Mom's Cancer Blog

Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?

2008-07-29T09:50:00.000-07:00

My very first post on this blog was about winning the Eisner Award for Best Digital Comic at the 2005 Comic-Con International in San Diego. So it seems somehow symmetrical and right that my very last post follows my report on the same event almost exactly three years later.

Today I'm closing up shop here and opening a new establishment right around the virtual corner at

http://brianfies.blogspot.com.

It'll be the same old stuff from the same old guy, which raises the question: Why bother? Why force my six regular readers to change their bookmarks and links? Who do I think I am?

Well, I'll explain...

First: my site stats show me that a lot of people arrive here while searching for help and information about cancer. Mom died October 1, 2005, and the fact is that I left Cancer World that day and haven't tried too hard to keep up. I'm not an expert on anything except my family's experience. I know Mom's Cancer still helps readers facing the same dizzying, baffling, frustrating challenges we did--I hear all the time from readers who continue to discover it anew--but my blog hasn't had much to offer those folks in a long time and I feel bad about that.

Second, and the reason I made a last-minute trip to this year's Comic-Con after I hadn't planned to go at all: I'm writing a new book. It's a graphic novel titled Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? that I'm working on with my friend and Mom's Cancer editor Charlie Kochman to be published by Harry N. Abrams next spring. Charlie wanted me in San Diego to unveil it, along with other books being released under a new Abrams imprint named Abrams ComicArts, with Charlie as its newly promoted Executive Editor (Publishers Weekly ran a nice item about it here). There's some neat symmetry there as well: my first book was Charlie's first acquisition shortly after he arrived at Abrams; my next book will be his first original graphic novel under his new imprint.

Fact is, I've been working on this thing and keeping quiet about it for more than a year--maybe close to two--although I did let a few hints drop from time to time to time. Both Abrams and I had our reasons for playing our cards close to our vests, but 3 p.m. Saturday in San Diego we tipped our hand. Now that I can talk about my new book--just try to shut me up!--it makes no sense to do it on a blog named for my previous one. It makes even less sense to start a second blog for the new book and try to maintain two! So I decided to carry on with a new blog named after me, less out of ego than lack of imagination. Unless I change my name, I won't face this dilemma again.

This doesn't mean I'm moving past Mom's Cancer, or turning my back on it, or anything like that. I would have none of this without that book and my mother's great gift of allowing me to write it. As I said, I know new readers are still finding it all the time. In fact, Abrams has some new plans for Mom's Cancer I'm excited about. I'll continue to blog about it and Cancer World when I have reason to.

Same guy, same stuff--plus some new stuff.

I hope you'll follow me over to the new place to learn more about The World of Tomorrow but, if not, thanks for being here. I appreciate it.

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Comic-Con '08

2008-07-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Overview of about 4% of Comic-Con's exhibition floor.

I'm home from my day-and-a-half whirlwind trip to San Diego for Comic-Con International, and wondering whether I'm going to write a little or a lot about it. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground. I'm gonna try to keep this brief; we'll see how I do.

I flew into town about 10 o'clock Saturday--traditionally the con's busiest day--took a taxi to the Convention Center and got my badge with no trouble. One big difference this year was that Comic-Con was completely sold out in advance, meaning there were no on-site ticket sales. That seemed to change the people-flow quite a bit and, with no enormous mobs milling around the front doors, my first impression was that it was less crowded than usual. That impression was recalibrated once I got inside.

My publisher Abrams had a booth featuring their fine line of high-quality comics-related books, where I met a few people who'd only been e-mail addresses to me before. It's always fun to put a face with the @, and they're all great people who work incredibly hard. Selling books at a convention is a tough job.

My editor, the recently betrothed Charlie Kochman (hi Rachel!), with writer Mark Evanier and me. I arrived at the Con just as Mark was finishing a signing session for his beautiful book on Jack Kirby. Mark is the busiest man at Comic-Con, moderating 17 panels this year, but we had a few minutes to talk before he had to jet off to panel number 7 or 8.

