Dragon Comics 139

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First you go viral. Then the virus kills you.

If you’re asking someone to submit content to your website, and the very first thing that person says in their response is, “Before you go any further, is this a paying gig?” and it’s not a paying gig, then what you should say is, “Sorry, no.” What you should not do is send a poorly worded boilerplate description of your website that doesn’t answer the original question in a straightforward manner, and then, when the person whose favor you are asking reiterates that they need to understand whether or not you intend to compensate them for their work, get all bent out of shape and snarky about it. You’ve wasted their time by not just answering the question.

I’m lucky because I have The Man looking after me, and before that I had a very solid and well-paying corporate writing gig, but I know too many freelance writers getting shafted by a system that runs on their talent but devalues their skill.

Drawing a comic is better than getting riled up about it. So actually, I did profit from the exchange.

Dragon Comics 138

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You can’t fight ghost town hall. Its power will remain shrouded in mystery.

Here is the ghost town comic I would have written yesterday if I had thought of it then. Admittedly, the last line I totally ripped off from the world’s stupidest joke, which The Man told me on the way home from being stranded in the Costco parking lot today. Fortunately, the Otter saved us, because he groks cars, and we were able to ride home in comfort, and The Man could tell me a stupid joke the set up to which I already forget. But it nicely complements the rest of the comic, which I swear I had sketched out before he told me the joke.

Anyway, I assume this is the sort of thing that goes in ghost town hall meetings. Who knows? In 2003, the Rabbit and I were in, Kutná Hora, a city in the Czech Republic famous for its lovely and surprising ossuary, also known as The Bone Church. It’s a small chapel beautifully, exquisitely, minutely decorated with the bleached white remains of 50,000 dead human beings. Our tour guide, who was an overall despicable person, kept trying to hustle everyone through, even though seeing the ossuary was the only reason we went to Kutná Hora in the first place. He thought it was hilarious to suggest that if we didn’t get back on the bus right that minute, we would be locked in the church overnight. With all the ghosts.

We would have been fine with that. It’s a really pretty church and they didn’t give us half enough time to look at it.

“If I’d been dead for 800 years,” the Rabbit said, “I’d be thrilled that people were still coming around to see me.”

What is this, a doorway for ants?

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Yes, that is exactly what it is: a doorway for ants.

There were a couple interesting shots on my last roll, including a couple decent but not mind blowing bee pictures, some vast sweeping vistas, majestic trees, weirdly blue skies beside ominous silver clouds, lines of distant storms on the horizon, things of that nature. But this seems to be the most striking image. It’s a yucca flower, into which the ants have cut their own ant-size door for nefarious ant purposes. Took a couple good shots of ants on other blossoms slipping in and out between the edges of the petals, but this bud must have been especially tasty, because the ants just couldn’t bother with all that mucking about between layers. They just went straight for the core, like a mad scientist with a mole machine. Ants are pretty interesting.

I messed around with the contrast and such in Photoshop just to really bring out as many details as possible. I’ve taken a lot of pictures of yucca flowers, which grow in great, beautiful clusters, but they don’t seem to really stand out in pictures. I guess that’s true of most white flowers. Maybe if you put them against a black background.

Also found a couple recently deceased figeater beetles. These are large bugs with splendid iridescent green shells. I wanted to say “carapaces,” but Google told me that carapaces aren’t associated with beetles, and only refer to the top part of the shell, whereas the figeaters are more resplendent on their undersides, for some reason. Will try to figure out how best to capture their visual essence.

Had two positive, encouraging, useful interactions with great writers today. That’s always nice. They both have suggestions for things I must do to be more successful, on top of the list of things the Rabbit has already told me I have to do to be more successful. The Fox cancelled our Tuesday writing meetup due to an in-law situation which required his emotional support, but Misses Kitty came over instead and persuaded me to make her brownies. I tried to invent a new sugar-free, gluten-free brownie recipe and instead invented a new sugar-free, gluten free chocolate cake recipe. It’s pretty good. You’d never guess it was sugar-free or gluten free.

It’s not even midnight. I promised to create a logo for someone, which will benefit me in the long run, so even if it’s not necessary an integral part of the list of thing I must do to be more successful, it’s still a thing I should day. And I guess every time you succeed at something, you are more successful.

