I started the week too busy with real work to polish off our office/studio renovation, but today took a few minutes (ahem, hours) to put some art on the wall. Although there are a still few floating boxes of objects without homes and knick-knacks poorly arranged, today I'm declaring the room DONE.
The final report:
The north wall isn't worth mentioning--mostly a mirrored closet door with a display shelf full of toys above it. I loves me some toys. I've also got a little telescope that tucks in behind the computer desk.
Karen's wound is healing cleanly, thank goodness, and will eventually fade into a faint scar that reminds her of the good times. Right, honey? Right?
I've been a little amazed by all the interest and support these renovation posts have gotten. To answer a common question: Sorry, we are not for hire. I've already enjoyed a couple of days sitting and working in my new space and must say, although the old room was cozy, this feels bigger, more functional, and more fun. I want to hang out here, which is conducive to getting stuff done.
I thought I might miss the old mess.
I don't.
And here's a picture of a dog.
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A Fire Story. Mom's Cancer. Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? The Last Mechanical Monster.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
So Many Books, So Few Shelves
Trim's on. Holes're spackled. Final touch-ups are painted.
Books are loading in. I've got too many. It turns out that big mound I had piled on my floor that threatened to topple over and crush me every day actually comprised a lot of books. Who knew? Hard decisions are forthcoming.
I'm astonished how many comics, graphic novels, and books about comics and graphic novels I own. Even more astonishing is that I know a lot of the people who created them. That's a neat thing to take stock of once in a while.
Got enough shelves but ran out of shelf pegs. Off to Home Depot in the morning.
Books are loading in. I've got too many. It turns out that big mound I had piled on my floor that threatened to topple over and crush me every day actually comprised a lot of books. Who knew? Hard decisions are forthcoming.
I'm astonished how many comics, graphic novels, and books about comics and graphic novels I own. Even more astonishing is that I know a lot of the people who created them. That's a neat thing to take stock of once in a while.
Got enough shelves but ran out of shelf pegs. Off to Home Depot in the morning.
| Bookshelves partially loaded. I've got quite a few more than will fit the available space. Some will probably end up in a cabinet underneath. |
Friday, March 22, 2013
Studio City
My thanks to all who encouraged me to muster the confidence to call my office a "studio." Studio studio studio. Nope, still sounds weird.
Since my last office/studio renovation update on Wednesday, Karen and I have continued to make progress. Some of it is the sort of progress that isn't very showy: countersinking, spackling and painting finishing nails, etc. The kind of stuff you can spend an hour on and no one will ever notice but you'll know it was done right (or at least as best you could). Still: shelves are built and in place (securely, here in earthquake country) and we actually began loading some things into the cabinets tonight. It's beginning to pay off.
I have to add that, although we're dedicated, we're not grinding away around the clock. In fact, our local restaurateurs do an annual promotion called "Restaurant Week" in which they offer a prix fixe menu designed to lure in new customers, and which Karen and I exploit to revisit old favorites. So every other night this week we're stopping work around 5:30, putting on nice clothes, and going out to a very good restaurant, saving the best for our Anniversary this Sunday. We live right.
As the kids say on the Internet, Pictures or it didn't happen:
We may finish before Monday.
Since my last office/studio renovation update on Wednesday, Karen and I have continued to make progress. Some of it is the sort of progress that isn't very showy: countersinking, spackling and painting finishing nails, etc. The kind of stuff you can spend an hour on and no one will ever notice but you'll know it was done right (or at least as best you could). Still: shelves are built and in place (securely, here in earthquake country) and we actually began loading some things into the cabinets tonight. It's beginning to pay off.
I have to add that, although we're dedicated, we're not grinding away around the clock. In fact, our local restaurateurs do an annual promotion called "Restaurant Week" in which they offer a prix fixe menu designed to lure in new customers, and which Karen and I exploit to revisit old favorites. So every other night this week we're stopping work around 5:30, putting on nice clothes, and going out to a very good restaurant, saving the best for our Anniversary this Sunday. We live right.
