My Brush With Greatness

In a complete betrayal of journalistic ethics and public trust, TIME magazine just named my friend Jeff Kinney, author of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, one of the "100 Most Influential People in the World."

Ha hahahahaha HA HA ha hahahaha!

(Hold on, let me catch my breath . . .)

In. The. World.

Heeheehee hee hee ha ha!

Jeff (left), me (right), and our mutual editor Charlie Kochman a couple years back. Touching Jeff is like kissing the Pope's ring, only saltier.

Hey Jeff, next time I'm in Boston, could you use your globe-spanning influence to find me a parking space?

Among all the "Best Conceivable Outcomes" a person might imagine when sitting down to write a book, would anyone ever in their wildest dreams think, "Hey, if this goes well, maybe I'll be named one of the world's 100 most influential people?" Ever?! The only thing better than teasing Jeff about TIME's recognition is knowing how uncomfortable it must be making him right now. I hope the day that he actually gets used to this kind of thing never arrives. In the meantime, may he enjoy it and accept the congratulations of a friend in the spirit it's intended.

snerk.

EDITED TO ADD: Jeff e-mails: "My first thought was, I can't even influence my wife to buy name-brand peanut butter."

Funny guy! And wise.
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Huh. I Guess It's Real After All.

Back on April 6, I teased that I expected to soon have "something fun to blog about." Good things always take longer than you hope . . .

Hey look! I wrote a book!

This special copy was handbound by the printer, sent to my publisher Abrams, and then flown directly to me. Literally one of the first off the press. I'll get more copies later, but right now this is the only specimen roaming free in the wild.

Holding it in my hands is weird. Indescribably thrilling, but weird. For a couple of years I've seen it as India ink on sheets of paper, pixels on my monitor, streaky inkjet printouts clipped into a three-ring binder, uncut proof sheets. All working toward this . . . this thing it was meant to be but which now seems strangely unfamiliar.

I need to get used to this new look. It's somehow thicker than I expected. More substantial. It feels like a real 208-page book.

Man. What a rush!

ETA

I'm told that Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? will be in bookstores no later than June 9. Quite possibly sooner. I'll let you know if that date changes (which wouldn't surprise me).

It's easier to play the game when you know how far you are from the goal line.

Welcome Courtney Mortimer!

In early March, I mentioned a commercial for the California lottery that has a quick shot of a house I was startled to recognize--the house in Hollywood that Mom and my sisters bought and moved to at the end of Mom's Cancer. I caught the commercial on TV last night, which inspired me to search for it again online today. And, well, this time I found it:



It's the home of the "happy homemaker from Sunnyvale," with two white wicker chairs on a brick front porch. Mom spent a lot of time rocking in those chairs watching the neighbors go by, strolling their babies and walking their dogs. When Mom's brain tumor affected her ability to walk, I spent a long, very hot weekend building a wheelchair ramp down those steps and across the yard.

After Mom died my sisters eventually sold the house, which was too much for them to keep up and not really compatible with their lifestyles. Despite the fact that Mom spent the last months of her life there, I have warm memories of the place because I know it made her happy. And every once in a while, it pops up on my TV and makes me smile.

Mom helping me build her ramp. I don't think she
got too far pounding a 4 x 4 post into solid brick.

Stop and Be Amazed

Highly recommended viewing: spectacular new views of Saturn and its rings taken by the Cassini spacecraft and compiled by "The Big Picture" at Boston.com.

I am constantly astonished by what we take for granted. When I was born, the only views we had of other planets came from Earthbound telescopes. I was 5 when Mariner IV flew by Mars and shot the first successful photos of another world (not coincidentally, I write about Mariner IV in WHTTWOT). I remember when Pioneer and Voyager were launched toward Jupiter and beyond, remember Viking landing on Mars, Venera landing on Venus. Man I loved that stuff. Each picture as precious as gold (probably literally, on a cost-per-image basis), I absorbed them all. Even now, when I see photos returned from space, I get a tingle in my spine that means "no one else in the history of forever has seen that before now."

Today we've got near-permanent satellites orbiting Mars and Saturn, rovers crawling over Mars, a European probe (Rosetta) due to land on a comet in 2014. It's all too much for anyone to absorb now. But once in a while, something like The Big Picture comes along to smack me in the face and remind me what an amazing time we live in.

