Cooking with Alton

Karen, our daughters, and I had a terrific Friday evening at Alton Brown's "Edible Inevitable" show, now touring the country. If you don't know Mr. Brown, he's hosted several programs on the Food Network over the past 15 or so years, including his own long-running "Good Eats" show and the venerable "Iron Chef America." I can't think of a better way to describe his TV persona than Alton did himself during a Q&A portion of the show, recalling the start of his career when he wrote three phrases on a piece of paper: "Julia Child. Mister Wizard. Monty Python." That's Alton Brown.

The show was good. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who might google up this post, but it includes over-the-top cooking experiments, puppetry videos and music, with Alton proving himself a credible guitarist and saxophonist (backed by a drummer and bassist). He stressed the importance of cooking and eating as a family. He's also very funny with both prepared material and working with the audience on the fly. A dry, sardonic, quick wit.

Just one bit to capture the flavor of the evening: following a song dedicated to the wonder of the Easy-Bake Oven, which young Alton pined for only to be scolded that baking was for girls, Mr. Brown brought out the actual 1960s' Easy-Bake Oven, powered by a 100-watt light bulb, that he finally bought with his own allowance.

Now that he's a big-time TV star, how could he take the Easy-Bake to the next level while, perhaps, proving all the sexist naysayers wrong? Why, by wheeling out a two-story tall Mega-Bake Oven powered by 56,000 watts of concert lighting and inviting a volunteer on stage to help him bake a pizza in three minutes at 600 degrees.

That's Entertainment!

I'm about the same age as Alton, love to cook, and shared his experience of being a boy not sure that was a manly thing to do. My sister and I watched cooking shows for fun (I particularly remember Graham Kerr, the Galloping Gourmet) and Mom dutifully submitted to our experiments. I also shared my sister's Easy-Bake Oven.

I have a vivid memory of being 6 or 7 years old and going to some sort of 4-H demonstration in an auditorium at which boys--and not just any boys, but rugged critter-corraling ranch boys!--showed off their cooking and baking skills. I think the idea was that if you were going to raise, slaughter and butcher it, you'd better know how to cook it, too. That was all the permission I needed. If it was good enough for strapping country lads, it was good enough for me. I fed myself through college and, as the work-at-home member of my family, do more than half the cooking now.

That said, I'm no expert or "foodie." I'd call myself a confident home cook who enjoys the process. I'll try anything. I make a good béchamel. I think the great value of the types of TV programs Alton does is that they encourage people to try. It's not that hard; give it a shot; what's the worst that could happen?

OK, "fire" could happen. That would be bad.

Also "food poisoning."

"Second-degree burns."

"Cuts and lacerations."

Forget what I said. Kitchens are a death trap.

Our girls left home as adventurous eaters and cooks. I think one of the essential life skills parents owe their children of either sex is being able to handle themselves in the kitchen. Cook with them, bake with them, and shove them out the door confident they're set to survive on better than fast food and Ramen. They, their friends, and the world will thank you.

Freelancing

I've been living the dream--the self-employed freelancer's life--for about 14 years now, and realized I've never really written about how that works. It has a lot of pros but also some cons, demands some discipline, and isn't right for everyone. But it's sure right for me.

When I say "freelancer" I'm not talking entirely about cartooning. My bread-and-butter day job is science writing and editing, which in the next breath I always have to explain means I write about scientific topics for a variety of clients. My niche is energy-related subjects such as solar power, wind power, energy storage, advanced fuel cells, superconductivity, etc. Exactly what I write covers a broad range, from little marketing pieces aimed at the general public, to magazine articles and newsletters for specialists, to advanced technical papers I (ghost)write and edit on behalf of researchers and corporations. I need to know a little about a lot of subjects--a mile wide and an inch deep--and be able to pick up things fast. I don't have to be an expert in superconductivity, but I may have to learn enough about it by tomorrow to have an intelligent conversation with someone who is. It's invigorating.

I don't get my name credited on much of my work, which stopped mattering to me long ago just as long as they spell it right on my check. A lot of what I do is proprietary. I just searched for some publicly available examples and the best I could find is this White Paper on solar photovoltaics I co-authored in 2007. About half my stuff looks exactly like that.

I work at home. It's great; it's also lonely. I am a huge fan of solitude, but sometimes it's even too much for me. I have a little network of people I keep in touch with and can call for lunch to stave off cabin fever. Still, it's a lifestyle that would make a more social person miserable.

Discipline is a challenge, sitting here working while dishes need washing and the dog needs walking. I have some tricks. One is to dress up as if I were leaving the house for an office job--nice slacks, button-down shirt, good shoes. A subliminal signal that "it's work time." I've relaxed in recent years, but when I started freelancing that put me in the right frame of mind. Also, I try to leave some small, easy task undone each night that I can dive immediately into the next day. It establishes a rhythm of getting right to work instead of screwing around for half the morning.

The Internet is both my best friend and worst enemy. Government statistics, corporate filings, quarterly reports, press release archives, and news libraries are available with a click. I have clients in other countries I'll never meet face to face.  I literally would not be able to do my job without it. On the other hand, Facebook or a tour of my favorite bookmarks can absorb an hour in a moment, and they're always there, on the exact same machine I use for work. It's insidious.