ETA: Redditor blacksheep998 seems to think that this door is too big for ants and that it is actually a bumblebee door.

Need to Know Basis

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Ned Flanders: That’s the loudest profanity I’ve ever heard. 

I sort of covered this territory before: When Good Moms Go Bad, but @#$&#*!!! does this drive me to the edge. But after I drew that comic I learned that I’m not alone. And it’s not like there’s something inherently wrong with the question. It’s not like you can ask them to stop asking. But I wish they would stop asking. For one thing, I feel that a reasonable person can usually answer it themselves just through a few moments of being observant. For another thing, what difference does it make to you now? You’ll find out when I serve it to you, and until then, it has no impact on your life. I’m working. Please stay out of my circle of influence.

And I swear the other day, I did get, “Why can’t we have x?” in response to my answer. We can’t have x because I’m not making x. I’m making the thing that I’m making. Not everyone wants to eat macaroni and cheese 7 nights a week.

If you cook for kids regularly, you get it. Otherwise it’s probably not relatable. Although maybe cursing loudly on a mountaintop is universally relatable.

This comic could use a lot of shading and other things but I didn’t start it until very late and I don’t have much left in my hands at this hour. We did take a lovely drive through the mountains, through a monsoon. The photos ought to be resplendent.

Candy Delight Mandala

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Delicious and nutritious. Tastes just like chicken. OK, just like chicks. Well, actually, like marshmallow Peeps.

Today I had some very intensive conversations, one with the Rabbit and one with Misses Kitty, on the subject of marketing for artists. I have a fair amount of experience in marketing for other people. It was a huge component of my last real job, and I worked closely with the marketing people when I was in traditional publishing, but I never enjoyed it, or excelled at it. The Rabbit and Misses Kitty are sort of better at it than I am. But I’m supposed to try.

After all, the Owl, whose book coming out really soon, sold her house, bought a van, and swore to spend the entire year on a publicity tour. That’s a real commitment. And what have I done? Made some posts on social media? My books are good. I’m a good writer. But beyond that, the process loses my interest.

Also today I finished reading my next big novel to The Man (I have a slender kids’ book that will come out later this year, but it’s actually older than The Hermit.) This next book is science-fiction-y, and murder-mystery-y, and dystopian-y. It’s also about 800 pages. For quite some time I puzzled over how to cut it down to a manageable level, but the people who’ve read it don’t seem to think it needs cutting down. Still, it needs some editorial work. In reading it to The Man (800 pages, which took about 5 weeks) I found dozens of typos and a number of continuity errors and things like that. After this next book is published, and I have participated in some marketing-related activities, I will make about 2 more passes and then maybe start the entire agent-seeking process all over again. If I can actually sell some copies of The Hermit before then, it will help.

Now I’m writing a horror novel; it’s a genre I’ve barely touched on in my life, even though I read everything Stephen King wrote prior to 1996 and some of the stuff he wrote after it, and all of Clive Barker’s early stuff, and HP Lovecraft and other writers in that vein. I know I can write a novel; it remains to seen whether I can be scary.

Not that I’m scaring anyone with a crayon mandala in cotton candy pink and marshmallow Peep yellow. And I guess those are blue M&Ms and the green are those weird sour candies that kids like today. They didn’t have them in the ’80s, as far as I can remember, so I never got a taste for them.

You know what would help, though? You could buy my book, support my Patreon,  or order my merch.

Haters Gonna Hate

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If you can’t join ’em, verbally abuse ’em.

On my Facebook feed, the haters seem to be in the minority, while the majority are excited to do doing something that provides more joy than they’ve felt in a long. But everyone knows these people, the ones who are too cool for everything, who feel that showing enthusiasm for the wrong things is a weakness. The Australian musician who made fun of me in 1997 for going to all the major museums in London, because in his book, the only interesting places to go were bars and clubs. The grad school colleagues too terrified to express their love of genre fiction, because there was only one kind of acceptable lit-er-a-ture and it didn’t have dragons in it. The people who go to parties and refuse to dance (OK, some of you have social anxiety, but isn’t it because you’re afraid these guys will make fun of you for enjoying it?) or watch anime or wear funny hats in photo booths.