Later in the day, fellow Abrams author and MAD Magazine great Al Jaffee was signing at the booth and I had a chance to talk with him as well. He couldn't have been sweeter. This is what Comic-Con is like for me: meeting people I've admired my entire life, having conversations in which my lips move but no intelligent words emerge, and feeling regret a day later when I think of all the insightful and meaningful things I should have said. It's still pretty cool, though.

Knowing my time was short, I pursued a focused strategy of finding the people I wanted to see and buying the stuff I wanted to buy, getting done in three hours what usually takes three days. I found Raina Telgemeier and had a really nice talk with her about upcoming projects, business strategy, and the terrors that wake us screaming in the night--although I think that last part was just me. There aren't a lot of people I get to talk shop with, and Raina was the first I'd seen for a while so I'm afraid she got the brunt of it. Her husband Dave Roman, who works for Nickelodeon when not doing his own projects, wasn't at the booth then but I caught up with him Sunday morning. I think they're both terrific talents who do great work.

Another talented pair I like is Otis Frampton and his wife Leigh, whom I've considered friends for a while but never really had time to sit down and get to know better until this weekend. Otis created the Oddly Normal series and has several other projects in the works, while Leigh is an expert at Adobe software and graphic design. Together, they're a perfectly complementary creative team, each filling the other's gaps and working together toward some very ambitious goals. Otis and Leigh generously invited me to a dinner party they hosted Saturday night where I met some of their friends and collaborators, including artist Jessica Hickman (illustrator of Oddly Normal Volume 3 and now working for Disney) and Grant Gould. Grant has a book coming out soon called "Wolves of Odin," and when I tell you what it's about you'll probably do the same thing I did when I first heard about it a few months ago: smack yourself in the head and say "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" Here it is. Ready? Vikings versus Werewolves. As far as I'm concerned, that is your entire successful pitch right there. They should just back the money truck up to his door now.

Otis and Leigh, good people

This is also what Comic-Con is like for me: "Brian, this is Jessica and Grant." "Hi, great to meet you." Smalltalk smalltalk smalltalk, 20 minutes goes by, during which we start to share who we are and why we're there. Light bulbs switch on over our heads. "Ohhh, you're JESSICA!" "Ohhh, you're GRANT!" "Ohhh, you're BRIAN!" Then the real conversations begin. I can't tell you how often that happens, when you suddenly realize the nice person you're talking to is the same person who did that great thing you really liked last year. "Ohhh!"

Stripping
Comic books and comic strips co-exist peaceably at Comic-Con, not quite overlapping or sure what to make of the other. But like a lot of fans I love both, and appreciate the chance to seek out comic strip art and creators. For example, there are always a couple of vendors displaying original art from Winsor McCay's "Little Nemo" comic strip from the early 1900s. If you go to Comic-Con and see a guy standing in front of those booths just staring at the artwork for 20 minutes, that's me. Long-time readers may recall that I have a small collection of original comic and cartoon art, most by friends and all very meaningful to me. This year I was thrilled to pick up an original daily "Pogo" by Walt Kelly, who occupies three spots in my personal list of All-Time Top Ten Cartoonists. August 11, 1965 is now mine, and I can cross one item off my Bucket List. My kids can finish college later.

The National Cartoonists Society set up its usual impressive booth, manned everytime I passed it by "Luann" cartoonist Greg Evans, with whom I had a nice talk about solar power and other things. Dan Piraro also put in a stint at the booth, and I unfortunately had just a few minutes to chat with Craig Boldman, who does "Archie" and with whom I've talked online before, when he had to race off to take part in a panel.

The NCS booth, with Greg Evans at the helm. This picture's for D.D. Degg.

"Mother Goose & Grimm" cartoonist Mike Peters was the subject of a spotlight panel, which gives creators a forum to talk about their careers or anything they want. It was probably the single most entertaining event I've ever attended at Comic-Con, and impossible to describe afterward. Moderator Mark Evanier played an excellent straight man, asking Mike a question and then pretending to be exasperated as Mike took hilarious 15-minute detours into his childhood or his mother's old television program in St. Louis or his Catholic military school education (wearing scapulas with Jesus's portrait on one side and Patton's on the other), only to end with Mark asking the exact same question and setting off another great story that barely addressed it. What an expressive, affectionate, free-associating, flamboyant personality! I left amazed that he could focus on anything long enough to actually sit down and draw a comic strip every day. It was the most fun I had all weekend.