Other people often don't seem to understand that working at home is still working. They think nothing of calling to chat or asking you to run errands in ways they never would if you were sitting in an office. The thing is, my schedule is flexible enough that I probably can take the time to chat or run that errand; what you don't see are the extra hours I put in after dinner or on the weekend to make up for it.

Being a freelancer means not just doing the job your clients pay you to do, but also running a small business. I send out invoices, track income and expenses, draft statements of work, schedule my time, manage insurance, pay quarterly taxes, keep track of which clients require what paperwork. It doesn't need to consume a ton of time but it has to be done right.

Then I weave in cartooning. Making comics is very important to me, and I haven't quite cracked the nut of finding/making enough time to do as much of it as I want. I try to set aside time for it in my schedule, but it's hard to turn down well-paying work for something speculative and unlikely to pay at all. For a while I tried to treat cartooning as a separate career that required a dedicated time commitment. For example, every Wednesday would be Make Comics Day that I would take as seriously as if I had to go out and report to a second job. That lasted less than a month--probably until the first time something critical came up on a Wednesday. So I cartoon when I can, fitting it into the ebb and flow of gigs. I'm not happy with that solution.

But I'm lucky and I know it. My worst day as a freelancer is better than my best day as someone's employee. I knew I was a successful freelancer when, after a few years, I had the courage and confidence to say "No." I'm grateful. I'm also grateful that my wife Karen has an excellent job that nets a steady paycheck. I often compare my income to a farmer's: months may pass with nothing, until one day the crops all come in. My standard joke is that my entire retirement and healthcare plan consists of not pissing off Karen. Relying solely on a freelancer's income would be a hard way to support a household. I have friends who do it and I have no idea how. I'm not expressing awe, I literally don't know how they do it so don't ask me.

Freelancing is a good life, but not one for the weak or timid.

* * *

My compressed nerve recovery continues. Thanks for the advice and support expressed here, on Facebook, and privately. It's definitely a "two steps forward one step back" situation but the trend is toward healing. Though my fingers still tingle, I can draw again. I'm tapering off the powerful prescription narcotics and may soon have surplus pills to sell (that's a joke, NSA/DEA!).

I know many who've endured worse and don't want to make too big a deal of it (lest my neighbor Larry the Fed read this and greet me, as he did after my first post on the subject, with "hey Wimpy Kid!"), but this thing has knocked me on my butt for a month now and made me a lot more sympathetic to others than I might have been before. I'll try to stay in better shape. We'll see how long my resolve lasts but I'm beginning to understand that, especially as we age, maintenance isn't extravagance or vanity; it's a necessity. Whatever it takes to avoid another month like this one.

* * *

An hour after posting the above, I realized how to tie it together. There's no limit to the amount of sick time a freelancer can take, although I don't get paid for any of it. I can't imagine getting through my compressed nerve episode in a normal job. "Sorry boss, I really need to take a nap right now." I couldn't quit work at 3 p.m. nor could I start work at 3 a.m., which I've done some nights when I couldn't sleep. At the very least, I'd need a lot more medication to get through the day.

I don't know if that counts as a "pro" or "con." I sure appreciate the freedom. 'Specially at nap time.

Ah, L'Amour

Our girl dog Riley has a boyfriend who lives down the block: Simba, a yellow cat who comes running every time he sees us approach. Sometimes he follows us home and stares longingly through our windows. I'm not sanguine about interspecies romance, but these crazy kids might just make it work.

A Brief Message of Great Importance

I spoke with Editor Charlie a few days ago and learned that my publisher Abrams is reprinting Mom's Cancer! I guess they finally ran out of all the copies they printed before. This is really quite nice. Keeping an old backlist book "in print" is a show of confidence that it'll continue to sell a few now and then. Charlie also asked me an interesting question: "Is there anything you want to change?"

Well.

There are some things that, were I starting Mom's Cancer from scratch today, I'd do differently. But even the book's flaws (as I perceive them) are part of the story of making the book. It's a bit ragged in parts because I was a bit ragged when I made it. It has an urgency imposed by real life. I could write or draw some parts better but I think that'd make them less authentic, too. Even the slap-dash last-page coda revealing Mom's death, which Charlie and I added literally hours after she passed and before the book was due at the printer, and which some readers overlook, says something about the experience as we lived it.

So Charlie and I agreed that Mom's Cancer is a perfect little time capsule and we wouldn't change a jot. Any attempt to improve it would only diminish it. The only revision in the reprint will be to update the list of cancer-related resources in the back, some of which have changed URLs or gone out of business. Otherwise, we're going to leave it alone--forever, as far as I'm concerned.

* * *

I was hesitant to write about my compressed nerve the other day, seeing myself as a manly stoic who shouldn't whine about a little pain (no, really!). But you guys have been great. In addition to sympathy, I'm getting a lot of good practical advice and offers of help with exercises, ergonomics, physical therapy, etc. I'm surprised how many people I know who've been through the same thing. Much appreciated!

I'm feeling better now, and not entirely due to the drugs. My misbehaving nerve seems to be gradually loosening its grip on my right arm. If trends continue, I think I'll be all right within a week or so. Meanwhile, the pain is endurable, I'm sleeping much better, and I'm getting some work done.