As the kids say on the Internet, Pictures or it didn't happen:
| Various bits of trim and a door drying in the driveway after being painted white by Karen. There's a LOT of trim. |
| Finally, to keep you whiners happy, here's a dog with sawdust on her lips. It pairs well with dry spackle. |
We may finish before Monday.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Progress Report
Day Five of Operation Office/Studio. Encouraging signs of progress. End in sight. Donner Party-style cannibalism averted.
| Man and dog, both exhausted by their day's labors. |
Monday, March 18, 2013
Fibber McGee's Closet
I'm too young to have heard the "Fibber McGee & Molly" radio program during its original heyday, but fell in love with old radio comedies in my teens and quickly made up for the time I'd wasted waiting to become an embryo. One recurring bit involved McGee's closet which, like many things, played better in the sound-fueled Theater of the Mind than it did when translated to film in 1941:
But you get the idea. And I bring it up because that's my office/studio.
Karen and I just finished emptying it at the end of Day 3. It took a while because Karen set the very reasonable course of sorting through everything on the way out, rather than getting it all out and editing it later. So we thumbed through piles, poked through files, and overfilled two large rooms with the contents of one small one. Relieved of its cork, the office exploded like Mentos out of a bottle of Diet Pepsi.
Following my last post, some wiseacre made reference to the program "Hoarders." Which I'm so not. I may be sentimental, I may even be lazy, but I'm not a hoarder. It's just that things come in and never go out. For instance, a 5.25-inch floppy disk with a label reading "Save until September 2001." A decade of self-employment business records. And I parted with the three thick binders totaling about 2500 pages of raw research I did for Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow. I figured if no one had called me out yet (except Jim O'Kane, curse him) they weren't going to.
I remember being in college and proud that everything I owned--my entire life--fit into the back of a Volvo station wagon. I liked being that guy. Sometimes I'm seduced by the idea of unloading it all and roaming the highways in a little RV or sailing the seas in a little sloop. It's an appealing dream I still hope to pursue someday. After the fire, which with luck will look not at all suspicious.
.
But you get the idea. And I bring it up because that's my office/studio.
Karen and I just finished emptying it at the end of Day 3. It took a while because Karen set the very reasonable course of sorting through everything on the way out, rather than getting it all out and editing it later. So we thumbed through piles, poked through files, and overfilled two large rooms with the contents of one small one. Relieved of its cork, the office exploded like Mentos out of a bottle of Diet Pepsi.
Following my last post, some wiseacre made reference to the program "Hoarders." Which I'm so not. I may be sentimental, I may even be lazy, but I'm not a hoarder. It's just that things come in and never go out. For instance, a 5.25-inch floppy disk with a label reading "Save until September 2001." A decade of self-employment business records. And I parted with the three thick binders totaling about 2500 pages of raw research I did for Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow. I figured if no one had called me out yet (except Jim O'Kane, curse him) they weren't going to.
| At mid-clean yesterday. At bottom right is one of my computer monitors. I still need to do some work this week, so will maintain a bare-bones office of computer + printer + phone to get the job done. |
| Speaking of Karen, she's behind that heap o' recycling somewhere. Behind her you can see the books beginning to pile up on and around our dining room table. It got worse. Much worse. |
| The room tonight. We'll pull out the bookcases and some other furniture in the morning, move the big stuff into the middle of the room, and start painting tomorrow. If we're able to move. |
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Thursday, March 14, 2013
Tapas du Jour
Odds and ends today. What I really oughtta do is post smaller bits more frequently instead of saving them up and blogging all at once. Probably not gonna happen.
* * *
My wife Karen has taught our pup Riley some neat tricks, including fetching the newspaper every morning. A couple of days ago we decided to record it, understanding that standing in the driveway with a camera would distract Riley from her duties. Which it did. Still, she got the job done:
The real miracle documented here isn't a dog fetching a paper, but the fact that someone still subscribes to one.
* * *
Karen and I are dedicating the next several days to redoing my office (it seems somehow pretentious to call it a "studio," but it is where I make all my comics in addition to doing my day job). It's a spare bedroom in our home that hasn't been painted since before we moved in, way back in the 20th Century, and is long overdue for a refurb. The challenge is that the room is packed: books piled in front of overflowing bookcases, storage boxes, crap atop crap. It makes for a cozy bear-den-like environment I actually find quite comfy, but even I concede it's time to run a river through these Augean Stables. The only way this'll work is if a lot of things leave the room and don't get back in.
The goal is a neat, clean office with crisp light gray walls and white ceiling and trim. We can't move the furniture around too much--it'll only fit and function configured as it is--but we're going to install cabinets for more storage and construct a built-in bookcase on top of them along the entire length of the back wall. If my calculations are right our bookcase capacity will increase slightly but we're still going to have to get rid of some books. We'll find them good homes.
