A friend of mine has undertaken a cool project on the Web that I'm enjoying a lot and recommend you check out.
Two Years Before the Mast is a classic literary work that tells the true story of Richard Henry Dana, a Harvard student who, in 1834, signed up to work as a common seaman aboard a trading vessel bound from Boston to California. Dana's realistic account of the harsh life of a working sailor became very popular and helped reform the trade.
My friend is doing something clever: republishing Two Years Before the Mast as a blog, with each post corresponding to the actual date Dana made an entry in his journal plus 175 years. The blog began on August 14, the day Dana set sail. The most recent entry, on Sept. 22, describes a harrowing escape from pirates. As with all blogs, it's read from the bottom up. I'm finding that following Dana's journey in real-time gives it an unusual immediacy and intimacy. You're right there with him. Despite its age, it's a good, quick read.
The blog's proprietor, Mike Peterson, is a New England newspaperman I've never met in person but feel like I've gotten to know very well via the Internet. I guess that's not uncommon these days. While going about his journalism jobs, Mike led "Newspapers In Education" programs that introduce newspapers into classrooms as teaching materials (he says a big problem is that too many teachers have grown up not reading newspapers themselves; they're often amazed by what they find in there). He also spearheaded a program called TeachUP that provides serialized stories meant to be published in newspapers and studied in schools, complete with lesson plans (I provided modest input to "Stories in the Stars" about the constellations). In addition, he runs the "Weekly Storybook" website, a similar effort to teach classic tales and myths from various traditions, also with lesson plans. And in his spare time, he was nice enough to give me frank feedback on an early draft of WHTTWOT.
I really like Mike's concept of creatively combining media and content to find novel ways to educate and entertain. This is all good stuff. I'm glad to know him.
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Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Collected Comics Library Podcast
Chris Marshall just posted the interview I did for his Collected Comics Library podcast. He's a great guy who asked some good, insightful questions and I think it turned out well. He also did a nice review on his website (same link as above), which I really appreciate.
The webcast is nearly an hour long (seemed a lot shorter in real life), but if you think you can stand to hear me bloviate that long, I happily recommend our conversation to you. In addition to WHTTWOT we talked about Mom's Cancer, comics, Wernher Von Braun, my talented coloring assistants, and my entire life. Many thanks to Chris, whom I'm looking forward to meeting at the opening of the LitGraphic exhibition in Toledo, Ohio on October 2.
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The webcast is nearly an hour long (seemed a lot shorter in real life), but if you think you can stand to hear me bloviate that long, I happily recommend our conversation to you. In addition to WHTTWOT we talked about Mom's Cancer, comics, Wernher Von Braun, my talented coloring assistants, and my entire life. Many thanks to Chris, whom I'm looking forward to meeting at the opening of the LitGraphic exhibition in Toledo, Ohio on October 2.
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Cartoonist at Work
My buddy Mike Lynch posted the video below of Larry Gonick, creator of the long-running Cartoon History of the World and Cartoon History of the Universe books, and it struck a chord with me for a few reasons.
One, the recent Library Journal review of WHTTWOT compared my book favorably with Mr. Gonick's work, and I commented that I was pleased to be in such company. Although I wasn't aiming to be as overtly humorous, we both mine that seam where comics intersect information (history, science) to convey it in a unique way. This video offers a glimpse at that. I particularly appreciated a look at his stacks of reference material; that's about how my desk looked, too.
Two, Mr. Gonick is an ink-and-paper cartoonist, which is an increasingly rare breed. Watching an artist lay down confident black lines with a brush is a pleasure. I liked the quick shot of him running his bristles over an ink-stained scrap of paper to work them into the point he wanted. I've got a scrap just like that on my desk.
Three, he says something at the end that perfectly captures a thought I've struggled to put into words: "Our brains represent things in some stripped-down, abstracted way. We don't remember things as photographs or movies. We remember them as cartoons." I think that's right, and I think it's a keen insight into what makes comics "work"--how squiggles of ink and sparse lines of dialog become stories and characters we care about. I recall Art Spiegelman saying something similar.
Mr. Gonick's insight comes at a good time for me, since I'm currently pulling together some ideas and images for a talk I'm giving at the opening of the LitGraphic exhibition at the Toledo Museum of Art on October 2. This is a point I planned to make in discussing comics as an artistic/literary medium and why museums should care about it, and Mr. Gonick (and Mr. Lynch) just gave me the perfect words with which to do it.