Thanks for the support. And if it doesn't work out, my left hand still works fine.

Agents of SHIELD

Karen and I enjoyed the TV debut of "Agents of SHIELD" last night. SPOILERS and plot points will be discussed below.

I'm happy to see Agent Coulson alive, his dry wit intact, and also very happy that how he's alive remains a Big Mystery that even Coulson doesn't understand. The writers managed to undo Coulson's very effective death in "The Avengers" without trivializing it, which was a tough nut to crack. Clark Gregg created an appealing character in his limited screen time in the various Marvel movies, and it would be a shame to waste him.

The team of agents needs a lot of fleshing out, which will undoubtedly happen in future episodes. FitzSimmons is/are cute. While I like the actor Ming-Na Wen, I found her character Melinda May ("Just the driver") cold and uninteresting. The Agent Ward character (let's call him "Sniper Boy") was only saved by the truth serum scene, which I thought was terrific, smart and funny.

I liked that the agents explicitly listed the three known ways to get superpowers in their universe: Super-Soldier Serum (Captain America), gamma radiation (the Hulk), and Extremis (from Iron Man 3), and that the episode's hero/villain, Mike, got his powers via those mechanisms. There aren't suddenly hundreds of different unexplained superpower sources. I'm sure that'll change--there's only so many tunes you can play with variations of three notes--but it felt like a very real and welcome limitation to me.

I also liked how Mike was a hero/villain: a sympathetic fellow whom the team nevertheless had to fight and take down. That's very "Marvel."

A plot nitpick: I thought the climax was confusing and muddled. It really looked like Sniper Boy shot Mike in the head. Karen and I were both a bit stunned: "Why is everyone so happy that they just killed him?" I inferred that Sniper Boy shot Mike with some sort of antidote bullet, but if that's the case why didn't he just shoot him at the start? Because, I further inferred, Agent Fitz showed up with the antidote bullet at the last second. That's one or two more levels of inference than a viewer should be expected to make, blanks that could've/should've been filled in with a few seconds of exposition. (And what's that farmhouse that Mike's son was moved to at the end? Some sort of SHIELD witness protection commune?)

I loved--loved loved loved!--how tightly and completely the TV show fit into the Marvel movie universe. Not just via the appearances of Agents Coulson and Maria Hill, but the glimpses we get of the Avengers in video clips and the idea that seeing an alien army pour through a hole in the sky over New York City really did Change Everything Forever. People are still freaked out about it. Federal agencies are trying to understand and deal with it. Events we saw in the movies are remembered and still matter. Wonderful!

Then in the middle of the episode, there was a commercial for the upcoming new "Thor" movie. I felt a little chill of anticipation, turned to Karen and said, "These guys are geniuses." They've built themselves a unified TV and film universe, a big sparkly sandbox to play in. Although some of the movies have been better than others, I don't think they've yet made a single misstep. Especially compared to their competitor DC Comics, who's still figuring out how to get Batman and Superman together (and, from what I've read, in my opinion doesn't have a very good idea for doing so), Marvel is barreling full speed ahead and trusting its audience to keep up.

Works for me. We'll watch more.



If you, like Karen, saw Coulson's Corvette take flight at the end of "Agents of SHIELD" and said "I guess they have a DeLorean now," know that Jack Kirby did it in the comics 20 years before "Back to the Future." Knowing her pedigree, seeing Lola lift off was one of my favorite moments of the episode.

Working My Last Nerve

I used to wonder if "pinched nerve" was a real thing. It's so vague, the type of diagnosis a malingerer would use. There's no test for it; you just have to take their word. I confess, I might have rolled my eyes.

Then I got one.

The past nine or ten days have been pretty rough. My doc thinks a muscle spasm in my shoulder is compressing a nerve where it emerges from my cervical spine. Pain begins in my neck and radiates down my right shoulder, bicep and forearm, leaving my fingers (particularly my thumb) numb and tingly. At best, it feels like someone punching me hard in the arm. At worst, if feels like someone repeatedly stabbing my funny bone with a screwdriver.

One interesting/frustrating aspect of the condition is that, with a regular ol' physical injury, there's often some position or posture that feels better than others. You can stretch out the limb or hold it over your head to get some relief. Because this is more of a phantom pain situation--my arm wasn't really caught in a steel rolling mill, it only feels like it was--there's not usually much I can do to make it feel better. This is a fascinating phenomenon to observe and consider at 3 a.m.

I didn't sleep well for several nights in a row because it hurt too much to lie down. Instead, I sort of passed out propped up by pillows in a comfy chair. Now with the help of powerful prescription narcotics (I told my daughters I look forward to them surprising me on a future episode of "Intervention"), I've actually slept through most of two nights in my own bed. As all new parents know, sleep makes a huge difference to quality of life.

The numbness in my fingers makes handwriting and drawing feel like threading a needle wearing ski gloves. I can type, but until recently couldn't bear to sit at my office desk long enough to get any work done. Last week was lost; this week I'm back in the saddle, interspersed with weeping and naps. Luckily, my left hand is facile enough to pick up some of the slack.