(All photos from NASA/JPL/SSI)

Party Planning Committee Minutes

Just a quick note to say that the Virtual Book Launch Party is on! Well, 94% on; I reserve the right to change my mind. But the technology works fine and a test run went great.

As we discussed a month ago, the idea is to do a live Webcast to celebrate the release of Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? I'd talk about the book, spill some secrets, draw some pictures, show off some originals, do a quick pan around my studio, enjoy some drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Viewers could type questions, comments, or conversations to which I'd respond via video. I think we could bring together an interesting mix of people and have fun.

I'm not sure when yet. Sometime before the end of May, I'd think. There are two variables: the date of my book's release, which I don't know; and the availability of a potential special guest, who is even now the subject of tense negotiations involving sensitive talks at the highest levels.

I'll be sure to keep you posted. Thanks for the earlier public and private enthusiasm for the idea, which prodded me on. I'm really looking forward to it.

Just When You Thought I Couldn't Be Creepier

. . . along comes this little Internet widget that turns me Vulcan.

[EDIT: I realized after I embedded the thing that it would automatically start everytime someone visited my blog, even weeks from now when this entry's at the bottom of the page. I hate that. Instead, I linked the screen capture below to a URL that plays my very special and deeply creepy message to you.]


That's not my voice; the program has text-to-voice capabilities that turns typed text into speech--and does it pretty well, I think. Although it's based on a photo I uploaded, I don't think it looks much like me, either. The mouth, nose and glasses are definitely mine. The hair and ears definitely aren't. And the eyes . . .

Those eyes are soulless black voids that swallow all expression and emotion, returning nothing but the disturbing digital dispassion of a computer. In other words, Vulcan. So job well done, I guess.

And if you move your cursor around the screen, I'll follow it like a green-blooded sehlat (i.e., a live Vulcan teddy bear with six-inch fangs) scrutinizing a housefly. So that's fun.

A Serial in 15 Thrilling Chapters

I guarantee that this post contains the most mortifying, embarrassing thing I will ever reveal about myself in this blog.

In Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?, my young hero goes to a movie matinee in 1945 to watch an old-time serial featuring the exploits of his fictional heroes, Cap Crater and the Cosmic Kid. Since a movie needs a movie poster, I set out to create one that had a pulpy retro feel. I also wanted to capture how material adapted from other media often changed dramatically when it was made into movies. Serials didn't spend much on costumes, sets, props, or effects. The characters on the poster needed to sort-of-but-not-really look like the comic book characters they were supposedly based on:

Cap Crater and the Cosmic Kid in the comics, circa 1939

So, partly to lend the poster some verisimilitude and partly to set the art apart from the style of the rest of the book, I wanted to do an actual painting. For that I wanted models. Since I don't know any models, and since I already had the appropriate clothing in my closet and knew the poses I wanted, I set up an auto-timed camera in my backyard and started shooting.

Sigh . . . This next part really hurts . . .

Modeling Cap Crater...

...and the Cosmic Kid

I shot a couple dozen photos, picked my two favorites, and cropped and combined them in Photoshop:

The Very-Much-Less-Than-Dynamic Duo

That became the basis for a big (approx. 12 x 18 inches) watercolor painting I did, seen in progress here:

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When I finished that, the next step was compositing the titles and fake stills (there's that spaceship again) from my fake movie into the fake poster art. Finally, I popped it into a separate drawing of the poster frame and boy's head:

Incidentally, when I designed the poster, I went to quite a bit of effort to research actors who did serials and would have been the right age at the time, and "cast" them in the roles. I didn't foresee that my hero's giant ginger melon-head would cut off the names and make that effort moot. For the record, Kane Richmond played Cap Crater, Douglas Croft played the Cosmic Kid (he was also Robin in the 1943 Batman serial), and Charles Middleton played the villain. I just wanted someone to know that.

Honestly, most of the other 199 pages weren't quite as demanding. And I'm . . . really . . . sorry you had to see that.

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Three Things Worth A Look

1. Something that frustrates/puzzles me about digital comics is how formally unimaginative many of them are. So many webcomics adhere to traditional print methods and dimensions: black line art with flat color laid out in panels like a newspaper strip or the pages of a comic book. It's the Web! You're not limited by 100-year-old print technology! Go wild!

(I'm guilty of the charge myself, of course. Mom's Cancer was a webcomic done as a very traditional print comic for two reasons: I enjoy the medium of ink-on-paper, and I hoped it would be published one day. And I'm sure many webcomics creators feel the same.)