They don’t understand how anyone can retain their childlike sense of wonder, and so they seek to crush it out of others because they don’t understand it, or they’re afraid to cultivate it in themselves. Because someone like them might come along and shame them for it.

Never feel ashamed about having a good time. And if you can’t tolerate watching others have a good time, close your window and go back to watching depressing stuff like Dexter, Breaking Bad, and The Walking Dead on Netflix. (Disclaimer: I haven’t really watched any of these shows, because I know that what you put into your brain has a real bearing on what comes out of your brain.)

Don’t be a hater. Buy my book, support my Patreon, order my merch.

Zentangles: Silver

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The bronze marker gave up the ghost and the gold one had rolled under my desk.

My wrist is killing me and my mind is blank. Can’t think of anything but jokes about tall towers of pancakes, and they’re not that funny. These zentangles are from last week; the red, black, and silver one came out especially nice. Zentangles are freeform, but they seem to end up more striking if you give them a little structure.

The Rabbit and the Owl seem to be planning a trip to visit the ghost towns of southeastern Arizona after I posted this link, but there’s no way that’s the definitive map of Arizona ghost towns. I’m sure there’s one I’ve passed a couple times north of Tucson. But this sounds like a fun weekend. Hopefully I can participate. Right now, the only fun I can afford is Pokemon Go, free samples at Costco and Trader Joe’s, and swimming.

In case you think a person who makes art 25-30 hours a week should in some way receive financial remuneration for their work, you can buy my book, support my Patreon, order my merch. Please. I make good stuff. You’ll like it if you try it.

Maybe tomorrow my hand will not hurt and my brain will not be empty and I will draw Dragon Comics about ghost towns.

Busking

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I’m going to start the bidding at $5 per foot away from you you want us to move. 

Wasn’t going to draw a comic tonight, but this just fell out of the Wacom tablet. I’m still not exactly at performance level on the ukulele, although I enjoy playing it and have 5 songs memorized. The Man plays all the brass instruments, and has for decades. He plays the sousaphone in a klezmer band. He’s not the least bit Jewish, but with that beard, wearing the right hat, he’s the most Jewish-looking guy in the group. He’s also played trombone and euphonium in the band, but he really wanted a tuba, and he picked the sousaphone up on the cheap, on account of it being crushed, tarnished, and in multiple pieces when he got it. And he fixed it up and put it back together himself, which is pretty cool.

There are more ridiculous sounding instruments than the sousaphone, but for my money, it’s certainly among the most ridiculous looking instruments. And, uh, I like the way it sounds. Parts of me really like how it sounds.

Obviously, ukuleles are ridiculous through and through. That’s what makes them so wonderful.

I think some percentage of the world would appreciate the ukulele-sousaphone orchestra. Approximately the same percentage that appreciate my blog.

Pokemon, Go Outside!

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OK, truth be told, I do understand some things. For example, I know you’re totally jealous that I got that Eevee.

After yesterday’s sea anchor of a comic, it seemed like something lighter was in order. My friend who does stand up comedy spent the entire day making jokes on Facebook about Pokemon Go, and when the kids and I came back from the park (where I got that Eevee, yessir), she was in my dining room, still making jokes about the game. She didn’t actually know anything about the game, although neither did I 2 days ago. So this is what I have to say about that. I haven’t really played video games in years, not since the ’80s, and I never played this game in any of its 42 previous iterations. But this one looked like fun.

For those of my readers who are my father, or as plugged in to popular culture as my father, Pokemon Go is an “augmented reality” game. That is to say, it’s played in the real world, using your phone’s GPS to map the game elements over actual parts of your city, and thus forcing your children to go outside and take long rambling walks if they wish to play. It’s actually reasonably exciting, or would be if they had anything near the server power required to handle the huge number of users interested in being the best that ever was and catching them all. There were probably thousands of people milling around the park playing this game, all of us getting continually booted off the server.