In the previous blog post I wrote about the fine time I had last Saturday doing a panel at a local book festival. That was true, I did have fun; what I neglected to mention was the part where my right arm was ripped off by an orc. Yesterday I posted some photos of the event shot by my wife Karen. She took several more, and we only realized later that if you crop them to focus solely on me, they provide a funny portrait of a man trying and failing to hold it together:

Forearm resting on the table, lookin' good. Authorial. Brian in 'da house.

Ah, the two-handed chin lean. Nice and casual change-up. Still fooling everyone.

 

I'll just prop this useless ham shank up on the empty chair next to me and slouch. Seems to help for a while....

 

Maybe it'll loosen up if I shake it around a little.... Nope.

I see your mouth moving and hear words coming out, but have no idea what you're saying.

Oh sweet Jesus, take me now.

I've seen several public appeals in recent months from starving cartoonists asking for help covering their medical expenses. I'm not one of them and this isn't one of those. Our health insurance is very good--to date, all my exams, x-rays and prescriptions have cost me $20 out of pocket. I'm not especially looking for sympathy. Karen is living up to the "sickness and health" clause of our marriage contract admirably, dispensing "Oh poor baby"s as required. In any big-picture perspective, my problems are minor and I seem to be healing.

So why blog about it? Partly because I've always shared how my life is going, and it looks like my life in late September and early October is going to go a lot like this. Partly to explain why my already-sketchy Internet presence will be light for a while. And partly because it's a little disconcerting to be reminded I'm just bones and blood and meat that occasionally breaks down. Like everybody else.

Sigh. Mortality, man. It's a tough gig.

Sonoma County Book Festival

I had a terrific time at the Sonoma County Book Festival last Saturday. This is the same festival (though in a new location) at which I participated in a graphic novel panel last year, and which evidently was such a hit they decided to have two graphic novel panels this year. Comics are taking over the world!

Luckily, there's more than enough cartooning talent in the region to populate two panels. Fantastic comic book artist Brent Anderson ("Astro City") is our ringleader, so he did both. Also on the morning panel were my pal Lex Fajardo ("Kid Beowulf," modern "Peanuts"), Emily C. Martin (Megamoth Studio and Deviant Art star), and Karen Luk (lots of stuff including some good-looking Steampunk work). I don't know Emily and didn't meet her, but enjoyed meeting Karen when I arrived to do my panel in the afternoon.

Sharing my p.m. panel with the ubiquitous Mr. Anderson was Paige Braddock ("Jane's World," "Martian Confederacy," and modern "Peanuts"). I listed "modern Peanuts" as credits for both Paige and Lex; what I mean by that is that in addition to their own projects they both work at Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates as stewards of Mr. Schulz's legacy, a responsibility I know they take very seriously. Both morning and afternoon panels were moderated by Steve Alcorta, our county library's graphic novel buyer. I sucked up as best I could.

The festival was scheduled to happen around the grounds of Santa Rosa Junior College, a beautiful oak-studded campus. Hard rain overnight sent organizers into a tizzy, and in the early morning hours everything was relocated into the campus student center. Considering the panic that must've accompanied that effort I thought the festival went very well, with many attendees. My panel drew probably 25 or 30 people, which was just fine.

Pics or it didn't happen:

Way up at the front of the Main Stage is noted author Dorothy Allison (Bastard out of Carolina--that's the name of her book, not my opinion of her) who was a funny, charming, polished speaker, and a good "get" for our local fest.

Lex Fajardo (standing) and Brent Anderson shared a sales table; Karen Luk is just out of frame to the right.

Me, Paige, Brent, and moderator Steve during our panel "Novel Storytelling: The Art of the Graphic Novel--Chapter 2."

Me, Paige and Brent just before the fist fight erupted.

With Paige. She's nice. My "Abrams ComicArts" shirt was a gift from Editor Charlie and seemed appropriate for the event. However, I think it inadvertently gave some authors in the dealer's room the wrong impression; a few of them eagerly gave me their entire sales pitches that I hadn't really asked for, and I was puzzled until it occurred to me they might've thought I was actually from Abrams ComicArts and could get them published. POWER!

Thanks to the festival, author wrangler Julia Cooper, and cartoonist wrangler Brent Anderson. The fun for me is hanging around people like Brent, Paige and Lex, talking with folks eager to tap our brains, and be around book lovers. They (we) are a special breed.

 

My Influential Books: Yellow Yellow

I recently got the notion to, from time to time, write about a book that influenced my life. I unknowingly started this series (if it becomes a series) back in July 2009, when I wrote about how important Mae and Ira Freeman's children's book You Will Go to the Moon (1959) was in molding my Space Age expectations. That was the first.

The second, Yellow Yellow by writer Frank Asch and artist Mark Alan Stamaty, was published by McGraw-Hill in 1971. I guess it's a children's book, though that glib categorization doesn't do it justice. I would've been 11 or 12 when my parents gave it to me--way too old for a children's book but just the right age for a capital-A Art book. Mom and Dad expected their budding cartoonist to be electrified by its hyper-detailed rendering and formal playfulness. They were right.

Yellow Yellow is the tale of a boy who finds a yellow hard hat, inventively plays with it for a while, returns it to its owner, and goes home to make his own yellow hat out of paper. That's the plot. If Asch's charming but slight story had been illustrated by P.D. Eastman or the Berenstains, it might've been a fondly remembered addition to Random House's Beginner Books library.