Mark Evanier and Mike Peters. This picture is fuzzy because the lighting wasn't great, and I didn't intend to post it until I saw the expression on Mike's face. That expression pretty much sums up his entire talk.

Sightings
Comic-Con would be nothing without several celebrity or near-celebrity sightings. Among mine: movie director John Landis, writer Ray Bradbury (in a wheelchair and honestly not looking real good, but hey! It's Ray Bradbury and he's a foot away from me!), Eric Estrada, Lou Ferrigno, Lindsay Wagner (still extremely rrowr!), Robert Culp (shook his hand and told him I enjoyed his work), others great and small. (Private note to Karen's brother: Tori Amos's book was all sold out and all tickets for her autograph session snapped up two days before I arrived. Sorry, man, I tried.) I had a very nice three-minute chat with writer-actor Wil Wheaton, who was a kid in the movie "Stand by Me," the teen-aged Wesley Crusher in "Star Trek," and now all grown up and writing a blog I like. Wil and I talked about being dads, a subject on which his depth of feeling matches my own.

"Star Trek" HQ, with Avery Brooks (Sisko from "Deep Space Nine"), Jonathan Frakes (Riker from "The Next Generation") and, behind them, Robert Picardo (the Doctor from "Voyager"). All three--and in fact every celebrity I saw at the con--were very gracious toward fans and seemed genuinely happy to be there.

I also want to mention a 17-year-old 'zine creator from Berkeley named Joseph Cotsirilos, who I met on the plane. Unfortunately, we didn't start talking until the plane's wheels touched down in San Diego. I ran into him a couple of times at the Con and wouldn't be surprised to hear his name again in a few years. Joseph, if you see this, your stories about the Marine recruitment center and the spilled drink in the subway in particular showed me you've got a nice eye for detail and observing life's telling moments. That's good stuff. Keep at it.

In addition, I had one cool ego-boosting moment I won't recount, as well as a fun moment with one of the facility security staff. On Saturday I asked a cute, young, petite brunette in a red "Staff" jacket where I could find something; as we were talking she apologized for her strong Irish accent and I reassured her she had absolutely nothing to apologize for. Next day as I walked into the Con she was manning the door, so as I passed by I pointed at her and said, "Hey, you're Irish!" as if I'd just figured it out, and she displayed the funniest mix of surprise, amazement, and bafflement I think I've ever seen in my life. Laughing, I told her we'd spoken the day before, and she said, "Thank God! I thought you could somehow see it in my face!" And that's all the flirting I did all weekend, honey, I promise.

Can you believe this is the short version? And I haven't even written anything about the real reason I was there. That's my next post....
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Free to Breathe

2008-07-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

Last year I wrote about a charity walk my sister Brenda ("Nurse Sis") helps organize to support the National Lung Cancer Partnership. The organization hosts several "Free to Breathe" run/walks around the country this time of year, including a 5K/1.5 mile event in Los Angeles on August 3. I don't vouch for much--for example, the reason I don't provide a long list of links to cancer-related sites on my blog or at momscancer.com is I don't feel I have the expertise to evaluate them or the time to keep them current--but the NLCP is a worthwhile organization that provided good information for me when Mom was diagnosed.

A few friends and readers were kind enough to donate last year and I thought I'd offer the same opportunity again. Brenda has set up a donation page for her fundraising team, "Barbara's Heroes," and if you're looking for a good cause to support please consider this one. Even small donations will be much appreciated.

I'll be flying off to Comic-Con International in San Diego early tomorrow morning. As I mentioned before, I wasn't planning to go this year, but something came up. I'll warn you right now: when I get back from the convention, things are going to be verrrry different around here.
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What Have the Romans Ever Done For Us?

2008-07-18T16:07:00.000-07:00

Voters in San Francisco have qualified an initiative for the November ballot that, if passed, would name a sewage treatment plant after President Bush. It's political theater meant as an insult. They think they're being cute and sarcastic--"ironic" in the current (wrong) usage of the term--by associating Bush with the dirty business of cleaning poo.