And, one cartoonist to another, Mr. Gonick draws a real fine elephant butt.
.
One, the recent Library Journal review of WHTTWOT compared my book favorably with Mr. Gonick's work, and I commented that I was pleased to be in such company. Although I wasn't aiming to be as overtly humorous, we both mine that seam where comics intersect information (history, science) to convey it in a unique way. This video offers a glimpse at that. I particularly appreciated a look at his stacks of reference material; that's about how my desk looked, too.
Two, Mr. Gonick is an ink-and-paper cartoonist, which is an increasingly rare breed. Watching an artist lay down confident black lines with a brush is a pleasure. I liked the quick shot of him running his bristles over an ink-stained scrap of paper to work them into the point he wanted. I've got a scrap just like that on my desk.
Three, he says something at the end that perfectly captures a thought I've struggled to put into words: "Our brains represent things in some stripped-down, abstracted way. We don't remember things as photographs or movies. We remember them as cartoons." I think that's right, and I think it's a keen insight into what makes comics "work"--how squiggles of ink and sparse lines of dialog become stories and characters we care about. I recall Art Spiegelman saying something similar.
Mr. Gonick's insight comes at a good time for me, since I'm currently pulling together some ideas and images for a talk I'm giving at the opening of the LitGraphic exhibition at the Toledo Museum of Art on October 2. This is a point I planned to make in discussing comics as an artistic/literary medium and why museums should care about it, and Mr. Gonick (and Mr. Lynch) just gave me the perfect words with which to do it.
And, one cartoonist to another, Mr. Gonick draws a real fine elephant butt.
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Monday, September 21, 2009
Get in the Sack
I try to run a clean, all-ages, family blog here, but I've come across the YouTube clip below a few times in different contexts and always appreciated it. I just stumbled on it again, which I take as the universe's way of telling me to post it.
This is Irish comedian Dara O'Briain using a few naughty but well-chosen words to say some things I think are worth saying.
If you don't have six minutes to spare or don't like naughty words, I'll boil it down: "Science knows it doesn't know everything. Otherwise it'd stop." That's your bumpersticker, right there.
I can see it.
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This is Irish comedian Dara O'Briain using a few naughty but well-chosen words to say some things I think are worth saying.
If you don't have six minutes to spare or don't like naughty words, I'll boil it down: "Science knows it doesn't know everything. Otherwise it'd stop." That's your bumpersticker, right there.
P.S.: Just to avoid any confusion and save you the trouble of looking it up yourself, I believe his last joke that ends "You look like Noddy" refers to this fella:
I can see it..
Friday, September 18, 2009
Arrr? Aye!
Don't forget: Tomorrow be international Talk Like a Pirate Day, just about as important a pointless holiday as e'er sailed the Spanish Main. Don't forget to belay yer yardarms, hoist yer colors, buckle yer swashes and mizzen yer masts, ye scurvy maties and wenches.
Arr.
Arr.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Review: The Library Journal
WHTTWOT got a pretty good review today in The Library Journal, which is important because many librarians look to that trade journal's recommendations when deciding what to buy. Some words from the review chosen completely at random include: "futurism,"
"the," "compellingly," "zeitgeist," "in-jokes," "wisely," "wide-eyed," "overearnest," and "didactic" (sigh).
Reviewer Steve Raiteri's final verdict: "Thought-provoking, this is recommended for fans of Jim Ottaviani's science graphic novels or Larry Gonick's Cartoon History books." I'm pleased to be in that company.
"the," "compellingly," "zeitgeist," "in-jokes," "wisely," "wide-eyed," "overearnest," and "didactic" (sigh).
Reviewer Steve Raiteri's final verdict: "Thought-provoking, this is recommended for fans of Jim Ottaviani's science graphic novels or Larry Gonick's Cartoon History books." I'm pleased to be in that company.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Mr. Language Person
I stole that post title from Dave Barry since he's not using it.
A client returned a draft of a paper I'm writing with the word "advisor" changed to "adviser." The latter is company style now. It's not my place to object aloud--I'm just a hired gun and both spellings are legitimate--but in my head I sighed. I don't have an Oxford English Dictionary in front of me, but my sense is that "advisor" predates "adviser" and is falling out of favor. To my eyes it's a more graceful spelling, "a more elegant weapon from a more civilized age" [Obi-Wan Kenobi, 1977]. Besides, if you spell "advisor" with an "e," what happens to the word "advisory?" Advisery? That's just monkfish ugly.