Instead, Stamaty's artwork turns it into a sort of innocent's odyssey through a grotesque urban hellscape, part Hieronymus Bosch and part Ralph Steadman. It's got an Underground (circa 1970) sensibility, though I wouldn't have known what that meant at the time. Grungy and subversive, rewarding through multiple readings on a couple of levels. At a time of my life when the universe of comics consisted of newspapers strips and DC superheroes, Yellow Yellow expanded my understanding of what comics could be.

A two-page spread (most of the book comprises two-page spreads--click on the images to see them larger) showing the boy discovering his yellow hat. The detail in this is both obsessive and impressive. Stamaty folded a lot of little asides and gags into his visual stew.

A detail of the left page above: A toad with a high school class ring for an eye fights a spider and a beetle for his dinner. Are the spider and beetle trying to save the bug because they're his pals or because they also want to eat him? Unresolved dramatic tension! And look at that gorgeous chicken wire!

One tiny detail from another page: a one-face two-bodied bird begs for help. Perhaps the sweet merciful release of death? The gag's payoff comes three pages later where a bird with one body but two heads pleads for the same. That's weird, right?

The boy meets his hat's rightful owner. For me, this drawing captures the mood of the book. It's sort of ugly, every whisker in the worker's scruffy beard practically prickling off the page, but the man doesn't look at all angry or menacing. He's just a Regular Joe who lost his hat. Even though he deprives the boy of his wondrous new toy, he's not the bad guy.

After handing over the hard hat, the boy goes home and Yellow Yellow slips into a neat bit of formal inventiveness. First the boy draws a yellow hat by itself on a piece of paper. Then he draws yellow straw, yellow lemons, yellow corn and dandelions . . .

. . . until the entire two-page spread is colored solid yellow, so that the book we're reading looks just like the paper the boy is coloring. Then the boy folds the paper . . .

A good example of Stamaty's thoughtful use of white space contrasted with the over-busyness of the boy's alphabet-and-airplane wallpaper (which, again, is fun to closely examine). There's not a detail on the floor indicating carpet, wood, color, texture, shadow; the floor is implied by the boy's posture and the few objects that rest on it. It occurs to me as I write this that the bat leaning against the bookcase really helps define the space since we read from left to right, making it one of the first details we perceive on the page, and instinctively know bats don't float in mid-air.

. . . and makes himself a new yellow hat.

Yellow Yellow was published more than 40 years ago and is out of print. Both Asch and Stamaty are still working prolifically, with long bibliographies to their credit. I think I somehow managed to raise two children without encountering Asch's many children's books (I count more than 80 listed on his website), but happily realized I've seen a lot of Stamaty's illustrations done for the Village Voice, The New Yorker, and many other publications. Looking over their bios, Yellow Yellow was very early in both their careers, just a couple of years out of college. For a lot of writers and artists, Yellow Yellow would be a career highlight; one measure of the success Asch and Stamaty have enjoyed is that you have to dig pretty deeply into their resumes before either mentions it.

I like to imagine I can see the seeds of that success in this early work. Yellow Yellow was an eye-opener for me.

I Owe You a Post

Here it is.

The paradox of blogging is that extended periods of silence that appear calm and boring to you are often frantically busy for me. Or sometimes calm and boring, that happens too. I have been pretty busy (if not frantic) lately with my day job, making good headway on Mystery Project X, and working on a cartooning project that fell into my lap via an e-mail from a stranger and has the potential to be something very cool, different, and possibly high-profile.

I'm not being cagey for its own sake. I just have a rule/guideline/superstition/neurosis about not spilling a lot of details too soon and then having to explain myself if it doesn't work out. Plans fall through all the time. "Hey, what happened with that thing you were doing?" "Um, well, hmmm...." I hate that.

I've said too much already.

Be assured I continue to work on what I hope will be some good, entertaining creative projects. What comes of them remains to be seen and isn't entirely up to me. I'm eager to share when I can.

To help you with the concept of "delayed gratification," here's actor Tom Hiddleston (Loki from the Marvel movies) working through some issues with the Cookie Monster:



And to help you pass the time, here's a practical joke involving the cast of the latest "Star Trek" movie (recently voted the worst "Star Trek" movie ever made at a big Trekkie convention, which I think is unfair; I'd rank it second worst. It was also one of the most profitable, so there you go). Some of the movie was shot at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory's National Ignition Facility, which truly looks like it belongs aboard a starship.


National Ignition Facility--or the USS Enterprise's warp drive. Either way.

The gag set-up: actor Simon Pegg (whose movie "The World's End" my girls and I recently enjoyed) convinced his castmates that the facility emitted dangerous radiation that only "neutron cream" could protect them against. It went a little something like this:



Finally, Chris Sparks and Team Cul de Sac are nominated for four Harvey Awards this weekend at the Baltimore Comic-Con. Team Cul de Sac: Cartoonists Draw the Line at Parkinson's, is a book inspired by cartoonist Richard Thompson to raise funds for Parkinson's Disease research, to which I was honored to contribute a page. The Harveys are named for pioneering cartoonist/editor Harvey Kurtzman, and are one of the two big recognitions available to comics creators and projects.