Here are a few "before" photos. Maybe I'll post some in progress, and will definitely share the "afters" in a week or so. We have a motto in our house that "It's not a real project until Brian bleeds." I will be employing power tools. Wish us luck.
* * *
Finally: tomorrow--the fabled and fated Ides of March--is the 25th anniversary of the Best Day of My Life. Happy Birthday, Pooters. We'll see you tomorrow night.
* * *
My wife Karen has taught our pup Riley some neat tricks, including fetching the newspaper every morning. A couple of days ago we decided to record it, understanding that standing in the driveway with a camera would distract Riley from her duties. Which it did. Still, she got the job done:
The real miracle documented here isn't a dog fetching a paper, but the fact that someone still subscribes to one.
* * *
Karen and I are dedicating the next several days to redoing my office (it seems somehow pretentious to call it a "studio," but it is where I make all my comics in addition to doing my day job). It's a spare bedroom in our home that hasn't been painted since before we moved in, way back in the 20th Century, and is long overdue for a refurb. The challenge is that the room is packed: books piled in front of overflowing bookcases, storage boxes, crap atop crap. It makes for a cozy bear-den-like environment I actually find quite comfy, but even I concede it's time to run a river through these Augean Stables. The only way this'll work is if a lot of things leave the room and don't get back in.
The goal is a neat, clean office with crisp light gray walls and white ceiling and trim. We can't move the furniture around too much--it'll only fit and function configured as it is--but we're going to install cabinets for more storage and construct a built-in bookcase on top of them along the entire length of the back wall. If my calculations are right our bookcase capacity will increase slightly but we're still going to have to get rid of some books. We'll find them good homes.
Here are a few "before" photos. Maybe I'll post some in progress, and will definitely share the "afters" in a week or so. We have a motto in our house that "It's not a real project until Brian bleeds." I will be employing power tools. Wish us luck.
* * *
Finally: tomorrow--the fabled and fated Ides of March--is the 25th anniversary of the Best Day of My Life. Happy Birthday, Pooters. We'll see you tomorrow night.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Ask Me Anything
A few years ago I did something here that was kind of fun and interesting, and thought I'd try again: Ask Me Anything.
For those not familiar, it's an Internet thing in which everyone is encouraged to ask me anything and I promise to answer as best I can, no matter how stupid, personal, insulting, trivial or outlandish. I do reserve the right to deflect or refuse. But try me; we'll see what happens. Leave a question in the Comments and I'll reply there when I see it. Keep it cleanish.
As before, my great fear is that no one will ask me anything. Rather than be horrified and embarrassed that no one reads or cares, I will take that as confirmation that my blog has already been so amazingly informative and forthcoming that I've already answered all potential questions. Self-delusion is a powerful ally.
And if it's too pathetic, I can delete the whole thing.
Ready? Go!

.
For those not familiar, it's an Internet thing in which everyone is encouraged to ask me anything and I promise to answer as best I can, no matter how stupid, personal, insulting, trivial or outlandish. I do reserve the right to deflect or refuse. But try me; we'll see what happens. Leave a question in the Comments and I'll reply there when I see it. Keep it cleanish.
As before, my great fear is that no one will ask me anything. Rather than be horrified and embarrassed that no one reads or cares, I will take that as confirmation that my blog has already been so amazingly informative and forthcoming that I've already answered all potential questions. Self-delusion is a powerful ally.
And if it's too pathetic, I can delete the whole thing.
Ready? Go!

.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
My Dog and I Are Joining the Circus
Riley is deep in rigorous training. It's about time she started earning her keep around here. "Cute" doesn't pay the bills.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Making Comics is Hard
I've been trying to do some work on Mystery Project X every day. And nearly every day I hit some problem on which I bang and bang and bang and bang and eventually pound through. I've heard it said that if it's not hard, you're not stretching yourself enough. I'm stretched.
The problem usually isn't drawing, it's storytelling--controlling the pace of the story through the panels and deciding what information needs to be in each panel to not only depict that moment of action but pay off the previous one and set up the next.
I could write a really long post on this topic someday. Not today. But here's a fundamental truth about making comics I didn't understand when I was young: a lot of people can draw one pretty picture that'll take your breath away. Literally millions of artists can draw prettier, more impressive pictures than I can.