Some artists try to jazz up their webcomics with flash animation, which rarely works for me. First, it's usually an unnecessary distraction that contributes nothing to the story. Second, it makes their comics into cartoons, which is a different thing. I think that a big reason people enjoy comics is that their brains have to fill in gaps of time, motion, and meaning; it's a mini-mental workout. Reading is active, watching is passive.

What I'm looking for is the growth of digital comics as a unique medium with a language independent of print comics or animated cartoons--an experience that works the brain in a way they don't. Which is a long introduction to the piece below, which I think is a step in the right direction: (Edited to add: I see this comic doesn't really get imbedded, just linked, so that clicking on it will take you to another website. Also, there's some bad language.)

about DIGITAL COMICS by ~Balak01 on deviantART

2. I blog. I don't Facebook, MySpace, Second Life, or Twitter. My life isn't that interesting, neither is yours, and we should both be too busy actually living our lives to set up imaginary parallel lives or offer constant color commentaries on them. My joke is that I'm always looking for new, innovative, exciting, socially interactive web-based ways for people to leave me alone. I realize that makes me unusual these days.

With that in mind, the video below, about the new social network application "Flutter" for people lacking the attention span for Twitter, hit a home run with me:


3. It's no secret that animators in later Disney cartoons often raided the vaults to re-use the breakdowns of earlier masters. I think Disney itself has shown in some of its "How To" featurettes how a bit of action or comedic business from one movie might be repurposed for a later one. The video below compiles several examples, some of which I knew of and others that only became blindingly obvious to me once they were pointed out.

I don't think there's necessarily anything wrong with this practice (although it is pretty damning of "Robin Hood"). If a Disney artist in 1940 figured out a great way animate a bit, why re-invent the wheel? I also think some examples in recent years, like the "Beauty and the Beast" waltz lifted from "Sleeping Beauty," were meant as deliberate homages. Mostly I just enjoyed this:

Watch Disney Templates on CollegeHumor

None of these is the fun thing I hinted at in my last post. That hasn't happened yet.

Happy Easter/Passover/Just Another April Weekend, everyone.

Deadlines . . .

Just a note to say how much I appreciate the loyalty of the six readers who check in here semi-regularly. I'm working hard on my day job these days, getting through some deadlines, and don't have much to say about book writin' right now. That may change soon; why, I wouldn't be surprised if I had something fun to blog about toward the end of this week or the beginning of next.

I've got to beg off for now, though, and promise to be more attentive soon.

Thanks!

Quick WHTTWOT Update

Just a few brief notes about Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?

More nice people are asking when it'll be released. I don't know! My best answer right now is "May." Amazon says April, my publisher's website says June, I split the difference. I know of someone who ordered a copy for her husband's birthday in April and I feel bad it won't be there in time. Maybe that person should drop me an e-mail.

A friend recently ordered WHTTWOT from a local bookseller who promised it'd be delivered in a week or two. That ain't gonna happen. (That bookseller also gazed into his computer and told my friend that pre-orders for the book looked strong. I don't know how they know that--I don't even know that!--but it's straw at which I'll gladly grasp.)

Amazon.com is offering two used copies for sale (at $96!). They lie. There are no used copies, unless that extremely high mark-up covers the cost of time travel.

Here's what I know: while I was on vacation last week, I reviewed proofs of the book's cover. Editor Charlie arranged for a set to be delivered to my hotel while he got an identical set in New York. Mine arrrived on time while his was a day late, its flight from the Chinese printer interrupted by the Mount Redoubt eruption in Alaska. I told Charlie that this will probably be the only book in his career delayed by volcano. He didn't seem to find that as funny as I thought he would.

We discovered a few things to fix, which have probably been taken care of by now. The printers will soon do that voodoo that they do so well, then pack boxes of my finished book onto a very slow ship that'll round the Cape of Good Hope and, with luck, catch a trade wind for the West Indies, all the while keeping a clear-eyed lad in the crow's nest to watch for krakens and pirates. Transportation takes a while.