Did I mention here that Team Cul de Sac was up for an Eisner Award--the other big recognition--last July at Comic-Con International, but lost? Nice consolation prize: the project instead won the Con's Bob Clampett Humanitarian Award, which is an even more exclusive club.

Best of luck at the Harveys, Team. You'll always deserve the "Best Anthology," "Best Biographical, Historical or Journalistic Presentation," "Special Award for Humor in Comics," and "Special Award for Excellence in Presentation" in my book!

Marking the Day

Today would have been Mom's 74th birthday. To commemorate it, I thought I'd post some pics from her 64th, which was the birthday I wrote about in Mom's Cancer. August 22, 2003. Here's the big page from that chapter:

And here's the real thing. What, you didn't think I made it up, did you?

We put out a nice spread.

Opening gifts with Kid Sis.

 

Nurse Sis demonstrates the proper operation of a scalp massager.

Nurse Sis, Mom, and me workin' the Hawaiian

My daughters, my wife Karen, me, Nurse Sis and Kid Sis. Not sure what we're all doing with our hands. Let's say we were channeling healing energy, although more likely we were acting silly for the camera.



Mom and her Hero. Hero's doing fine with my sisters, by the way, although he's gotten gray around the muzzle. Haven't we all.



 

 

I think and dream about Mom a lot, almost always happily. Memories of this party are some of the happiest. It was a good day.

.

Elmore Leonard's Ten Rules of Writing

Writer Elmore Leonard died yesterday at 87. I wasn't a fan--don't think I ever read one of his books. However, after reading his Ten Rules of Writing, I think I'll have to. These are good rules.

(The list below is just a summary. See the original New York Times article for Leonard's entertaining explanations and examples.)

1. Never open a book with weather.

2. Avoid prologues.
 

3. Never use a verb other than ''said'' to carry dialogue.

4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb ''said'' . . . he admonished gravely. I have a character in one of my books tell how she used to write historical romances ''full of rape and adverbs.''

5. Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.

6. Never use the words ''suddenly'' or ''all hell broke loose.''

7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.

8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.

9. Don't go into great detail describing places and things.

10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

My most important rule is one that sums up the 10. If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.

* * *

Once you've digested that, take a look at the Leonard obituary posted on The Onion, which deliberately breaks every one of the rules. What a sly tribute! (That's my exclamation mark quota for the day.)

 

It's Supposed to be Hard

Geez, I can't believe it's been 12 days since my last blog post, although we did wring a few days of fun out of Mr. Language Person. Sorry. Time just slipped away, as it does. Slipperier and slipperier it seems.

In the last post, reader Dave commented: "I enjoy your insights on how you design your characters. I expect I will be referring to your writings again and again. I will admit that although I have come up with original character designs, I do have trouble giving them stories. You might say that I would be better off approaching things in the reverse order - story first, characters second - and I would probably agree that it may lead to better success. But, what is a visually motivated person to do? Perhaps you have some of your own insights to share on this subject, as well."

"Insights" is too strong a word, but I have some thoughts. If they appear disorganized and even contradictory, I'd say you're observant.

Stories are important. Characters are important. Text is important, and visuals (at least in comics and educational books) are important. So be excellent at all of them.

That was easier than I expected.

.
.
.

Oh! More.

Dave's question first reminded me of my experience trying to pitch stories to the various newer "Star Trek" series, which I described on my old blog back in September 2006 (I assume everyone has read all of my archives?). Boiling it down, what I learned in failing to sell episode ideas to "The Next Generation," "Deep Space Nine" and "Voyager" was that the writers and producers of those shows were VERY interested in characters and NOT AT ALL interested in brilliant sci-fi plot twists. Pitches that hinged on space anomalies, weird aliens or strange new worlds drew yawns, while a pitch that took Captain Picard on a character arc from Challenge A through Experience B to Insight C always got their attention. It took a long time to really sink in that a good story isn't about fantastic original plots, it's about people.

If there's a secret to writing, I think that's it. So to answer Dave's question, good characters are a good and necessary foundation but, I think, are by themselves insufficient.

Your characters have to have something to do.

Now, you could create some neat characters and send them off on an amazing adventure. That can work. The Hobbit works. But better still (I think) is to create characters with strong differences in perspectives, abilities, attitudes etc., plop them down in an interesting situation, and let their conflicts drive the story. If your characters are distinctive, you'll write dialog for each that could only come from them--no other character would say the same thing the same way. Create three characters, put them in a cave facing an ogre, and one will run off, one will charge ahead, and one will take advantage of the confusion to steal a golden egg. Now you've got something!

Your characters also have to change.

Another cartoonist and I once commiserated about how hard it is to develop arcs for characters. We concluded that because we really love our characters and want readers to love them, the urge to introduce them as virtuous heroes is strong. But the characters have to earn it; that's the point of the story. So they start out timid (Bilbo Baggins), callow (Luke Skywalker), greedy (Scrooge), discontented (Dorothy Gale), an abused orphan (Harry Potter), or a poor vagrant hooligan (Huckleberry Finn), and through the course of your story grow into the hero you always knew they were. Tragedy works similarly but in reverse: your heroic character is brought low by overwhelming forces or, ideally, faults of their own (Oedipus, Macbeth, Gatsby...). So give them room to grow.

