Last night was a mini-insomnia night: I got enough sleep to access basic functions for part of the day. In the afternoon I worked on my Linda Addison project but by the time I started thinking about a comic there wasn’t much charge left in the battery. What little I actually drew of this comic seemed very difficult. Even typing it took a ridiculous amount of time. Tonight will be better.
The funny thing about taco trucks is that you can barely throw a rock around here without hitting one. So you wouldn’t really need directions. You would just need to pick one direction and walk 1d6 blocks, scanning the desert for a truck with a taco sign on it.
Seriously, how great must it be to achieve the level of greed and selfishness needed to be happy about American politics. I almost wish I had a billion dollars and no conscience, because it’s kind of a massive to burden to have feelings all the time and actually care about the world around me.
I don’t have proof that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I do know the pen is the only weapon I know how to wield proficiently.
There used to be this old joke about how writers, like squids, released vast clouds of ink when threatened, but, in the way of rotary phones and cursive handwriting, the idea that writing is linked to ink will fade from the collective conscious. Is there an animal that released warning flashes of light? Everything is pixels. Anyway, I’ve always done this, whether I felt that danger was imminent or not. Creation is a compulsion.
But I do feel threatened. The news reads like an episode of Black Mirror. And not the “San Junipero” one.
Ms. Kitty reminded me that making snarky webcomics is an action. Maybe not on the level of Nazi-punching, but better than rolling over and pulling the covers over my head. In fact, I’m not hiding anymore. By and large, I’m fully exposed. Kind of a risky strategy, but I feel like I can stick my neck out a little more if it seems to be helping others.
I think we’re all gonna need to put some hot sauce in our bag, swag. This is not my typical M.O., being more of a hide-beneath-the-covers and hope-it-all-goes away type. That Desmond Tutu book has, unfortunately not granted me as much serenity as I’d hoped. But maybe this prayer/affirmation will guide me through whatever monstrosities rear their heads in the near future.
Anyway, even if I can’t move into the paradigm shift into insanity known as America, 2017 powered by a fighting spirit, at least my alter-ego can bust some windows. Metaphorically speaking. Dragon does not advocate destruction of property. Although the people of Prague figured out a more humiliating window-based protest, which is to throw people out of them: defenestration. Isn’t that both terribly and poetic?
Any measure of serenity, courage, and wisdom that can be summoned should be summoned. Let’s get in formation.
Seriously, though. I really hurts.
Trying to remain upbeat. Let’s call that the theme for 2017. Trying to remain upbeat in the face of overwhelming downturn. Not taking it personally.
For example, today I got a takedown notice on a T-shirt design based on Dragon Comics 35 because, apparently, you’re not allowed to dress cartoon characters like Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top to make a joke about how only the guys from ZZ Top look cool doing ZZ Top. My personal understanding is that fair use dictates that artists have every right to use the likeness of famous musicians in satire, and if I had half the money of ZZ Top I could hire a lawyer to sort this situation out. But I haven’t made any money off this particular design and am unlikely to ever have the reach and power of Bravado International Group Merchandising Services, Inc. and their team of overzealous content protectors.
It drive me crazy on general principle. Poor Dragon has used up all of Dragon’s good fortune and now must suffer indignity after indignity as the Wheel of Fortune crushes Dragon’s will to live. Ha ha. Just kidding. It’s just that everything rubs me the wrong way.
Tomorrow is another day, as my mom always said. Tomorrow I won’t feel paranoid and cursed and as if I already used up every iota of my deserved fortune in life.
Man, it’s not even a picture of Billy Gibbons. It’s a picture of The Man wearing Billy Gibbons’s beard and clothes. I thought it was hilarious when I drew it.
And there you have the Wheel of Fortune.
This long-neck brontosaurus (I was delighted to read that “brontosaurus” is no longer considered a misidentification) is a friend of the Fox’s who often attended his writing parties. However, for various random reasons, for months and months we never managed to attend the same writing parties, and by the time we did meet, she was already planning to move out of state. And it takes me so long to really become friends with people. She is cool, but she is planning her going-away party.
It’s so weird that I live “out west” and yet people I meet here just keep managing to move farther west.
Thinking about tonight’s comic, and my new friend’s leave-taking, I remembered that she once told me if I ever drew her in a comic she thought she should be a dinosaur, that other people thought she looked like a dinosaur. Everyone agreed she should be depicted as a brontosaurus, so that’s pretty easy to draw.
It just occurred to me that a meeting/friendship between a dragon and a dinosaur is both natural and comical.
An overwhelming sense of impending doom can mean a few things: it can be a symptom of neurosis; it can be a symptom of an impending heart attack; it can be a symptom of menopause; it can be a symptom of living in a world where catastrophe is actually imminent. My doctor says it’s not menopause and the fact that I’m still alive suggests it’s not a heart attack, so either I’m crazy or the world is. But everything just seems precarious. At the same time, sometimes I spend months freaking out about problems that could be settled in a day.
The world needs magical dragons. But some part of the world fears anything that isn’t regimented and catalogable, anything that can’t be controlled or compelled through conventional means. They try to shame it out of you when you’re little and they try to legislate it out of you when you’re big. But that doesn’t change what someone is on the inside. It just terrorizes them.
Originally, the artwork on this comic was much better, but all my electronics have been conspiring to drive me insane lately. I thought it was just a fluke, or my imagination. I had an incident a couple months back where 1600 words just disappeared from a text file I was working on. Maybe I forgot to save it, and then Word crashed, and I didn’t notice, but that seemed kind of unlikely. I always save. And even in Word crashes you don’t lost everything. But I let it pass. And there were a couple similar, but smaller, issues, I dismissed.
Tonight, I worked on the art for about an hour, then went to cuddle The Man. My work was still there when I sat down. Then I checked 1 thing on the internet, and when I came back, it was gone. The app had closed on its own and when I opened it the original text remained, but not the corrections I had done today, or the art. Then I looked and noticed that the art for yesterday’s comic had also disappeared. The PNG file I uploaded remained, but the original PSD was gone. It was like my computer had just reset to 24 hours earlier.
I’m perplexed. I almost gave up but decided just to bang it out anyway. Not my best work. Not like I would do my best work after 2 days of hard driving: Chicago to Little Rock and Little Rock to San Antonio. We are just eating up the map. The same way my computer is eating up my work.