Different clients and markets have their stylistic quirks and peculiarities, and adapting to their different rules is part of the writing gig. I recently edited a paper (the one I griped about with the Japanese author) that had to be completed in British English. Large companies often have long lists of words, acronyms, phrases and usages particular to their industries. My natural default style is that of the Associated Press, which was beaten into me pretty quickly when I worked as a newspaper reporter fresh out of college. On the other hand, my publisher Abrams adheres to the Chicago Manual of Style, which made for some interesting arguments with Editor Charlie.
One of the delights of language is that it evolves; one of the complaints of curmudgeons is that it evolves on their watch. Ben Franklin grumped to Noah Webster about the fashionable use of the new verbs "notice," "advocate" and "progress," which up to his time had been only nouns. I cringe at the word "alright" but fear that battle's lost (I blame The Who). On the other hand, I don't mind that using "hopefully" to mean "I hope" is gaining ground despite being a clear grammatical foul. I think we need a word that performs that function. Hopefully I can bring myself to use it someday.
You know what else we need? "Amn't." We have "isn't" for "is not," and "aren't" for "are not," but there's no good modern contraction for "am not." I've seen some grammarians propose that we legitimize the use of "ain't" for that situation. Ain't gonna happen.
I love "gonna" for informal writing but would never use it in something someone paid me for.
There are times I'd write "something someone paid me for" and others I'd write "something for which someone paid me." You've gotta know the difference.
Ditto "gotta."
I remember when I was learning cursive, I was taught to write a capital "Q" that looked like a big number "2." Even as an innocent child in the sixties, I knew that was bogus. When my own children were taught cursive, I was happy to see that they learned a sensible "Q" (an "O" with a little tail) and that the big-2 "Q" had gone the way of the f-shaped "S."
Happily obsolete in my lifetime.
That's "GROSSE," not "GROBE."
My favorite punctuation mark is the semi-colon; my second-favorite is the double-dash or m-dash (see paragraph 2 above), which many people don't realize is legitimate punctuation. It is.
What? Doesn't everyone have favorite punctuation marks?
Best book to buy a budding writer: Strunk and White's Elements of Style. I've given it to a couple of kids. You can tell the real writers because they sit down and read it cover to cover. I crack it open every few years myself. Even if you disagree with the old farts' answers, at least you're thinking about the right questions.
"It's" and "its": learn the difference. Alright?
I expect some of you to disagree with me. That's the fun.
.
A client returned a draft of a paper I'm writing with the word "advisor" changed to "adviser." The latter is company style now. It's not my place to object aloud--I'm just a hired gun and both spellings are legitimate--but in my head I sighed. I don't have an Oxford English Dictionary in front of me, but my sense is that "advisor" predates "adviser" and is falling out of favor. To my eyes it's a more graceful spelling, "a more elegant weapon from a more civilized age" [Obi-Wan Kenobi, 1977]. Besides, if you spell "advisor" with an "e," what happens to the word "advisory?" Advisery? That's just monkfish ugly.
Different clients and markets have their stylistic quirks and peculiarities, and adapting to their different rules is part of the writing gig. I recently edited a paper (the one I griped about with the Japanese author) that had to be completed in British English. Large companies often have long lists of words, acronyms, phrases and usages particular to their industries. My natural default style is that of the Associated Press, which was beaten into me pretty quickly when I worked as a newspaper reporter fresh out of college. On the other hand, my publisher Abrams adheres to the Chicago Manual of Style, which made for some interesting arguments with Editor Charlie.
One of the delights of language is that it evolves; one of the complaints of curmudgeons is that it evolves on their watch. Ben Franklin grumped to Noah Webster about the fashionable use of the new verbs "notice," "advocate" and "progress," which up to his time had been only nouns. I cringe at the word "alright" but fear that battle's lost (I blame The Who). On the other hand, I don't mind that using "hopefully" to mean "I hope" is gaining ground despite being a clear grammatical foul. I think we need a word that performs that function. Hopefully I can bring myself to use it someday.
You know what else we need? "Amn't." We have "isn't" for "is not," and "aren't" for "are not," but there's no good modern contraction for "am not." I've seen some grammarians propose that we legitimize the use of "ain't" for that situation. Ain't gonna happen.
