so i started this page weeks ago.
then one of my dogs tore up the page. i adopted two sisters of a cattle dog persuasion. they are only half grown and are so naughty. between their shopping on my desk and my kids’s shopping on my desk, it’s a wonder i get any pages out at all.
even though i am doing a comic about the destructive voices in my head, it is still difficult to do said artwork when i am depressed. overwhelmed. generally ready to crawl in a hole and never come out.
i’m not sure what happens next. maybe i will get some moses jones done. i have been hankering to work on that comic for awhile.
also! i started playing with a story i started when my niece was like 4. that niece has now graduated from college. so maybe i should finish my story, at least.
i wrote it as a screenplay.
i am adapting it to be prose…with pictures. not a graphic novel. just, you know, an illustrated story.
strangely, the dynamics of the two main characters (written, like i said, 20 years ago?) are reflective of the dynamics between my ex & i. you know, dusty. the male lead even looks like him. i wrote it before i started doing more autobiographical fiction. he came out of my imagination. fuck, maybe i predicted him…or worse, maybe i wrote him into existence. yikes.
speaking of the topic of autobiographical fiction. i just finished reading john irving’s latest novel, the avenue of miracles. i love love love john irving. this novel, not so much. parts of it were amazing. other parts were half-hearted. but! he often discusses memoir fiction vs. fiction from the imagination. while reading it, i started writing an essay. i think i will eventually finish that essay that is not quite memoir…not quite pure imagination…but all me and how i feel while reading a john irving novel.
i think i had another point to make or story to share, but i had to stop typing to have a fight with my eight year old who seems to believe i am not allowed to live a life other than as his devoted and single-minded mother.
well this went a bit darker than i imagined. i was thinking “quirky” and…well…day 5 without my minions…arguing with the narcissistic dusty about my not seeing them for another 2 days & how pissed off i am. i pick up a pen. and my lizard brain gets pretty dark. i like it though. nothing against quirky…but whenever i read a quirky novel i kind of want to throw it at the author. repeatedly.
don’t get me wrong.
i have written some quirky crap.
like here is a quirky short story i wrote for a writer’s workshop:
a severe lack of grace
my instructor, with her funky british-japanese heritage and goth name, assured me that i was “funny” and that i would have an audience accordingly. i’m pretty sure she meant it as an insult.
suck it, rowan.
so i started working on my new comic, just me and my lizard brain. it could be disturbing…but i am going to try for dark & funny.
i just need my minions to come home. then i can be properly distracted and not wander to the darker realms of my brainstem.
on a lighter note! i played with more buttons.
in fact, i spent most of high school invisible. maybe i’ve gotten so good at being invisible that i no longer know how to be visible…if, in fact, i ever knew how to be visible. i was a pretty shy & quiet kid.
anyhoo. i spent a lot of today goofing off on my laptop and wondering why exactly i am not an internet sensation. but i did work a bit more on my page of sketches for in-the-works comics. i like where i’m going with bluejean, but realized i am giving her almost the same dog that moses & the gang has, a cattle dog. so then i started working on a border collie/cattle dog mix. that’s when misha discovered she could lick her finger and smear the ink as i was drawing. misha is three now. “three year old,” in my experience, translates to “asshole.” i suppose it didn’t help that i was so flabbergasted at her audacity that i burst out laughing.
maybe i will work on the dog more tonight. as she sleeps & recharges.
also! i entered chuck wendig’s flash fiction contest:
with a short story i wrote a million years ago that was once published on a web magazine called danse macabre. my story, however, has been since archived and the archives have been dumped. but it’s a pretty decent story, fitting the theme of “fuck you, clean reader” as it is a dialogue about profanity in literature. i put it up over on a tumblr blog that i use to specifically showcase my art & writing:
i need to work on my powers of visibility.