Years ago, when I still had an allowance, a Magic the Gathering obsession, and a fixed bed time, my sister told me that the best way to get to eat your favorite dishes was to learn to cook them yourself. This little nugget of wisdom, of course, was prompted by me always asking her to prepare things like cinnamon french toast and apple pie. I remember this now, as I am finishing up brunch — french toast and some bacon.
I am at the desk, and there is work to be done. Today is to be about layouts, a coupla page corrections, and some heavy-duty scanning. Today is about drawing.
The medium of comics is a funny animal. Love it too much, and you begin to see the strings; the cyclical nature of the stories get to you and you find yourself scoffing at new ideas, comparing them to some Bronze Age arc you barely remember anyway; and you smell editorial decisions where you could once just sit down, shut the fuck up, and enjoy the ride.
Love Comics too little, and as a storyteller, you feel like a fraud. There is no passive enjoyment in an artistic medium that is defined by long-term character investment and serial story delivery.
And so we come to a crossroads. How much do I love comics?
The question didn’t occur to me to ask until I saw this week’s pull list and found myself getting more excited about indies rather than the mainstream. And more often than not, I feel passionate about the quality of the books I read because I feel a very real stake in it. I make comics too, having done freelance work for over two years now. And on top of that, I review them. I am no longer just a fanboy. I may be a small fish, but at least my feet are wet. And this is why the books matter. The better the books are, the better the entire medium is. And the better the medium is, the more room there is for new stories — not just tights, not just powers.
The best way to ensure that I get to read the comics I want to read… is to make them myself.
Today is to be about drawing. Tonight, about writing.