I love "gonna" for informal writing but would never use it in something someone paid me for.
There are times I'd write "something someone paid me for" and others I'd write "something for which someone paid me." You've gotta know the difference.
Ditto "gotta."
I remember when I was learning cursive, I was taught to write a capital "Q" that looked like a big number "2." Even as an innocent child in the sixties, I knew that was bogus. When my own children were taught cursive, I was happy to see that they learned a sensible "Q" (an "O" with a little tail) and that the big-2 "Q" had gone the way of the f-shaped "S."
Happily obsolete in my lifetime..
Not actually titled Paradife Loft, although that would be an excellent
name for a rock band [Dave Barry, 1983-present].
name for a rock band [Dave Barry, 1983-present].
On the other hand, I hear that a lot of schools don't even teach cursive anymore ("who needs to handwrite when everyone types everything?"), which is a mistake. There's something about the rigorous rote regimentation of mastering those shapes that I believe disciplines both body and mind. Besides, if no one knows cursive, who's gonna read all of great-granddad's letters? Professors of hieroglyphics?
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In the preceding paragraph, "rigorous rote regimentation" was a little over the top alliteration-wise, but I couldn't resist. Similarly, in the preceding blog post, writing "silver sliver" made me smile.
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When's the last time you saw "Penmanship" as a line item on a report card?
Ditto "Deportment."
No, I did not use an inkwell and slate board in school.
Things change in other languages, too. When I took Russian in college, a cursive lower-case "d" transitioned from a letter that looked like a lower-case "delta" to one resembling a lower-case "g." I resisted the change until one day a grad student told me I wrote like a grandma. I understand the Germans are phasing out their use of the double-S or "scharfes S," which looks like a Greek "beta." That's a shame. It had style.
.
That's "GROSSE," not "GROBE.".
Today I learned that it's very hard to google the phrase "German SS" and find information about German orthography.
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Despite what your fourth-grade teacher taught you, there's nothing wrong with starting a sentence with "and" or "but." But you should be very, very, very, very, very careful. And have a good reason.My favorite punctuation mark is the semi-colon; my second-favorite is the double-dash or m-dash (see paragraph 2 above), which many people don't realize is legitimate punctuation. It is.
What? Doesn't everyone have favorite punctuation marks?
Best book to buy a budding writer: Strunk and White's Elements of Style. I've given it to a couple of kids. You can tell the real writers because they sit down and read it cover to cover. I crack it open every few years myself. Even if you disagree with the old farts' answers, at least you're thinking about the right questions.
"It's" and "its": learn the difference. Alright?
I expect some of you to disagree with me. That's the fun.
.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I Think I Miss the Tides Most of All
Has it really been exactly 10 years since a nuclear waste dump exploded on the Moon, launching it and the few hardy souls stationed on Moonbase Alpha into interstellar space? I sure miss seeing a silver sliver of crescent Moon dancing in the western dusk or a fat full Moon rising orange in the east. Why, it seems like it was just yesterday....
Space: 1999. Cool idea. Dumb show. A few bright moments smothered in wasted potential. Also one vision of the World of Tomorrow that I'm really glad didn't come true. But it had great production values and effects for the time, and I think the Eagle (one of which is seen spinning about 14 seconds into the clip above) is the second-best fictional spacecraft ever designed.
Anyway, in loving memory to our missing satellite, gone from our orbit since September 13, 1999, please enjoy this tribute:
You're welcome.
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Space: 1999. Cool idea. Dumb show. A few bright moments smothered in wasted potential. Also one vision of the World of Tomorrow that I'm really glad didn't come true. But it had great production values and effects for the time, and I think the Eagle (one of which is seen spinning about 14 seconds into the clip above) is the second-best fictional spacecraft ever designed.
Anyway, in loving memory to our missing satellite, gone from our orbit since September 13, 1999, please enjoy this tribute:
You're welcome.
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Thursday, September 10, 2009
All In A Hot and Copper Sky
I haven't blogged much because I haven't had much to blog about. There's not a lot happening in Book World right now, and my day job is just kind of chugging along unspectacularly. We're traversing a little patch of late summer doldrums, noticing how much earlier today's sun set than yesterday's, getting the girls ready to return to school (their university's on the quarter system and doesn't start until late September).