I come here today not to praise or condemn the president. Rather, I'd like to speak on behalf of sewage treatment.

In an earlier career, I spent many years working as an environmental chemist, a good deal of which involved water quality. I worked for and with engineers and chemists from water treatment plants, and still have friends in the sewage treatment business. And let me tell you: I am hard-pressed to think of much that is more basic to civilization. I'm serious. It's a cornerstone, right up there with roads and clean drinking water. Shut down the sewage treatment plants and see how long it takes diseases we don't even remember to charge back through our communities.

So when I heard about this initiative, my first thought was that it was less an insult to Bush than to all the engineers, chemists and technicians working at that plant who've just been told their jobs are a joke. I think the initiative's a stupid misstep that just reinforces the "elitist" reputation of its backers--evidently happy to use flush toilets as long as someone else gets their hands dirty--that could and should backfire on them. If I were President Bush, I'd proclaim it a sincere honor to have a sewage treatment plant named for me. Heck, if I were Bush, I might even fly into SFO to campaign for the initiative's passage.

More irrefutable evidence that water treatment plants are cool: they can teach you how to drive a starship. Or at least the producers of "Star Trek" thought so; when they needed a location to double for the 24th-century Starfleet Academy, they shot at the Tillman Water Reclamation Plant in Van Nuys, California.

I wonder if the ballot initiative's proponents realize that Starfleet Academy will someday be located in San Francisco? We'll see who's laughing then.

Tillman Water Reclamation Facility (top)

and Starfleet Academy (below).

Where in the World Are My Drawings?

2008-07-12T09:38:00.000-07:00

The six of you who've followed my blog a while may remember me mentioning in January that the Norman Rockwell Museum, which borrowed eight pages of original art from Mom's Cancer for its "LitGraphic: The World of the Graphic Novel" exhibition, hoped to loan the show to other museums after it closed. The Rockwell curators tell me it's unusual for an exhibition of theirs to travel, but this one drew a lot of interest and was a real success for them.

Now I've received a letter with some details, including word that, if I agree to extend my loan (I will), I won't see my pages again until 2011. That makes me a little wistful. I'll miss them. However, as I told the Rockwell folks when I attended the exhibition's opening, they're better off hanging on their walls than sitting in a file folder under my desk.

Right now, museums interested in the show include the Block Museum of Art at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois; the Huntington Museum of Art in Huntington, West Virginia; and the James A. Michener Museum of Art in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. I don't have any dates yet, and am told that other venues may be added to the list.

Notwithstanding my own contribution, this is a terrific show with amazing art I'd encourage you to see if you get the chance. I have no idea which works will comprise the traveling exhibition, but at the Rockwell Museum it included original art by Will Eisner, R. Crumb, Howard Cruse, Steve Ditko, Milt Gross, Peter Kuper, Harvey Kurtzman, Frank Miller, Terry Moore, Dave Sim, Art Spiegelman, and many more. All together, it made up a real nice cross section of comic history and art.

I can't express enough what an honor and thrill it's been to have my drawings hanging in a museum. It's other-worldly. And I couldn't have greater respect for or confidence in the Rockwell staff that will be handling the travel arrangements and babysitting my pages for the next few years. They are a first-class group of professionals. Also, very nice. A lot of other people I would've said "no" to.
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At the Rockwell opening last November.
That's about as good as I clean up.

Chalk Talk

2008-07-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

I've never made a big deal about the fact that a big-time syndicated cartoonist lives in my neighborhood. In fact, out of a high-minded notion of being cool and respecting his privacy, I don't think I've mentioned it at all. Out of that same sense of respect, I won't tell you who he is; I'll just show you two pictures I took of his driveway.

Karen and I noticed these on an after-dinner walk a couple of nights ago. I figure if he's going to out himself so shamelessly and publicly, I could at least share the charming results with you.

Sorry again for the dearth of posts. I'm on a tough deadline for at least the next few weeks and can't remember when I last worked so hard. It's good busy, even fun, but tough to sustain for so long. It's only temporary, I promise. Unless it kills me.
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Whooooooooooosh!

