced civilizations self-destruct. Maybe they’re using technology we can’t perceive.

But it would only take one! One enormous interstellar civil engineering project, one alien artifact, one beacon shining in the night. A pre-contact Amazonian tribe might not know what a lighthouse is, but if one appeared in the jungle they’d know it wasn’t natural. 

Why haven’t we seen a lighthouse out there?

The distance-time argument is irrelevant. It’s a numbers game, and it doesn’t matter if the lighthouse exists now or a billion years in the past. The fact is, you can search a million galaxies and not find a single thing that lacks a natural explanation. No lighthouses.

In one science-fiction trope, a race of ancient elders colonized the universe billions of years before humanity evolved. But what if we’re the ancient elders, just getting started? What if we’re the first?

I shudder to imagine it.

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Southern California Firestorms

The last picture we took as we evacuated our neighborhood before that
fire in the distance swept through and destroyed it. Tubbs, October 2017.

I thought I had nothing original, constructive or useful to say about the heartbreaking fires in southern California, but several people have asked so here's my input this morning:

IF YOU ARE IN AN EVACUATION ZONE: Take it seriously. Do what you're told. Don't sightsee. Assume you will never see your home again and pack accordingly (if you have time to pack at all). Seven years on, the things we miss most weren't the most valuable in terms of money, but in sentiment: family photos, keepsakes, heirlooms, memories. 

If you didn't prepare a "go bag" (and few do), grab your wallet/purse, birth certificate, passport, deeds, and insurance and other legal papers because you'll need them to rebuild your life. Computers and backups. Prescription meds. Eyeglasses. Charging cords for phones and laptops. Set up a safe meeting spot for everyone to gather. If you can, leave early to avoid the rush.

EDITED TO ADD: Here's a good idea from a Facebook commenter that I wish we'd done: If you have time, go around the inside and outside of your house and take a video of everything. It will help with insurance and other tasks later.

IF YOU HAVE LOST EVERYTHING: Take some time to gather your wits, then make a list. Every day, check things off that list and then, tomorrow, make a new one. 

Contact your insurance company. They probably already have a platoon of representatives in the area who will meet with you and may be able to cut a check on the spot. Register with Red Cross and FEMA. Get a FEMA number: that number will be a key to unlocking many services, resources and discounts. 

Get a P.O. box or ask a trusted friend to handle your mail, and submit a change-of-address form to the post office. 

Look out for scams, especially fake government websites. 

If you can get to your property, take photos of everything from every angle. If you can't get to your property, be patient. This is difficult; you want to go home. But there is really nothing you can do there and the authorities are making sure it's safe, searching for bodies, etc. It may be weeks before you get in. That's OK. 

Be willing to accept help. I can't tell you how many people after our fire said, "I don't need it, give it to someone who needs it more." Today, that someone is you. Take it. 

Don't make any rash decisions. Nothing needs to be done RIGHT NOW. You're in a marathon, not a sprint. Get something accomplished every day, but take it as easy on yourself as you can. 

Finally, I'll recommend three trusted Web resources:

After the Fire USA https://afterthefireusa.org/ is a great clearinghouse for all firestorm-related information and resources. I know the people who run it and they're the best.

United Policyholders https://uphelp.org/ is a nonprofit that can help you understand your insurance situation and fight for your rights to get the service you paid for. 

Cal Fire https://readyforwildfire.org/prepare-for-wildfire/ has excellent advice for both preparing for and preventing wildfires, and what to do afterward.

IF YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO LOST EVERYTHING: Your friends or loved ones may be out of touch for a while. Don't pester them, they have a lot on their plate. 

Ask them what they need and really listen. They probably don't want piles of clothes, or teddy bears, or pots and pans, or canned food from the back of your pantry. For the next few weeks they'll be living in a motel or a friend's couch and have nowhere to put that stuff.

What we really appreciated were gift cards to big-box stores like Target, Walmart, Safeway (and, later, Home Depot), which allowed us to buy what WE thought we needed. Say what you will about those companies, but they were open and had everything we wanted in one place. When I gave similar advice before, some people commented that "cash is king" and can be spent anywhere for anything. True! That's fine! I still think it's easier to carry a few cards in your pocket than a wad of bills, and safer to mail.

Honestly, Karen and I find it very hard to watch the news because we know what those folks are going through now, and what they'll be going through for the next months and years. It's too much. They'll get through it but it's not an ordeal I'd wish on anyone. 

As for the MAGAs who are gloating, laughing, and mocking fellow Americans without showing an ounce of empathy or compassion--especially the MAGA-in-Chief who's taking the opportunity to spew playground insults and uninformed idiocy--I wish they could take just a moment to reflect on how they became such terrible people. They won't, I know. They think they're the good guys. The worst villains always do. 

Blast from the Past

Here's a find that blasted me back to the past: an email from my Mom I haven't seen in more than 20 years, written right after she first read Mom's Cancer.

When I set up Mom's Cancer as a webcomic, the domain came with a free email address that I used for a brief time before switching to another. I was doing some Internet archaeology yesterday when I found that forgotten email account, which still has 68 emails from mid-2004 sitting in it, including hers. 

Other emails are from friends, some who are still friends (Hi, Nancy!) and a couple who are dead (RIP Ronniecat). Some are from journalists asking for interviews, others from readers sharing their own cancer experiences. They comprise a fragmentary time capsule of the weeks when Mom's Cancer began to catch on and go viral that really takes me back. 

These emails are a gift, especially Mom's but also the others, particularly since I lost most of my pre-2017 email archives in our fire (long story, suffice to say they weren't recoverable). What a terrific time machine!

250 Words on Twins

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

My adult daughters are identical twins, and I apologize to them for mentioning it.

My wife Karen and I have standard answers to the usual questions. Yes, we can tell them apart—most of the time. Having two kids at once felt more than twice as hard when they were babies but might have been easier later. Etc.

Our girls have their own standard answers to the usual questions. Telepathy? No.* Different interests? Yes. Same taste in food? No. Same friends? Some. However, they can’t answer “What’s it like?” because they have nothing to compare it to.

We seldom dressed them alike and, when they were old enough to dress themselves, “seldom” became “never.” They rarely pretended to be each other. They style their hair differently. One’s left-handed, the other’s right-handed. 

They also drew so much attention when they were adorable blonde toddlers that today any notice paid to “the twin thing” makes them squirm in anguish. 

Hence my apology.

Most of the time I don’t really think about it, but once in a while I’ll just sit across the room gazing at them in amazement and think, “Huh! Twins! Damn!” 

I also believe they sometimes enjoy it. First, for a sibling bond closer than most of us will ever experience. Second, for the befuddlement on people’s faces when they figure it out, particularly if it’s someone like a long-time acquaintance who didn’t know.  

I imagine it’s a bit like being able to flex a little superpower whenever you want.

*Not that they'll admit to, anyway.

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