Semi-related, I've noticed an interesting evolution in my thinking about doing talks and panels and such, which is that I'm increasingly uncomfortable with the idea. There was a fun stretch a couple of years ago when I did a bunch of them and enjoyed it very much. It's flattering to find out someone thinks you have something interesting to say and hey, if they're nice enough to ask and it might get one or two people to check out your work, why not? But the more I learn about comics and publishing (and I know gobs more than I did back then), the more I realize how little I know. I always took Socrates's "true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing" as a cute little koan that Socrates himself probably didn't really believe, but I'm beginning to think the old hemlock-chugger might've been right. I used to pontificate with great confidence, delivering all kinds of sage and helpful insight and advice. Now I think it's all distilled down to "Why on Earth would you care what I think? I don't know what I'm doing. Give it a shot and see if it works."
Fortunately, I think I can do better than that for the Toledo Museum folks. Although I can just imagine the looks on their faces if, after being flown across the country and put up for the night, I stood in front of the opening night patrons, put up one PowerPoint slide that read "I know nothing," thanked everyone for coming, and left the stage.
Man that's tempting. But no no no. So wrong!
But tempting.
Also, today I put the first pencil on paper for what could be my next book or webcomic or pile of stuff no one ever sees because I stuffed it into a drawer. I'll keep you posted on that--just wanted to mark the occasion.
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Early autumn is my favorite time of year. Most people say that spring feels ripe with possibilities, but I get that little frisson more in the fall. Maybe it's an imprinted memory left over from returning to school each year myself. Or anticipation of the coming holidays; I'm already drawing up plans for new spooky effects to add to my Halloween yard. Things change and happen fast this season. You get to put on sweaters and put off mowing the lawn. And then BOOM, it's next year.
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I am working on a couple of comics-related things. One is a presentation for my trip to the Toledo Museum of Art on October 2, where I'll be speaking at the opening of the "LitGraphics" exhibition that includes some original pages from Mom's Cancer plus many better pages from better artists. Right now I think about half my 45-minute talk will be on the experience of making Mom's Cancer and the other half on comics as art in general (I'm sure I'll also mention WHTTWOT, but that's not why I'm there). My aim is that after listening to me, people will go look at the pictures hanging on the wall and notice things they wouldn't have before. I can only get so deep in a short talk--I can only get so deep under any circumstances--but I think (hope) I can add some value to the museum-goers' experience.Semi-related, I've noticed an interesting evolution in my thinking about doing talks and panels and such, which is that I'm increasingly uncomfortable with the idea. There was a fun stretch a couple of years ago when I did a bunch of them and enjoyed it very much. It's flattering to find out someone thinks you have something interesting to say and hey, if they're nice enough to ask and it might get one or two people to check out your work, why not? But the more I learn about comics and publishing (and I know gobs more than I did back then), the more I realize how little I know. I always took Socrates's "true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing" as a cute little koan that Socrates himself probably didn't really believe, but I'm beginning to think the old hemlock-chugger might've been right. I used to pontificate with great confidence, delivering all kinds of sage and helpful insight and advice. Now I think it's all distilled down to "Why on Earth would you care what I think? I don't know what I'm doing. Give it a shot and see if it works."
Fortunately, I think I can do better than that for the Toledo Museum folks. Although I can just imagine the looks on their faces if, after being flown across the country and put up for the night, I stood in front of the opening night patrons, put up one PowerPoint slide that read "I know nothing," thanked everyone for coming, and left the stage.
Man that's tempting. But no no no. So wrong!
But tempting.
Also, today I put the first pencil on paper for what could be my next book or webcomic or pile of stuff no one ever sees because I stuffed it into a drawer. I'll keep you posted on that--just wanted to mark the occasion.
.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Doing the Old Man Proud
I've already taken up too much of my blog and your attention lately bragging on my kids, to their dismay. I'm going to torture them once more by posting two photos, then leave them alone a while. Unless they do something to deserve more bragging. It's up to them.
In the context of blogging about my daughter Robin's sick cat, I mentioned a while back that she spent six weeks of her summer at archeology field school. The cat survived for their reunion and is still doing pretty well, while Robin survived camping in the Sierra Nevada foothills and digging holes in rock-hard soil in 100-plus-degree heat every day. It was genuinely tough physical labor that I think drew on some previously untapped reserves of fortitude. Anyway, we sent along a disposable film camera (an electronic digital camera would not have survived), and just got the photos back this morning:
Archeologists coated in the dust of ancient civilizations prepare to break through the roof of the hidden Map Room and use the crystal headpiece atop the Staff of Ra to locate the Well of Souls where the Ark resides.