The trick--what makes what I'm trying to do comics rather than illustration--is drawing the pictures before and after that one to convey information, create a mood, evoke an emotion. The choices you make define your voice. They can't all be technical showstoppers, any more than every violin recital can be "Flight of the Bumblebee." Sometimes the very best comics panel is one that shows very little. Sometimes the most perfect thing you can draw is nothing at all.
It's really hard.
The problem usually isn't drawing, it's storytelling--controlling the pace of the story through the panels and deciding what information needs to be in each panel to not only depict that moment of action but pay off the previous one and set up the next.
I could write a really long post on this topic someday. Not today. But here's a fundamental truth about making comics I didn't understand when I was young: a lot of people can draw one pretty picture that'll take your breath away. Literally millions of artists can draw prettier, more impressive pictures than I can.
The trick--what makes what I'm trying to do comics rather than illustration--is drawing the pictures before and after that one to convey information, create a mood, evoke an emotion. The choices you make define your voice. They can't all be technical showstoppers, any more than every violin recital can be "Flight of the Bumblebee." Sometimes the very best comics panel is one that shows very little. Sometimes the most perfect thing you can draw is nothing at all.
It's really hard.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Paperman
"Paperman" won the Oscar for Best Animated Short Film at last Sunday's Academy Awards. I watched it for the first time this morning. Really charming and nicely done, I think, and worth 6:35 of your day.
Paperman - Full Animated (Short Film) [VO|HD] by addictomovie
When the film won its Oscar and director John Kahrs went on-stage to accept, producer Kristina Reed tossed a few paper airplanes from the balcony. Security converged and kicked her out--for 10 minutes, until I guess someone explained the situation. Then she got back in.
That sounds like a cute story, too.
Paperman - Full Animated (Short Film) [VO|HD] by addictomovie
When the film won its Oscar and director John Kahrs went on-stage to accept, producer Kristina Reed tossed a few paper airplanes from the balcony. Security converged and kicked her out--for 10 minutes, until I guess someone explained the situation. Then she got back in.
That sounds like a cute story, too.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Examiners of the Medical and Banking Varieties
This is a fine time to announce my participation in a conference titled "Medical Examinations: Art, Story, Theory" at the University of California Riverside on April 26-27, 2013. This opportunity emerged from my involvement in the Graphic Medicine conferences, which is where I met Juliet McMullin from UC Riverside's Anthropology Dept., who invited me to come on down.
This looks unique and interesting. Although it shares some roots with the Graphic Medicine conferences I've known and loved, this is more of an artistic community event than an academic meeting. According to its website, it will "feature major scholars whose approaches to medical narratives vary and bring them into conversation with one another. The focus of this conference on the 'neoliberal body' aims at centering our discussions on the kinds of medical narratives that emerged in advanced capitalism, high-tech medicine, and new media while health disparities among different populations remain."
So, like that.
Very attractive to me personally is that another of the speakers will be my friend Ian Williams, the UK physician and cartoonist who organized the first Graphic Medicine conference in London a few years ago. I look forward to buying him a pint of something. Very attractive to everyone else is that "Medical Examinations: Art, Story, Theory" is open to the public and free! Wow! The organizers are asking folks to register because space is limited and they need a head-count.
UC Riverside is about 50 miles due east of Los Angeles. If you're in the neighborhood the last Friday and Saturday of April drop by and say howdy. I'm speaking Friday afternoon but plan to hang out for the whole thing.
* * *
A week ago an evil-doer helped himself to a fair portion of Karen's and my life savings. I won't say how, partly because I'm not sure and also because I don't want to give anyone any ideas. Let's just say it involved computers.
It's hard to describe the sinking feeling of looking at a monitor and realizing you have much less money than you thought you did the day before. It actually kind of reminded me of Karen's reaction when our car was stolen: "Did you take it? Because I didn't take it. Seriously, did you take it?"
Luckily, our giant multinational mega-banking institution has been completely helpful and supportive--in fact, they alerted us to the problem in the first place. We couldn't have asked for better, more professional service. After a brief investigation that I assume convinced them we were victims rather than perps, we're getting our money back. All relevant computers are now cleaner than a CDC Ebola lab. But what a hassle! New everything: checking, savings, credit, debit.
It's all just electrons, and oh so fragile. Where was George Bailey when I needed him?
Sunday, February 17, 2013
The Familiar Quip
Families have in-jokes. Something Mom or Dad always says in a particular situation; a remark no one else would catch but the parents and kids look at each other knowingly. They're not always funny. In fact, sometimes they're groan-inducing. But everyone would miss them if they stopped.
