It's clear to me that I cannot reconcile this deadline I have set for myself and achieving any kind of real creative output. This is something I must remedy. I have stories to tell, though I feel they must have a punchline more often than not. It's like I forget the things I'm influenced by as I'm creating the thing, or I'm influenced by things I cant remember. I look for visual solutions to the probelms I've given myself, and they don't come quickly enough for someone who spent four years at art school. For someone who purports to be an artist.
But maybe I'm not yet. Maybe that fine. In fact its fine. It is fine. Though the conceit of this project is that I am not an artist, and merely a pretender, I believe that maybe that is a voice. More than that, an voice worth hearing.
I have two comics in pencil now. I will scan them In I guess. Then discuss them. The finished products will hopefully come soon after. I like the second one more than I like the first.
The two are unintentionally sequential. Though the paper scratches whoever the fuck viewer you are may see are probably incomprehensible, I an offer you the gist. I've almost given up on trying to write the word bubbles in my comics. I have not yet successfully merged word and image. So when these are finished, Ill worry just about the pictures, the ideas. disjointed perhaps. But I cant be bothered with connecting them. Detail oriented is an adjective that makes me cring as I look through want ads. But I laughed at myself, when I saw the sad inidan guy in a bar on Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia describe himself as a "big picture guy." I can only create broad strokes.
It's funny how every time I come close to telling an actual personal story, I end up berating my lack of creativity. Maybe it's funny, maybe it's not. But given my obvious inclinations, Ill try to skip ahead to what the hell those sketches are about.
Strip the first!:
Panel 1
It's sunday afternoon. I just came home from my thanksgiving camping trip. I drove out to Joshua tree (lake camp ground and RV park (a seemingly random piece of unoccupied space surrounded by a fence, which is in turn surrounded by entirely similar looking land for miles in every direction)) to drink and do drugs with people who I've only known through drinking and doing drugs on camping trips. As far as I'm concerned they're the best people I've ever met.
Panel 2
For some reason I decided to come home instead of going to some hot springs with the intention of chatting up S---- who I think is just delightful and if I'm not mistaken may have taken a liking to me. I always seem to know the right move to make long after I've taken the wrong one.
panel 3 So now I'm home filling up the time, hoping that I can find a girl to go out with tonight. It will make me feel like I made the right decision. Like if a girl actually isn't busy, or even picks up her phone, or even even calls me back after the polite and purposely benign message I left on her voicemail, and when I'm about to leave my house also still wants to hang out, then maybe the two hours drive in the middle of the day wouldn't be for nothing.
panel 4
Unfortunately for me I've spent the entire day thinking about these things, but I haven't done it. All I have to show for it is a clean set of unfolded laundry, a tummy full of eggs, and half a chapter closer to finishing the book I won't finish for another three months, plus a few more levels advanced in the webgame I was too ashamed to draw myself playing for more hours than I spent accomplishing any of the other, documented, activities, rather than calling any girls I know.
TA DA! hilarious! hows that for a punchline. Here comes the next one.
Panel 1
In an extraordinary turn of fate, I've managed to muster the energy and effort and desire to call a girl who I think is cute, cool and funny (two C's and an F! like donkeylips' report card) and all it took was a two week contact hiatus after SHE invited ME to a party and a literal act of intervention from the heavens. She agreed (no suggested!) that we go stargazing for the Geminid meteor shower. I've seen her for an hour and a half outside of work and already the odds feel like they're for marriage.
Panel 2
I've come to pick her up. But I'm prepared. I dont claim to do many things that the general public might describe as "Baller," but this is pretty fucking baller. "I've got a reclining cushion, my sleeping bag to la upon (not in) and heres the baller part, my camping stove, propane, and packets of hot chocolate. I Ask you,is there a vagina not moist at the prospect of stargazing under a black winter night with a dude who brings caocoa? And the means with which to heat it? I mean come ON!
Panel 3
Not that I'm so proud of myself, but the prospect of GIRL! live GIRL!, but also THIS girl! Girl who is all at once, cute, funny, and capable. She has her own life. She knows nobody I know. She is funny and strives to be funnier. She called me back! she volleyed. I hesitate to draw her in detail because though I think he is wonderful in her own right, a lot of my opinion of her has to do with potential. For now, before I get to know her better, she is perfect, she is enthusiastic and non-judgemental, a drinker, an adventuress.
panel 4
but the fucking cops fucking closed fucking Los Angeles Crest freeway. I have no plan B. I have nothing. I have nothing save the dubious charm I can't muster because I'm trying to think of plan B.
Panel 5
Some failed attempts at continuing the evening in some positive way, end In me driving her home. No kiss. No real expectation of a kiss. If there was a kiss, it would have baffled me. THough I wouldn't have denied it. Why am I so willing to expect a girl to be perfection, when the chances are really so slim?
And thats that and I'm tired. Ideas yes. Product no. The effort continues.
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