2008-07-02T07:15:00.000-07:00

I am so busy riding the deadline rocket sled that I can't even tell you. Can't tell you now, anyway, but in about a month you won't be able to shut me up.

I wasn't planning to attend the San Diego Comic-Con this year, but it looks like I'm going to be in town for a day after all. Saturday, to be specific, so I should be able to take a nice, leisurely stroll through the exhibition hall and not worry about overcrowding at all (that's a joke, son). I mention it now because I know some of my writer and artist buddies read the blog occasionally and Comic-Con is one of the few chances we get to meet. Don't be surprised to see me popping up at your table mid-Saturday. In fact, you probably shouldn't even take a lunch or bathroom break.

More later. Happy Canada Day (just past) and Independence Day (upcoming) to everyone who celebrates one of them.

Two Sorry Days

2008-06-17T16:31:00.000-07:00

I want to say at the top that I don't expect or want any sympathy. That said...

I spent all of today doing the very thing that frustrates and angers me like no other: making a balky computer behave. Yesterday I upgraded my anti-virus software and discovered afterward that my photo uploading software no longer worked. No problem; I'll just reinstall it. Did that, then found that Photoshop wouldn't open, nor could I reinstall it--it froze up every time. This was getting serious. I could live without photo management, but I need Photoshop. Tried to fix that, and I think you see where this is going: by mid-morning I had completely screwed up everything, including the Office utilities (Word, Excel, etc.) upon which paying my mortgage most directly depends. Not only that, but I apparently crippled all the means available to me to repair the damage short of doing a complete reinstall of the operating system. Not my favorite option.

So, while my main computer passed the afternoon backing up all my files to an external hard drive--I hadn't destroyed any data yet but by that point I wouldn't have put it past me--I researched my problem online via laptop. Twenty minutes ago I implemented the most promising solution and ... it worked! Nothing was lost! All I had to do was reinstall Photoshop, which the stupid blinky box allowed me to do this time, and I was back in business.

Like I say, in a world where billions of people have no computers--or food, shelter, jobs, etc.--I'm not asking anyone to feel sorry for a guy with two computers and whose heaviest physical labor for the day involved moving back and forth between them. But I hate computers when they do this--HATE HATE HATE!--and have a lot of excess energy to spew your way. What a waste of a day.

Yesterday involved a gentler kind of frustration. I sat down to pencil and ink a couple of pages and found that I just wasn't drawing well. It was like slogging through concrete. Some days go like that. Sometimes I don't notice when a brush or nib goes bad and I think the problem is mine when it's really my tools'. I remember one stretch of four or five days when everything I drew was terrible, then realized I'd lost all my mojo the same day I switched to a different texture of paper.

That didn't seem to be the case yesterday. I hadn't actually inked anything in more than a week and might've been a little rusty. You just have to work through it, and I picked a couple of pages that I thought would be less artistically challenging than others. Nobody else would be able to see the difference. Happily, in my experience, when I look back later I can't really tell the difference between work done on a good or bad day, either.

Again, no sympathy needed. I'm just venting, and in fact it feels kinda good. Thanks, I feel better now.
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P.S.: Perfect. I was just about to hit the "Publish" button when our home's cable Internet went out. If anyone other than me ever reads this, I guess it eventually came back on.

Looks like I picked the wrong day to use technology.
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P.P.S.: Got the cable back after about three hours. I should just go to bed now.

Roots

2008-06-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

Many people who aren't from California and have seen too much "Baywatch" are surprised by how agricultural the state is. California's Central Valley is some of the most productive farmland in the nation, and there are small towns a hundred miles from Los Angeles or San Francisco that are as rural as any you'd find in the deepest backwaters of South Dakota (and I pick on South Dakota because I love it). My father-in-law grew up in such a farm town, and it was to that town that Karen and I drove last weekend to attend the wedding of a friend's son.