My one-time assistants Laura (left) and Kristen, the first- and second-place winners in the convention's manga contest, ready to sign their opus for fans. A third former assistant, Kristen's sister Kelly, won an art contest at the same event. Unfortunately, I'll never be able to afford their services again.
In the context of blogging about my daughter Robin's sick cat, I mentioned a while back that she spent six weeks of her summer at archeology field school. The cat survived for their reunion and is still doing pretty well, while Robin survived camping in the Sierra Nevada foothills and digging holes in rock-hard soil in 100-plus-degree heat every day. It was genuinely tough physical labor that I think drew on some previously untapped reserves of fortitude. Anyway, we sent along a disposable film camera (an electronic digital camera would not have survived), and just got the photos back this morning:
Archeologists coated in the dust of ancient civilizations prepare to break through the roof of the hidden Map Room and use the crystal headpiece atop the Staff of Ra to locate the Well of Souls where the Ark resides.I also just got a picture of my daughter Laura's booksigning at the SacAnime manga and anime convention last Saturday. It sounds like she, her sister, and a small group of their friends had a great time at a nice little convention. My wife Karen and I made sure she set aside enough copies of her first published work, sure to become a future rare first-edition collectible, to allow us to retire in comfort.
My one-time assistants Laura (left) and Kristen, the first- and second-place winners in the convention's manga contest, ready to sign their opus for fans. A third former assistant, Kristen's sister Kelly, won an art contest at the same event. Unfortunately, I'll never be able to afford their services again..
There. I think I've done enough damage for one day.
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Thursday, August 27, 2009
Editors, Proposals, and Other Unpleasantness
Some of my blog posts get written because two things just happen to find their way into my brain at the same time and make a connection. This is one of those.
A friend who does very good comics and is looking to approach graphic novel publishers recently asked me what a successful book proposal looks like. As if I had a clue. Mom's Cancer was essentially finished by the time Abrams took it on. My proposal consisted of printing it out and mailing it to them. For WHTTWOT, my relationship with Editor Charlie was such that we could just talk it over. I did send him a package of stuff that I called a "proposal" early on, and in retrospect can only imagine how mystified he must have been by the handful of drawings plus print-outs about the World's Fair, Popular Mechanics, and old comic books. "I want to do THIS!" I declared, and I remain grateful he nevertheless continued to take my calls.
With that on my mind, I just read this interview at "Comics Comics" in which cartoonist Dash Shaw interviews cartoonist Hope Larson (never met either of them) about her experience with editors. It's pretty "inside baseball," but if you're interested in the process of publishing you might find it worthwhile. Larson describes a range of editorial encounters, a few of which match my own and others that don't. I found it interesting that she seems eager for editorial guidance and feedback, which is different than the usual artistic attitude that editing equals meddling, interference and censorship. She values the second set of eyes. I do too--as long as I trust and respect them. If you can relax your ego and concentrate on the goal of doing the best work possible, a good editor will always make it better.
I expect I'll have more to say on this subject sometime.
.
A friend who does very good comics and is looking to approach graphic novel publishers recently asked me what a successful book proposal looks like. As if I had a clue. Mom's Cancer was essentially finished by the time Abrams took it on. My proposal consisted of printing it out and mailing it to them. For WHTTWOT, my relationship with Editor Charlie was such that we could just talk it over. I did send him a package of stuff that I called a "proposal" early on, and in retrospect can only imagine how mystified he must have been by the handful of drawings plus print-outs about the World's Fair, Popular Mechanics, and old comic books. "I want to do THIS!" I declared, and I remain grateful he nevertheless continued to take my calls.
With that on my mind, I just read this interview at "Comics Comics" in which cartoonist Dash Shaw interviews cartoonist Hope Larson (never met either of them) about her experience with editors. It's pretty "inside baseball," but if you're interested in the process of publishing you might find it worthwhile. Larson describes a range of editorial encounters, a few of which match my own and others that don't. I found it interesting that she seems eager for editorial guidance and feedback, which is different than the usual artistic attitude that editing equals meddling, interference and censorship. She values the second set of eyes. I do too--as long as I trust and respect them. If you can relax your ego and concentrate on the goal of doing the best work possible, a good editor will always make it better.
