My first webcomic?

Welcome to strip 1 of the tentatively titled, tentatively blog-bound, tentatively existent "Diary of a Post-Grad Mediocrity." I'm having a modest internal struggle about how self-aware and whiny these blog posts need to be, considering the likely, overwhelming self-awareness and whininess of the comic and my general demeanor. I hesitate to make any promises, but I will try to get the bulk of my sensitivities about the existence of this thing out here, now, and leave any future blog posts as more of a journal anyway. In the interest of having the title serve also as a mission statement, I hope that I can maintain a steady course of discussion of my life and my attempted forays into the world of entertainment in Los Angeles.

I'm surprised that it surprised me, but creative life in Los Angeles is a grind. The whole thing is dealing with the massive, broken system already put in place. Jobs here are becoming scarce as the industry changes to deal with an American culture that is increasingly used to getting entertainment from less spectacular venues than movie theaters, as the gap in quality between home entertainment systems and commercial entertainment outlets is shrinking. I find myself caring about the business end of it more than I ever hoped I would. I realize it may seem naive, but I believe there must be a city somewhere out there where I could do creative stuff and not have to be grown up about it. Where honest people will ask me to do stuff for them, and then pay me handsomely for it. Or better yet, I'll drive out to the mountains of Utah and live in a van in the mountains, make something spectacular on my own time while living cheaply, and then in one fell swoop the whole world will realize my genius and I will be able to buy one of those ultra-photogenic mountain houses you see in oversized ecologically minded architecture books, and spend my days photographing my own house for some future edition of an oversized architecture book.

I feel like I went to Art School to prevent having the workaday life I so dreaded. I realize there are two ways out of it. Well, three maybe, but It's going to take some life-shattering event to grow my balls to the size that I could sell my honda and buy the van mentioned above. The first is to stick with it, claw my way up the food chain. Well, I'm not much of a claw-er. Not a fighter. No, I'm likely to plod. To wade. To sit until someone lifts me by the straps of my overalls into the next tier, and the next and the next.

The other, is to work. All the time. It's not just the job. It's the free time. I have to keep my brain thinking, and my hands moving. To draw constantly. To write down the ideas that so frequently come and go. To have a venue to express myself. To make a webcomic....

That's right everyone, the way to get out of the post-graduate creative rut is to make a journal webcomic. Real. Fucking. Original.

I mean jesus christ what IS that hand in panel two? And where the fuck did the fan go?

Well the answer is my imaginary deadline forced me to make decisions. You have to murder your darlings, so says Oren Sherman, my old illustration 2 professor, teacher, rival...

Where does all this bitterness come from? Why does blog post one have to be the internet equivalent of self-flagellation? Well If I ever do decide to share this with anyone, self-flagellation is completely nullified as it becomes public. That's why albino monks do it in church. It's more sacred. I don't have the energy to defend the title, and it will probably change, and maybe I'll get some piteous comments. But really, I have no interest in making this sacred. That is not what this is about. I hope this germinates into something better. Something less derivative. Less... this.

Good start. So this thing should be weekly yes? It's thursday. Lets make it... Well If I ever get fulltime work again, thursday updates are going to be tough. So lets make it sunday nights. Midnight sunday PST? Midnight sunday PST!