When Reading Comics (!), sure it’s all well and good to be mindful of the creator’s intent when you’re reading his product, but the other more important half of the equation is what you yourself intend to get out of it.  What are your intentions every time you pick up a comic book to read it?  Simply put, what do you expect to get out of the experience?

To backtrack a little bit, the idea of this blog post was actually sparked when I saw a comic fan absolutely panning a graphic novel on his website, almost to the point that you thought it was personal.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that whoever made that book had snuck into that gentleman’s house in the dead of night and farted in his pillow while he was asleep.  And nobody likes that (I checked).  But the point in its totality clarified itself to me when this vitriolic pedant did nothing but sing high praises for the likes of Alan Moore and Grant Morrison.  Now that is all well and good, and I agree that those two are quite talented, but (and spoiler alert) not everyone can be Moore and Morrison.

And that brings me back to asking you what you expect to get from a comic.  Coz look… if you buy a stack every week, sit down on your comfiest chair and sip on your loveliest beverage, and expect to read Watchmen every time you open a book, you’re going to be disappointed every. single. time.

Are you after closure? Maybe you shouldn’t be reading Spider-Man then.  Are you after realism?  Are you after grit?  Understand that a comic can tell you a story along that line the best way it knows how, but also understand that a comic book may also not necessarily be the best place to decisively deal with something like hunger in Africa.

Set your expectations.  Or better yet, learn not to have any and just let the comic do its job and tell you a story.  Do not, and this is something I myself am guilty of sometimes, try to think ahead of the story.  That can be fun and engaging, but depending on what kind of person you are it affects its own set of annoyances and grievances I’d rather not get into in this post.

To know what you want is to know your place.  Enjoy the Ride and Quit being a bitch.

All told.

Last month, TK hit a noteworthy 100 episodes.  Over the span of four years, we’ve grown from a small crew of just me, a kind and bright-eyed artist from Cebu; Alex Cipriano, a relentless comics and gaming fan and one of my closest friends, and EJ Afzelius; a writer/model double-agent based in Manila — to a man-sized serving that includes Miguel Santos, a hotel manager from Davao; and finally Nick Santos (no relation), a film school graduate also based in Cebu.  We are by no means the only comics-related podcast in the Philippines, but I can say with a stout heart that we are certainly the most prolific (for the lowest price consistent with quality).  From reviews to interviews to topic discussions and the like, the podcast has come a long way and, surprisingly, taught me a lot about art.  Specifically, the appreciation of it.

See… when you’re reviewing stacks of comics every week, the temptation to just compare them to each other or to something that came before is certainly present.  And while that can sometimes count as a valid review, it isn’t always a fair one.  All art is subjective after all, and are products of unique individuals with unique weaknesses and strengths.  Thus the act of compare and contrast to “review” their work is in itself a flawed practice.  Doing so not only opens you up to bias, because we all have our favorites, but it also has the potential to hurt feelings.  That may sound like a non-issue to most, but when you’re lucky enough (as we on the show are) to know some of these creators personally, the ice on Critic’s Creek can get surprisingly thin.

So the solution, though it may not come naturally to most, is to critique a piece of work according to what you feel the artist intended to do.  The focus on intent helps get you to the heart of the matter.  What is this story trying to tell you?  Are the characters, setting, dialogue and other elements contributing to a perceived tone?  Does the art do its job?  Does the story get communicated?  Is there even a story there, or is the artist just intending to have fun?  And the line of questioning goes on, because suddenly you’re judging a book on its sole merits rather than the cavalcade of books that came before.

Being mindful of intent helps one grow as both a reviewer and a creator.  And I find it’s helping me focus on the task at hand, which at the end of the day, is attempting to show people something they’ve never seen before.  Less historians, more pioneers.

Let’s all go read some comics.

So no… it’s not the friends you make, it’s the friends you keep.

So my band’s gotten back together… though Sean’s still in North Carolina, and Jan and I live in separate towns here in the Philippines.  So we’re pretty much a virtual band at the moment, and that’s probably how it’s gonna play out all told.  The wife’s happy just to see me make music again, I’m just glad to find out the boys and I still get along even without alchohol involved.