And I know the next thing those of my readers who are my father will say, but you’re wrong: my stepkids were among the youngest of people participating. Most of the players were in their 20s and 30s. It’s really not a kids’ game. Or not just a kids’ game, considering that people with the ability to drive to particular locations and the stamina to walk long distances have a distinct advantage in gameplay, and also that you need a smartphone to play. In addition, I note that a bunch of the game locations in my neighborhood are in bars (although my friend in Peoria said they were all churches where she lives, and also the library where she works).

Another feature is that it tracks how far you walk in the game, so it’s like a Fitbit that lets you fight monsters on your phone if you go to certain places. And somehow, it seems to have brought people together and inspired them to be friendly to each other in real life. It’s like the opposite of the internet.

I’m not going to go crazy with it like some people, though. Every time I opened the app, it insisted there were Pokemon behind the nursing home across the street from my house, so I finally went over there and just as I arrived they moved to the next block over. I declined to climb the 6-foot cinderblock wall and skulk around in someone’s back yard in order to keep playing. I am probably not going to be the best that ever was. But maybe I’m going to spend more time walking outside.

The Weight of the World

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There’s no second punchline, because there is no first punchline. It’s not funny.

Sometimes, words just form in your head and you don’t have any choice but to write them down. I’ve gotten whole phaetons this way, whole pages at times, without any conscious thought. The other day, contemplating the violence, hatred, and pain that seems so prevalent in the 24-hours news cycle, these words fell out of my pen. Well, you can’t make a comic about that, says I, but in my experience, people love depressing comic. And this is the most depressing one I’ve ever written. So it should have at least as much staying power as the one about my post-traumatic stress disorder.

I don’t want to be the person whose privilege is to look away, but the subject matter of this comic was hard to draw. The trash picking kids in India for the first panel were the worst. After I drew it, I went back and erased about 10 pixels around each of them, because I couldn’t stand to have the drawing of trash touching these cartoon kids. The dead African men were a little easier, because they were already dead at least, and not likely to suffer anymore. And then the Syrian refugees…all those Syrian refugees. So many homeless babies. What right do I have to live in a house and eat food, let alone draw comics and write speculative fiction novels, when people are in so much pain all the time?

Meanwhile, so many people around me are going through personal turmoil, or working hard for causes like trans rights and Black Lives Matter, or just trying to overcome heartbreak or pay their bills or not be hurt by strangers on the internet or toxic family or bad relationships.

But that’s the thing about myself I’ve known for a long time. At heart, I am a cynic, full of darkness and nihilism, but I found long ago that the only way for me to exist was to wear a cloak of optimism, to cover myself in rainbows and announce that everything was going to be all right. I wouldn’t be here now, writing this blog, if I hadn’t done this. People freak the hell out if ever they see what’s under the cloak. They don’t like to hear me tell the truth.

This is a true story: in 1997, I was driving from Yellow Springs, Ohio, to Deerfield, Illinois. I had lived in Yellow Springs off and on for 5 years, and had just left behind me 2 of my best friends, the guy depicted as the Bear in Dragon Comics, and another guy who’s too complex to be summed up as 1 single animal, but I think he would be happy if I called him the Faun. They hugged me goodbye as I hopped into my moving van, and as soon as I pulled out of sight, I burst into tears. I was driving toward something good, but I felt such grief over what I was leaving behind.

The road merged onto the highway, Interstate 94, a road I knew well and had driven many times, a road that would take me right to my parents’ house. I looked up and saw the sky above the tree line, and a brilliant circumhorizontal arc splayed out across the clouds. This awakened in me the memory of a dream I had had about 15 years earlier, as a very little girl, about a goddess appearing to a group of children in a rainbow made of clouds, and instantly, I stopped crying. It was as if the universe had opened up to me, or at least one single page of it. This sign was telling me my purpose in life, why I had been left on this planet that always seemed so alien and hostile to me. I was here to serve as an avatar of Aphrodite: the acolyte of love and beauty.

This answered a lot of questions for me, specifically about why I was so unhappy all the time. Depression: anger turned inward. Because I was here with a very specific job to do, but it seemed as if the legions working against my cause were so much more numerous. Serving love and beauty is easy in paradise, but it’s a great and terrible work in a world where so many serve hatred and ugliness. I was angry because the opposition was so great, and I had no choice in my work.

Anyway, the world is terrible. And I keep drawing comics.