Many of my favorites are borrowed from pop culture and films. For example, I can't leave our car in a multi-story parking garage without saying, "Everybody remember where we parked." The twist on one of the best lines from one of the best Star Trek movies is that it was itself a riff on the cliched command of families everywhere. That's why it was funny: it's one thing when Dad says it at the mall, quite another when Captain Kirk says it to his crew as they debark from an invisible spaceship. The fact that I've re-repurposed it to again apply to Dad in a parking lot is deeply meta, man.
Bonus points to this movie for "double-dumbass on you," which I don't use as often as I'd like. Also for "nuclear wessels" because one of my daughters works where they used to keep them.
"Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon." From Ghostbusters, this applies in real life both when advice is unnecessary ("look before you cross the street") and when it's woefully inadequate ("in case of major earthquake, avoid falling debris").
"Have fun storming the castle!" from The Princess Bride. Applies to the start of any endeavour, but best for one involving some distance or difficulty. This got used a lot when sending the daughters back to college after a break. Most effective when my wife and I hug and wave like Billy Crystal and Carol Kane.
"Not anymore." From The Pink Panther Strikes Again, best pronounced with an outrageous French accent. Applies to any situation in which something has been botched or destroyed, and someone utters a sentence that begins, "But that's . . ."
And I can't think of any word that's been more damaged by a single movie than "surely":
What're yours? Or is it just us? It's just us, isn't it . . .
Many of my favorites are borrowed from pop culture and films. For example, I can't leave our car in a multi-story parking garage without saying, "Everybody remember where we parked." The twist on one of the best lines from one of the best Star Trek movies is that it was itself a riff on the cliched command of families everywhere. That's why it was funny: it's one thing when Dad says it at the mall, quite another when Captain Kirk says it to his crew as they debark from an invisible spaceship. The fact that I've re-repurposed it to again apply to Dad in a parking lot is deeply meta, man.
Bonus points to this movie for "double-dumbass on you," which I don't use as often as I'd like. Also for "nuclear wessels" because one of my daughters works where they used to keep them.
"Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon." From Ghostbusters, this applies in real life both when advice is unnecessary ("look before you cross the street") and when it's woefully inadequate ("in case of major earthquake, avoid falling debris").
"Have fun storming the castle!" from The Princess Bride. Applies to the start of any endeavour, but best for one involving some distance or difficulty. This got used a lot when sending the daughters back to college after a break. Most effective when my wife and I hug and wave like Billy Crystal and Carol Kane.
"Not anymore." From The Pink Panther Strikes Again, best pronounced with an outrageous French accent. Applies to any situation in which something has been botched or destroyed, and someone utters a sentence that begins, "But that's . . ."
And I can't think of any word that's been more damaged by a single movie than "surely":
What're yours? Or is it just us? It's just us, isn't it . . .
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Process
It's been a while since I've posted a bloated, self-important manifesto about process, so I thought I'd write one.
This one stems from recent conversations I've had with a group of medical students as well as another cartoonist that boiled down to (as most conversations with other cartoonists boil down to): "How do you do it?" In fact, I've done it different ways.
Mom's Cancer was done parallel with real time but several weeks behind. That is, I'd notice something that might be worth writing about, capture it in a note or sketch, then set it aside for a while to see if and how it fit into the rest of the story. I wanted Mom's Cancer to be more than a diary comic--I wanted it to have some real dramatic arcs and a beginning, middle and end, even if I didn't know at the time what the end was going to be. The result was a sort of guided spontaneity.
In contrast, Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow was pretty solidly scripted from the start (although my initial proposal for WHTTWOT was very different--for example, there were no Pop and Buddy at all). Then I sat down and drew what I'd written. I still had a lot of freedom to revise as I worked, and Editor Charlie and I wrestled with the final chapter until quite late in the process. If there's a typical method of doing a graphic novel, I think that's close: script it then draw it.
My first aborted stab at Mystery Project X went the same way. I wrote the whole thing, thought I had it nailed down, then started drawing. In contrast to WHTTWOT, which I pencilled and inked in four- or five-page batches, I decided to pencil all of Mystery Project X first, then go back and ink it all. I was trying to avoid a couple of problems.