The next I expect to hear from WHTTWOT is the day I get a box of them delivered to my doorstep. When I learn more, you'll be the first to know.
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A Modern Master

My previous post about the Grecian pitcher reminded me of another work of art I photographed a few years ago (photos without flash were allowed in both cases) because it impressed me in the same way. That introduction already gives up the game, but play along by guessing when this tile was created:

Its vivid colors and abstract shapes make it look almost Impressionistic. Maybe Monet or Degas. Tree limbs are blobby brush strokes, leafy canopies are scribbled squiggles, structures are dashed off in a few bold slashes. The color palette and composition are terrific, with the off-center tree and arch pulling the eye down to the dynamic figure (statue?) at lower right, spotted with dramatically dark shadow against a brilliant white background that makes it the focus of the piece. And then there's that tall reddish-brown shape at center right, which suggests a low-cast shadow or something large looming in the distance, but also looks to me like a woman dancing. This is smart, sophisticated art.

If I'd seen this without any context, I might've guessed it'd been done in the late 19th or early 20th century. It also reminded me of magazine illustrations from around 1950, the golden age of that lost and neglected artform. It's almost lurid. A romantic potboiler. "Love Among The Ruins." The payoff, which you've already guessed, is that this was buried in Pompeii in AD 79. I found it in the Naples National Archeology Museum.

Any cartoonist who can look at this and the Grecian pitcher without thinking they could learn a lot from these artists is either a master or a fool. Unless you're already really, really good, these long-dead craftsmen knew something you don't.

Trip Report; Ancient Cartooning

Those attuned to the subtle nuances of my blog (What? Nobody?!) may have perceived that I was on vacation last week (the previous post was written ahead of time and autoposted). As a rule, I don't announce to the entire Interworld that my home is empty and ripe for robbing. Psych.

The girls and Karen and I went to southern California to see family, mark the girls' spring break, and celebrate our wedding anniversary. I think we had a great time, except for a cold that three-fourths of us passed around. I seem to have gotten the worst of it; my theory is that the virus somehow perceived my indomitable Immune System of Steel and attacked me with ten times the virulence it would have fielded against a lesser mortal. I awoke yesterday and announced that if it were a work day I'd've called in sick, but since I was on vacation I might as well get out of bed and make the best of it. We all had so much fun that I think another day would've killed us.

Our trip included a tour of the Getty Villa, which segues into my next topic. Not to be confused with the more famous Getty Center, the Villa is a free museum in Malibu that displays Greek, Roman, and Etruscan antiquities in a large complex whose architecture and gardens are modeled after those of an ancient Roman country home. It's right on the coast, the weather was beautiful, and it was a perfect outing, especially for my girls, who love that stuff. (The museum brochure had a photo of a Grecian urn that, knowing nothing else about it and based only on the artistic style, my daughter Laura dated to 550 BC. When we found it in the museum, it was actually dated 560 BC. So she lost.)

Digression: I think cartooning's history as a low, vulgar art sometimes leads its champions to overstate its pedigree in an attempt to fluff up its reputation. In my opinion, folks like Scott McCloud stretch definitions beyond breaking and don't do us any favors by tracing modern cartooning back to sequential images painted on cave walls and Egyptian tombs. If that's cartooning, then everything is cartooning. I think you've got newspaper strips and comic books in the 20th century, "Punch" and similar humor cartoons in the 19th, and illustrative/editorial cartoons (William Hogarth, "Don't Tread on Me") in the 18th. Push any further back, and I believe you dilute "cartoon" and "comics" into meaninglessness.

Still, I would have a lot to discuss with the anonymous craftsman who painted this Greek pitcher in Ionia in 625 BC.


Man. That is just breathtaking grace and expressiveness. The pride of the goose, the slinking cunning of the dog/wolf, the wary elegance of the goats and deer (I don't know anything about ancient animal husbandry; I only label the animals for convenience and trust you can figure out which ones I mean). I especially love the strokes that make up the legs and horns of the goats, with little knobs at each joint and every curve flowing gracefully into the next. In a few bold, confident lines, the artist captured the essence of his subjects.

I envy the guy who drew this. I wish I could cartoon this well. In addition to the figures, the work displays a masterful sense of graphics and design. This style would work in a completely modern context. In fact, the goats look like something Dr. Seuss might've drawn--especially the left one, there's something in the eye. Put this artist in a time machine and he could have a great 21st-century career.

Maybe it was just my mood that day, but this pitcher blew me away. Even more impressive is the fact that it probably wasn't a masterpiece by a top artist--this was just a craftsman doing a day's work, probably paid by the piece, churning out commercial housewares for customers.

I very much like the idea that an artist could reach across 2600 years and grab me like that. I understand this guy. We're solving the same problems. He and I could talk--as I guess we kind of did, though sadly only one way.
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