Another thought: my friend Otis Frampton draws a distinction between what he calls plot and story. I think others would call it text and subtext. The story is what your tale is about; the plot is how it's about it.

So, for example, the plot of "Star Wars" is that rebels have stolen the secret plans to a horrific weapon being built by a galactic empire. Just before she's captured by the villain, Princess Leia stashes the plans inside a robot that lands on a planet and meets Luke Skywalker, who yadda yadda. In contrast, the story of "Star Wars" is that a simple farm boy yearns to enter the exciting universe beyond his humble home and, with the help of friends and mentors, defeats the villain and saves the galaxy. Change the hero's sex and it's also the story of "Wizard of Oz."

(And yeah, I've read Joseph Campbell. I even read Joseph Campbell before George Lucas read Joseph Campbell. Check the Hero's Journey if you want to spelunk that rabbit hole.)

I read a lot of graphic novels and webcomics, and the most common criticism I have is that they're not about anything. They may be loaded with characters and plot, gnashing and churning away like a clockwork meat grinder, but the characters don't change or grow. Stuff happens to them. Time passes. But there's no story.

A Litmus Test: you ask someone what their book is about and they tell you the plot, as anyone naturally would. You say, "that sounds great, but what's it about?" If they stare at you blankly or retell the plot, they either don't know what it's about or it's not about anything.

[I'll play my own game. Mom's Cancer is about the strains and cracks in a family in crisis. Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow is about the cultural change from scientific utopianism to pessimistic dystopianism. My dopey little zine, The Adventures of Old Time-Traveling Brian, is about regret and forgiveness.]

These notions don't necessarily apply to serialized narratives, such as comic books or comic strips, which can feature the same characters for years. There, you may not want your characters to grow, and there's a real art to providing the illusion of change without actually changing anything. That's a different problem. I'm talking about stories with a beginning, middle and end.

I can't advise Dave or anyone how to create a story. But let me suggest this: ask yourself what you have to say about life that only you can say. What's your unique take on birth, death, school, childhood, adulthood, parenthood, geezerhood, or eating lasagna on Mondays? That's where your story (not your plot) awaits. Some characters will suggest themselves. Drop them into a situation and put them in conflict. Two writers could start with the same story but one will make their characters sharecroppers in 1920s Mississippi while the other makes their characters androids on a 25th Century moon of Saturn. Now you're developing a plot.

From a literary analysis perspective this is all pretty elementary stuff. However, I've found there's a big difference between knowing it and applying it (or criticizing others' creations versus actually creating something yourself). There are a lot of balls to juggle. It's hard!

Just remember: as Tom Hanks said of baseball in "A League of Their Own," "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard everyone would do it. The 'hard' is what makes it great."

EDITED TO ADD: Over on Facebook, Otis Frampton (creator of "Oddly Normal" and many other great comics projects) responded with the following, reposted with his permission:

"One of the hardest things to do when someone asks me what my comics are about is to avoid laying out the plot. Stories tend to be universal ("heard it before, what else ya got") while plot tends to distinguish one tale from another more easily during an elevator pitch. It's a catch-22. Story is what makes your particular tale resonate, but plot is what makes it sound unique. And yet the former tends not to be the best way to "sell." Oh well. I will say this about character design... it should be the last step when creating characters for your stories. It's like giving birth to the car instead of the driver."

Mr. Language Person

Time for another installment of Mr. Language Person, the feature whose title was stolen from Dave Barry since he's not using it anymore, and whose previous and only appearance in "The Fies Files" was in 2009.

Today's inspiration was an article I just read that used the phrase "diffuse the situation." Twice. Unless the professional journalist who wrote the article meant that the situation slowly faded away, the word they wanted was "defuse," as in removing the fuse from a bomb. The problem here is that "diffuse" almost works in this context, but lacks the urgency and danger of "defuse." I am now tempted to come up with a sentence in which "diffuse the situation" is precisely correct just to tick off people like me.

I do a lot of editing in my science-writing day job, and have concluded that if I could strike any two-word phrase from the language it would be "in order." It is never necessary. "We followed the yellow brick road in order to see the Wizard"; "We followed the yellow brick road to see the Wizard." Skip right to the verb, no one will mind.

Three paragraphs in, and I can already tell that this Mr. Language Person post isn't as good as the last one.

However, after four paragraphs, it seems to be picking up a little. Here, this will help:



Much better.

I don't enjoy the company of Language Nazis, although I have one living inside my head. I believe (and for the rest of this sentence I'm being totally sincere) that clear writing indicates clear thinking, and sloppy writing indicates sloppy thinking. Ask a person who's written a confusing sentence to explain what it means, and half the time they'll answer, "I don't know." The other half, they'll reply with the sentence they should've written in the first place.

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” If you already knew that Mark Twain wrote that, you might have a Language Nazi living inside your head as well.

Your/you're, its/it's, then/than, yeah yeah yeah. Tell me another one, grandpa. And yet it matters. It has to matter, doesn't it? At least sometimes?

For example, if it's on your chest forever (from here).