(Parenthetical explanation (which is why I put it in parentheses) of pencilling and inking: I'm a dinosaur cartoonist who still works in paper and ink. Traditionally, you sketch with pencil, then go back and draw over it in black ink. Some very confident cartoonists can work directly in ink without pencilling first. I'm not one of them. Many 21st Century cartoonists work entirely on the computer. I don't find that fun.)
First, character designs can evolve and wander off-model, so that the character you draw on Page 100 looks nothing like the same character you drew on Page 1. You see this in most comics strips that run for decades: Snoopy in 1955 looked different from Snoopy in 1995. I faced this issue on Mom's Cancer, especially in how I drew my Mom, such that when we did the print version I had to redraw her for about the first third of the story (as described in this old blog post). So my reasoning was: draw the whole story in pencil first and work out the kinks so that when I inked the characters they'd stay consistent throughout.
Second, I thought that pencilling the whole thing first might expose any weaknesses in my story or storytelling sooner rather than later. And I guess I kind of accomplished that, though not exactly as I'd intended, when I decided after 110 pages that I just wasn't liking either the process or the story and needed to start over.
Now that I've restarted Mystery Project X, I'm trying to combine two processes that worked for me before. I know the outline of the plot but haven't scripted the entire thing. I'm working in chunks a few pages at a time: scripting, thumbnailing (sketching), pencilling and inking as I go. So far I'm finding it much more satisfying than my first stab at scripting the whole thing, then penciling the whole thing, then inking the whole thing. I think I know why.
In my first go-round, I never had the satisfaction of getting something done. I pencilled 110 pages but they were only half done, and wouldn't be fully done until they got inked months later. Nothing was ever finished. My internal clock was out of synch. However, this time around I've gotten several pages pencilled and inked and done, and can tick them off my mental progress bar. Much more satisfying.
I'm also enjoying the diversity of problem-solving required. One moment it's a story puzzle, next a scripting puzzle, then a layout, pencilling or inking puzzle. I find this much more stimulating than solving all the story puzzles, then all the scripting puzzles, etc. Variety is good.
Finally, sort-of-making-it-up-as-I-go gives me some latitude to change the story as I create it. I have had the quintessential writer's experience of my characters deciding for themselves what they want to do despite my wishes, and enjoy leaving open the possibility it could happen again. Room to discover. In fact, I'm not really sure how the story is going to end. I know a couple different ways it could end, but I trust the characters will inform me how it must end by the time I get there. We'll see how it goes.
It's worth adding that my processes cover a narrow range of the processes available. I'd say I edge toward the "stodgy" end of the scale. Other cartoonists create with an instinct and spontaneity that astonishes me. They just start drawing and see what comes out. I don't know how they do it but the results can be terrific. I believe Carol Tyler, whom I adore, works like that. Phoebe Gloeckner told me a story about a publisher who offered her a book contract but wondered, not unreasonably, what the book might be about. Phoebe couldn't say; she wouldn't know until she finished. Offer withdrawn.
Finally, to learn way more than 99% of you would ever care to know about process, check out this post by cartoonist and comics instructor Jessica Abel, in which she describes a method of "visual scripting" she adapted from something Alison Bechdel does. I'm not sold on this but it's interesting. What I like about it is that it combines text and visuals, as opposed to methods that treat words and pictures as entirely separate entities. In the best comics, words and pictures need and support each other, and visual scripting encourages that. I'm less fond of the sittin'-at-the-computer-using-InDesign aspect, when it seems to me I achieve pretty much the same benefit doodling on a Post-It note. Still: worth a look.
Food for thought. My bottom line: If you want to make comics, make them however works for you. There's no right or wrong way (though there may be ways that make your comics easier or harder to publish, which might be worth knowing ahead of time). If you're frustrated or stuck, maybe it's not your story or talent that's the problem. Give your process a jiggle and see what shakes loose.
This one stems from recent conversations I've had with a group of medical students as well as another cartoonist that boiled down to (as most conversations with other cartoonists boil down to): "How do you do it?" In fact, I've done it different ways.
Mom's Cancer was done parallel with real time but several weeks behind. That is, I'd notice something that might be worth writing about, capture it in a note or sketch, then set it aside for a while to see if and how it fit into the rest of the story. I wanted Mom's Cancer to be more than a diary comic--I wanted it to have some real dramatic arcs and a beginning, middle and end, even if I didn't know at the time what the end was going to be. The result was a sort of guided spontaneity.