I expect I'll have more to say on this subject sometime.
.
Interview: Graphic Novel Reporter
The Graphic Novel Reporter has posted a swell interview with me about my book. Interviewer John Hogan and I had a very relaxed, friendly conversation a couple of weeks ago, and I think some of that comes across. John knows and loves comics--he brought up the obscure but apt point that writer Roy Thomas used the Trylon and Perisphere from the 1939 World's Fair as the headquarters of his "All-Star Squadron" superhero group--and seemed to share some of my passion for the themes of WHTTWOT. It was a good chat and I'm happy with the result.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
In the Wild with Goddard
Over on my book's new Facebook Fan Page, I've been having an unexpectedly good time compiling photos people send me of WHTTWOT "in the wild"--that is, pictures of my book perched on people's bookshelves, propped up next to indifferent cats, etc. (send me yours!). Although there are only eight photos so far, and one of them is mine, it's cool to see some of the places the book has gotten to.
The consensus seems to be that the photo below is the best of the bunch, and, with utmost appreciation for the others, I agree with the consensus.
Jim O'Kane was searching for the grave of rocketry pioneer Robert Goddard in Worcester, Mass., and I guess happened to have WHTTWOT in the car with him when he found it. Goddard has been a scientific hero of mine since I did a report on him in junior high school. He was both a solid theoretician and old-fashioned hands-on experimentalist who built liquid-fueled rockets in the 1910s through '30s long before anyone else saw any reason to.
Goddard also took a memorably unfair beating in the press. In a scientific paper published in 1920, Goddard described a design for a rocket and, as an aside, speculated that someday such devices might be able to travel to the Moon. Well. The New York Times mocked him mercilessly for not knowing that a rocket couldn't travel in the vacuum of space because its exhaust would have nothing to push against--an exactly backwards misunderstanding of Newton's law of action and reaction--and concluded that he lacked the most basic scientific education "ladled out daily in high schools." Although anyone who mattered knew that Goddard was right and the Times wrong, he never really got over that insult (and plenty of others like it from reporters eager to make fun of the Moon Man) and withdrew from public view while continuing to develop the science and engineering of rockets. The Times' cute apology to Goddard after Apollo 11 landed on the Moon came 24 years too late. He died in 1945.
As I mentioned on the photo's Facebook caption, opening this picture from Jim took my breath away for a second. I don't mention Goddard in WHTTWOT--his real pioneering work was done before my story opens in 1939--but his influence runs all the way through it. We can add my book to the long, long list of things that wouldn't have been possible without him. Jim's picture means a lot to me.
The consensus seems to be that the photo below is the best of the bunch, and, with utmost appreciation for the others, I agree with the consensus.
Jim O'Kane was searching for the grave of rocketry pioneer Robert Goddard in Worcester, Mass., and I guess happened to have WHTTWOT in the car with him when he found it. Goddard has been a scientific hero of mine since I did a report on him in junior high school. He was both a solid theoretician and old-fashioned hands-on experimentalist who built liquid-fueled rockets in the 1910s through '30s long before anyone else saw any reason to.
Goddard also took a memorably unfair beating in the press. In a scientific paper published in 1920, Goddard described a design for a rocket and, as an aside, speculated that someday such devices might be able to travel to the Moon. Well. The New York Times mocked him mercilessly for not knowing that a rocket couldn't travel in the vacuum of space because its exhaust would have nothing to push against--an exactly backwards misunderstanding of Newton's law of action and reaction--and concluded that he lacked the most basic scientific education "ladled out daily in high schools." Although anyone who mattered knew that Goddard was right and the Times wrong, he never really got over that insult (and plenty of others like it from reporters eager to make fun of the Moon Man) and withdrew from public view while continuing to develop the science and engineering of rockets. The Times' cute apology to Goddard after Apollo 11 landed on the Moon came 24 years too late. He died in 1945.
As I mentioned on the photo's Facebook caption, opening this picture from Jim took my breath away for a second. I don't mention Goddard in WHTTWOT--his real pioneering work was done before my story opens in 1939--but his influence runs all the way through it. We can add my book to the long, long list of things that wouldn't have been possible without him. Jim's picture means a lot to me.
Probably the most famous photo of Goddard, with
a rocket fueled by gasoline and liquid oxygen in 1926.
a rocket fueled by gasoline and liquid oxygen in 1926.
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