I celebrated by getting dressed up, going out to a bar staffed by cute young men and women, and walking right up to the edge of hammered. I watched and listened and talked and laughed with people all night. toward morning I met a very hot bi-curious Filipina girl who told me I was beautiful. then I came home to my loving husband, who... OK, disclosure stops there. suffice to say I had a good weekend.
I have a question to ask the creative types on the boards, should they be reading this. I'd put it in Discussions, but it dovetails into a blog post, so I figure I'll post it here and take my chances on getting answers.
How do you keep yourself going? What strategies do you use to keep yourselves going, creatively, even on off days?
I ask, of course, because I need some.
I mentioned in my last post that I was scared; it's always been the problem with creating something, and it's why I have no finished creations: a finished product is a product that can be judged, and I am unnecessarily paranoid about my work being judged. More so than I am of being judged as a person, I think.
So, whilst I really want this webcomic I'm working on to work, I find myself prevaricating, procrastinating, and generally fucking around doing things of no merit, when I could be producing.
It's not the writing, now; that's done. Running it past other people as it got developed removed my ability to send it into endless edits as I tried to slow it down. Now, it's the pictures.
I have 5 pages of art done; this means I need to get 10 pages per month produced for the next 3 months to see the prologue completed before I go off to America and am without digital drawing tools.
Obviously then, I need to be doing better than the 5 pages in 3 weeks that I've managed so far...but I need help to do it, as my own diseased brain seems not to want me to finish something. I need you guys to tell me how you do it, so I can figure out how I can do it too.
I'm very careful, but sometimes, very rarely, I forget I live in Rio de Janeiro, which I constantly (and accurately) describe as a shithole. I've been robbed twice in my life: in a Roger Waters show and twenty minutes ago.
I was leaving a friend's birthday party. I don't drink or smoke, so my head was clear except for the eight cans of coca-cola I drunk (no fucking wonder I'm overweight). And also, while I was returning, an unbelievable urge to piss started to build up. It was midnight. I should have taken a cab, and it was stupid not to. But I was near home and the street where I live has always been relatively safe. Yeah, I can be a moron sometimes.
When I'm almost home, I hit a deserted spot of the street. I hear a voice behind me. "Where you going?". I turn around to see this guy, a white playboy-looking man, with no weapons in sight. But he had a firm voice, and he was so calm and confident he 1) probably had a gun or knife. 2) Was good at pretending.
I said "What do you want? Cellphone?". He said, "Yeah, just the cellphone. C'mere, man". He and I approached a car so we'd be out of sight. There were some people on the other side of the street, but it wasn't worth risking it.
His mistake was being too close to me. I could hit him with my elbow dead in the nose or a nice kneecap-in-the-crotch. Knock him out. But what next? Spend the next months looking behind my shoulder, expecting him to come with a bunch of friends to retaliate? I was always on that street, every day. If I was in a street I was never at, maybe. But in that street... again, not worth risking it.
I gave him the cellphone. He said, "And money?". I took the wallet out, took the money out (about forty-five reais, which is twenty-five dollars or so) and gave it to him. Fortunately, he didn't ask for anything else. He just said, as he put everything in his pocket, "You know why I'm doing this, man, I'm hungry, I need to eat". I didn't buy it, he looked everything but a bum. But arguing his point was not a good idea, so I just said "of course". He told me to go in the opposite direction from him, which was going back where I came from. I walked about twenty meters without looking back. Then I did. He was gone.
I walked back slowly and returned home. I can't help feeling I should have done something, but for a cellphone and twenty-five bucks? Not worth the headache it would cause, and the fact he might have a gun.
My editor remembered I existed today and asked me when the book will be finished. Having tempered my immediate impulse to say 'when its ready' in a Charlton Heston style, and probably for the sake on my own sanity, I am now committed to a month of hell\no sleep. And then on April 1 I can go on holiday.
Ready for the interminable copyedit reviews. Someone wish me luck
i'm seriously fucking off at work right now - it's become more of a problem than i'd care to acknowledge (i believe that the highly juvenile "authority issues" would apply, except that i don't think it's juvenile to have standards when it comes to people who think they are 'in charge').
the last time i came to work on a weekend i swore that i would never do it again. why?
because i've watched too many episodes of Buffy not to know that the easiest way to get eaten by vampire/demon/really big grody bug/etc, is to be in a building with a very long hallway only lit by sunlight from rooms behind locked doors at a time when no one else is there and the only way to get to your office is to walk the entire length of it, because the fire doors at the end where the office is are closed for the weekend (no one here, that kind of thing, you know) so even though that direction would, in fact, be the most logical and practical (double trouble) escape route - it's not viable.
only. did i mention that i've been fucking off?
if the state of nebraska ever gets its ethnocentric ass in order and recognizes native sovereignty, my job will become obsolete - a thing i look forward to, believe me. until then - face-up against the machine of government education.
no wonder this place makes me want to give up utterly and just let it all go to hell in a handbasket.
so, yeah, if i see any icky grody killy things in the building over the weekend - i'm so writing it as a novel and giving up this life of crime/office work forever. i swear.
I don't think Garfield minus Garfield is as hilarious as everybody says it is (it has it's moments), but this is too funny to not post:
I seriously "laugh out loud" when I see this thing, and I hate to say it, but it's kind of motivating too. I'm going to keep looking for a new job this weekend.
I've been bitching about student loans for nearly a year now and it's finally wrapping up. I've jumped through flaming hoops and even killed a couple of homeless people for these guys and today, just before checks got cut, I still had a couple extra hurdles.
I've got a good budget worked out. I'll get by with what I'm making now, but damnit, I can't sit at that desk any longer. When's somebody going to process my fucking invoices? HuH? :arrr:
The original point to this post was to say I put it up with all the other dilbert, BC, family circus strips on the corkboard in the company kitchen.
I don't know what possessed the old man to get me healthy choice clam chowder, but as far as I've been able to figure out it really IS made of a combination of gesso and guano; complete with the ability to stain the fingers white. As far as taste goes? It's horrid.
Witch Doctor is a forthcoming medical horror comic from writer Brandon Seifert and artist Lukas Ketner. Witch Doctor combines horror archetypes and really sick shit from the real world. This is the book's workblog. For more information, read the first entry.
The last art I posted showed the horror side of Witch Doctor. Here's an example of the humor. (I've watched way too much Joss Whedon TV to not inevitably combine the two.) These are two of our protagonist Dr. Vincent Morrow's primary tools during the story in Witch Doctor: First Incision.
One of my favorite things about our hero is that he’s walking in the footsteps of all these sorcerers and mystics before him, yet he has zero respect for tradition. For him, the Holy Grail made a great basin for a sink — he just had to drill a hole in the bottom and stick a rubber stopper in it.
(I wish I could take credit for the urinal parts, but that was all Lukas.)