Work has been work, and March is looking to be a month of new things and old commitments.  I’m pretty sure it’ll be my busiest month of this year, with a coupla things probably bleeding into April and May.  But you know what?  I sit at a desk all day and rub a stick on a clump of flat fiber.  On a tough day, I’ll break a sweat — one pathetic bland little excuse for a bead of salty effort.  And then I’ll take a break.

Christ.

I really shouldn’t even be allowed , legally, to complain.  Quit being a whiny bitch, John.

I find that It’s important to have a good idea of who your friends are when the usual order of every day has a session of self-loathing pencilled in.

#1 Artists are proud of everything they create. Nope.  More often that not, we are painfully aware of how a piece could have been better, even when our peers compliment us or at least gently bend us over.  We know we can be better.  And while most of us can take constructive criticism like normal people, also keep in mind that no one sits at a desk, whips out his art equipment, and intentionally tries to suck.

#2 Artists are insulted by reference material. No way.  There may be a handful of artists who scoff at drawing from reference, but the majority appreciate it and tend to consider it a genuine effort to make our job easier, may you be a collaborating writer or even just a fan commissioning a piece.  Nah.  Whatever helps us make the finished piece better is usually appreciated.

#3 We like flowery scripts. This is a weird one.  Some writers tend to fashion scripts thinking of their collaborators as the audience.  Though there may be a bit of merit to that, nine times out of ten, an artist will prefer that you just say an alley is dark rather than “oppressed by the shadows of the adjacent concrete monoliths.”  While yes, it serves to help the imagery, keep in mind that you don’t need to sell us on the story.  We are already working with you.

#4 We don’t need praise. We do.  Admit it, artists.  The biggest reason you’re still on Deviant Art is the ego stroking.  Take me for example, after a day’s work, I’d like to hear more than “ooh, that’s nice.”  What’s the matter?  Am I a puppy?  Did you pass out because my page is so awesome and that’s why you can’t say anything more?  All I’m saying is… If you’re a writer receiving pages and you like them, tell your artist you do.  Don’t just ask for the next one.  Show the love.

#5 We’re always in the mood to draw. This is probably the most common misconception, and understandably so.  When comic fans see us at cons, it’s at artist alley.  When writers hit us up, it’s within the context that you are a collaborator whose job it is to illustrate a story.  But of course, just like every OB-GYN gets sick of staring at vaginas every now and then, sometimes we just want to sit at our desk and NOT be holding a pencil.

So that’s it.  Five common misconceptions about artists.  I’m pretty sure I’m wrong about a couple of them and very right about others, but this is all from experience, so bear with me.  Now back to work…

Been toying with the idea of aiming for two pages a day lately, but Jad says I should ease it into five pages a week while I’m still recuperating.  She knows my limits a lot better than I do these days.

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The Tres Komikeros podcast has been on hold for half of June, no small thanks to me being a sorry pile of ache… but we’ll probably be back in full swing this coming Friday.  Alex has been itching for comic conversation, which is hard to come across in his all-work-oriented Singaporean Surroundings.

I’ve been catching up on some random things on my own though, while stuck in bed:

Green Lantern: Emerald Knights

A much better anthology than Gotham Knight was, mainly due to the strong through-line anchoring the little tales.  Art direction was very Dragonball in a lot of the fights, but that actually made it work a lot better than Jad and I expected.  A great primer for the film, even though it isn’t Hal centric.

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The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack

For some bizarre reason I’d really rather not think about, my buddy Migs procured an entire season of this show and promptly recommended it to me.  Granted, I wasn’t under heavy medication when he did, but seeing this now makes me think this is probably how Charlie Sheen feels… all the time.

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Warlord of Mars (Dynamite)

I loved the original Burroughs books.  I love the Frazetta paintings.  This series is respectful to both, and though the text can be cumbersome at times, I feel there is a very real effort to capture the soul of Barsoom, making this a sometimes-steep read that is well worth the climb.  This could use a PG tag on the cover though.  No sex is depicted, but thinly veiled nudity (though tasteful) should still be filtered.

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So yeah.  Space Cop.  Weird Cabin Boy.  And Barbaric Nudists.

Never let it be said my tastes don’t vary.

They’re starting from scratch.