In contrast, Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow was pretty solidly scripted from the start (although my initial proposal for WHTTWOT was very different--for example, there were no Pop and Buddy at all). Then I sat down and drew what I'd written. I still had a lot of freedom to revise as I worked, and Editor Charlie and I wrestled with the final chapter until quite late in the process. If there's a typical method of doing a graphic novel, I think that's close: script it then draw it.
My first aborted stab at Mystery Project X went the same way. I wrote the whole thing, thought I had it nailed down, then started drawing. In contrast to WHTTWOT, which I pencilled and inked in four- or five-page batches, I decided to pencil all of Mystery Project X first, then go back and ink it all. I was trying to avoid a couple of problems.
(Parenthetical explanation (which is why I put it in parentheses) of pencilling and inking: I'm a dinosaur cartoonist who still works in paper and ink. Traditionally, you sketch with pencil, then go back and draw over it in black ink. Some very confident cartoonists can work directly in ink without pencilling first. I'm not one of them. Many 21st Century cartoonists work entirely on the computer. I don't find that fun.)
First, character designs can evolve and wander off-model, so that the character you draw on Page 100 looks nothing like the same character you drew on Page 1. You see this in most comics strips that run for decades: Snoopy in 1955 looked different from Snoopy in 1995. I faced this issue on Mom's Cancer, especially in how I drew my Mom, such that when we did the print version I had to redraw her for about the first third of the story (as described in this old blog post). So my reasoning was: draw the whole story in pencil first and work out the kinks so that when I inked the characters they'd stay consistent throughout.
Second, I thought that pencilling the whole thing first might expose any weaknesses in my story or storytelling sooner rather than later. And I guess I kind of accomplished that, though not exactly as I'd intended, when I decided after 110 pages that I just wasn't liking either the process or the story and needed to start over.
Now that I've restarted Mystery Project X, I'm trying to combine two processes that worked for me before. I know the outline of the plot but haven't scripted the entire thing. I'm working in chunks a few pages at a time: scripting, thumbnailing (sketching), pencilling and inking as I go. So far I'm finding it much more satisfying than my first stab at scripting the whole thing, then penciling the whole thing, then inking the whole thing. I think I know why.
In my first go-round, I never had the satisfaction of getting something done. I pencilled 110 pages but they were only half done, and wouldn't be fully done until they got inked months later. Nothing was ever finished. My internal clock was out of synch. However, this time around I've gotten several pages pencilled and inked and done, and can tick them off my mental progress bar. Much more satisfying.
I'm also enjoying the diversity of problem-solving required. One moment it's a story puzzle, next a scripting puzzle, then a layout, pencilling or inking puzzle. I find this much more stimulating than solving all the story puzzles, then all the scripting puzzles, etc. Variety is good.
Finally, sort-of-making-it-up-as-I-go gives me some latitude to change the story as I create it. I have had the quintessential writer's experience of my characters deciding for themselves what they want to do despite my wishes, and enjoy leaving open the possibility it could happen again. Room to discover. In fact, I'm not really sure how the story is going to end. I know a couple different ways it could end, but I trust the characters will inform me how it must end by the time I get there. We'll see how it goes.
It's worth adding that my processes cover a narrow range of the processes available. I'd say I edge toward the "stodgy" end of the scale. Other cartoonists create with an instinct and spontaneity that astonishes me. They just start drawing and see what comes out. I don't know how they do it but the results can be terrific. I believe Carol Tyler, whom I adore, works like that. Phoebe Gloeckner told me a story about a publisher who offered her a book contract but wondered, not unreasonably, what the book might be about. Phoebe couldn't say; she wouldn't know until she finished. Offer withdrawn.
Finally, to learn way more than 99% of you would ever care to know about process, check out this post by cartoonist and comics instructor Jessica Abel, in which she describes a method of "visual scripting" she adapted from something Alison Bechdel does. I'm not sold on this but it's interesting. What I like about it is that it combines text and visuals, as opposed to methods that treat words and pictures as entirely separate entities. In the best comics, words and pictures need and support each other, and visual scripting encourages that. I'm less fond of the sittin'-at-the-computer-using-InDesign aspect, when it seems to me I achieve pretty much the same benefit doodling on a Post-It note. Still: worth a look.
Food for thought. My bottom line: If you want to make comics, make them however works for you. There's no right or wrong way (though there may be ways that make your comics easier or harder to publish, which might be worth knowing ahead of time). If you're frustrated or stuck, maybe it's not your story or talent that's the problem. Give your process a jiggle and see what shakes loose.
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