The difference between "imply" and "infer" is the difference between pitching and catching. "Implying" is transmitting, "inferring" is receiving. I imply that you're a filthy degenerate; you infer that I'm an excellent judge of character.

Assure/Ensure/Insure: this one's tricky and gray, and also depends on whether you're speaking U.S. English or the other sorts. To be on the safe side, limit "insure" to times you're talking about actual insurance policies. "Assure" is to make another person confident of something (think of "reassure"), while "ensure" is to make certain something gets done.

I almost didn't include that paragraph because in my mind it's a fine point that's hard to explain. But what the heck. Mr. Language Person likes living on the edge.

Like starting a sentence with "but," which there is absolutely nothing wrong with.

With which there is absolutely nothing wrong.

I have a unique problem in that I wrote a book whose title includes a question mark: Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? Try working that into a sentence.

"I loved Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?" Well, did you or didn't you?

"Does your store carry Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow??" Why are you shouting at me??

Just to avoid confusion I usually omit the question mark and, should I have the opportunity to publish more books in the future, will not make that mistake again.

Idiot.

Do you, like me, deliberately mispronounce some words because you know no one else pronounces them correctly and you'll just end up explaining yourself anyway? My best example is "forte," the French-derived word meaning something you're very good at. "Drawing cartoon spacemen is my forte." Everyone says "for-tay," it's actually pronounced "fort," and if you say it right everyone thinks you're talking about a frontier stockade built from pointy logs. So you say "for-tay" and 99 times out of 100 it works fine, until you meet that Language Nazi 1% who corrects you and you have to explain, "yes, I know," but they don't believe you and you walk away hating each other. It's a fair trade.

Wanna start a bar fight? Bring up the Oxford (or serial) comma and watch passions flare. The Oxford comma is the last one in this sentence: "I ate ham, bacon, and eggs." When I was a cub reporter, the Associated Press Stylebook taught me to omit the final comma in a series: "I ate ham, bacon and eggs." I infer (see there?) that one reason was to save one character space on a packed page of newsprint. I was also told that the commas take the place of the implied word "and" (ham and bacon and eggs), and since the final "and" is still there you don't need a comma. Oxford defenders return fire with some good counter-examples: "I'd like to thank my parents, Oprah and Jesus" really needs another comma. As with so much else in writing, clarity > economy. The Oxford comma looks clunky to me and I tend to omit it out of habit, but always keep an eye on whether it's needed.

(above music video is apropos but contains one naughty
word that begins with an "f." You have been warned.)

Lost Causes
Language evolves. Only a fool would try to hold back the tide. English in particular is a raucous riot of adaptation, appropriation, and mutilation (Oxford comma). As I mentioned in the previous Mr. Language Person post, 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. Complain all you want, English is moving on and leaving you behind.

I knew a great teacher and journalist who raged at the misuse of "decimate," which most folks mean to destroy completely but properly means to reduce by one-tenth, which is considerably less than completely. He lost. English moved on.

After working me over for several years, my friend Mike Peterson--journalist, editor, writer, scholar--brought me around on "alright" as a valid alternative to "all right," arguing that it had a different clear meaning, filled a need, and had historical precedent. I still can't bring myself to use it but no longer cast a stink-eye at those who do.

Those who do include The Who.

Bob may have been all right, if not alright. Pastis.

Mike also champions the plural "their" in place of the singular-but-clumsy "his/her" when the subject's sex is unknown or irrelevant. "Each astronaut must bag their waste." Until very recently this would've been avoided by "his," which was understood to apply to both male and female, but that's extinct and probably for the better. The singular "their" shows up in Jane Austen, Lewis Carroll, Shakespeare, Chaucer and the Bible, which is a better pedigree than most of our mongrel language can claim. Still, I worry that Mike's flying his hippy rebel flag on this one, and while I'm with him in spirit I try to avoid the singular "their" when I can, usually by shifting to plural: "All astronauts must bag their waste."

"Hopefully" is a lost cause and I'm glad. The word should only be used as an adverb describing someone acting with hope: "They waited hopefully for rescue." It should only modify a verb ("waited"). However, these days it takes the place of "I hope" and doesn't modify anything at all: "Hopefully, the rescuers will arrive soon." That's wrong but I'm all right (alright?) with it. English needed a word that performed that function so we took "hopefully" into the back alley, beat it up, put a different suit on it, and shoved it back onto the sidewalk.

I don't think that metaphor works but I so enjoyed writing it that it stays.

I recently reread Strunk and White's Elements of Style, a classic guide I pull off the shelf every few years and have given to a few young budding writers, none of whom seemed to appreciate the significance of having Excalibur bestowed upon them by a battle-scarred knight. Ungrateful punks. But I digress. I actually find myself arguing with Strunk and White more than I used to, but I think it's always an argument worth having and still recommend the book.

Stephen King's On Writing may be the best book on writing I've read. Thank goodness, because if it were on neurosurgery it would be wildly deceptive. Also recommended.

Forty-five states no longer require their schools to teach cursive writing. I think learning cursive is important but I can't explain why.

Go ahead. Disagree with me.

EDITED TO ADD: In the comments, Jonas pointed out the Onion piece "4 Copy Editors Killed in Ongoing AP Style, Chicago Manual Gang Violence." Beautiful! And it even mentions the Oxford comma.