Will this stick?  Or is this yet another Heroes Reborn event Jim Lee is involved with?  I don’t know.  But this all reminds me of something Skottie Young said on a podcast, during one of his more lucid moments:  “Ten years, pussies.  That’s it.  And you’re done.”  He was referring to the number of “good” years one comic fan can really call his own.  A decade.  After that, it becomes clear how cyclical the industry is, and how convoluted histories need to be reset in order for new readers to jump on board.  And then you make a subconscious choice between continuing or ending your fandom, knowing this nature of comics.

Having been exposed to comics by my older brother, I’ve been in love with the art form since I was four years old.  Comics taught me how to read.  Comics taught me how to draw.  And probably most importantly, comics taught me how to be passionate about telling stories.  And in spite of being held at the mercy of retcons and reboots for almost thirty years now, with Skottie’s logic in mind, I have enjoyed comics enough for three fans’ lives.

And here we are again.  Another jumping-on point for some, a potential jumping-off point for others.

But you know what?  Just because heroes and characters we’ve loved for so long need to start from scratch, doesn’t mean the adventures we enjoyed as children are undone.  No one’s taking them away.  What this means is that it’s time for new children to enjoy these stories, and for these characters to be someone else’s toys.  And if that means comics can be enjoyed for more decades to come, then I’m all for it.

When you were kids, sure it was great knowing the events of Final Invasion led to the key chapters in Siege of Night.  But the operative phrase in that context is “you were kids.”

Continuity isn’t intrinsically a bad thing, especially when it’s observed within the bounds of one writer’s story.  Continuity in that regard is akin to Consistency.  But when continuity becomes a thorn that hinders new stories from happening because it clashes with the events of past storylines, then it just becomes a pain.

You can’t condemn a new storyline just because it conflicts with minor details in another writer’s story from 15-20 years ago.  At that point, how would it be possible to not run out of new tales?

How can you expect a writer to read every single issue just so he can write his story?  At that point, someone who might be the best new writer ever would be held hostage by the worst writer ever.  At that point, you’re blindly bound to dates and events.  And then all of a sudden you’ve become the Harold Camping of comics.  And much the same way, what you’re worried about doesn’t matter.

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A good story outweighs continuity.  The information you retain shouldn’t matter more than how much you enjoyed the narrative.

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Learn to let it go, nerds.  Not all of it matters.  Take each story in and of itself.  Or better yet, take each writer’s run as its own thing.  Every new creative team brings with it a soft reboot anyway.  Stop caring and just enjoy the fiction.

Be cool like me.

Note: Invent eyeball coffee.  Market as “Coffee for Your Eyeballs” to avoid confusion.

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The logo for Element shoes looks, to me anyway, like the Red Horse logo.

Yesterday, I burnt my left hand a bit, cooking smoked milkflish.  Worth it.

My wife is enjoying REM sleep. Why can’t I have nice things?

She asked me what my five favorite words were yesterday:  Geosynchronicity.  Anachronistic.  Ersatz.  Pastiche.  Zeitgeist.

Watching Fast 5 (if that’s the title) with her and a coupla friends this Wednesday.  I forget how that happened.

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Eyeball coffee should come in five blends:  Cinnamon.  Oak.  Mint tea.  Denim.  And teal.

I’ve learned a valuable lesson these past couple of weeks, and it relates to the issue of speed and compromise.

When any novice artist begins working on comic pages, there’s always an urge to make every panel feel like a fragment off the fucking Sistine ceiling.  This is admirable.  Who’s gonna hate someone for giving all he’s got?  Certainly not me.  I mean if you’re a fast motherfucker, go for it.  But me being equal parts comic artist and comic reviewer, I came to realize fairly quickly that no one spends an hour reading any single comic panel.  You might’ve rendered the shit out of that picket fence in the background.  Good for you.  But you’ll be lucky if the average reader spends more than five minutes on that entire page.

The average comic page takes 8–10 hours to draw.  The average reading time for an entire 22 page comic? 15–20 minutes.

Snap.

There’s no shame in economizing your style in order to finish a page fast.  Comics are a serial medium.  By definition, half of the art in comics is the speed with which you deliver your story.  Of course, this isn’t condoning shoddy work either.  No one expects a masterpiece in every panel, but at the very least deliver clear visual narrative.

Strike a balance between Good and Good Enough.  Tell your story and move on.

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