We arrived several hours early because we wanted to check out a few things and meet Karen's sister and her family for lunch. The town had maybe 2500 people when my father-in-law was a boy working in his father's appliance store, but because it lies on a big highway and is within commuting distance of the Bay Area (it's a two-hour drive each way but some crazy people do it), it's grown to about 25,000. The highway is now lined with a Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Target and the like, which has destroyed the old downtown district three blocks away. Half the storefronts are deserted, the other half you wouldn't necessarily want to go into, but it still retains the architectural bones and charm of its early 20th-century origin. You think, "man, they'd really have something great here if they could just turn it around," but they probably won't and it'll all crumble away and that's the way of things these days.

After lunch, we all went to the local two-room museum because we'd heard there might be something of particular interest to us there. The "open" sign was up but the door was locked and we walked around puzzled, finally finding an unlocked side door that we obviously weren't meant to go through. But it had a bell on it, and we'd just begun to walk away when an 80ish docent poked his head through the door and beckoned us around to the front. He works in the back, you see, and gets so few visitors that it's easier for him to lock the front door and listen for the bell.

The museum had a genuinely interesting collection of artifacts spanning the town's pioneering days through World War II. It also had what we'd come to see: a poster-sized photo of Karen's father at age 9, standing with his father (Karen's grandfather) in front of the appliance store with two workers, proudly displaying the latest mid-1940s models of Maytag washers. We took some pictures of the picture, which the docent was happy to place on an easel for us, and were talking with the old man when he asked, "Say, whatever happened to your grandfather's rock collection?" Karen replied that her father still has most of it, and we walked away amazed and delighted that this really once was a town where everyone knew everyone else and there were still people forty? fifty? sixty? years later who remembered when ol' Frank had the best rock collection around.

We were reminded again at our next stop, the town's one antiques shop. Like a lot of businesses, the family appliance store used to give away things with its name printed on them: calendars, can openers, dolls. A few survive in the family, but we figured if we ever had the slightest chance of finding more it would be at the local antiques shop. No luck, but we did discover the 90-year-old owner, a woman who'd lived there 70 years and clearly intended to end her days surrounded by stacks of mostly junk. She was a real sweetheart. When we explained who Karen was and what we were looking for, she said, "Oh yes, Frank the electric man! He was so nice!" She told us a few stories about the way the town used to be and how it isn't like that anymore. She's been robbed a couple of times recently--see where they damaged the drawer of the antique cash register with a crowbar?--and when we expressed amazement that she actually kept cash in the old thing she taught my wife the trick to getting it open. Fortunately, her trust was not misplaced.

It became an unxpectedly heartwarming weekend for us, thanks to a museum volunteer and an antiques dealer who couldn't have been happier to meet my wife--Frank's granddaughter and little Bobby's daughter--and made us a bit homesick for a home we never had.

The Phantom Strikes Again!

2008-06-04T10:25:00.000-07:00

Here's what I like about living in the 21st Century. Frank Mariani is a cartoonist and illustrator I've become friends with online. Frank also helps organize the "Lindsay's Legacy" run to fight childhood cancer, which I wrote about last October.

So Frank read my previous post about the Phantom unmasking for the first time in history and dropped a line to his buddy Graham Nolan, who drew the Phantom comic strip for several years until 2006. And Nolan replied with this Sunday Phantom strip from October 2003:

The Phantom unmasked! (Gasp!) In his reply, Nolan noted that overseas Phantom fans were very upset with him when this was published. For now, this stands as the earliest record of the mysterious Mr. Walker's* true face.

Many thanks to Frank and Graham for following up on such a silly subject and giving me permission to write about it.

*For "The Ghost Who Walks"

Quick Bits 2

2008-06-03T12:32:00.000-07:00

1. The Phantom comic strip has been in continuous publication since its debut on February 17, 1936. In all that time, readers have never seen the Phantom's unmasked face, unless hidden behind huge sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat. Until today:

That's him in panel 3, in bed with his wife, sleeping in his purple tights and stripey trunks. History in the making. You'll always remember where you were when you saw it.

2. Mark Evanier's blog alerts me to a second historic occasion, this heroic shattering of a world record:

I think that clip simultaneously captures everything that's wrong with America and everything that's right with it.

3. When someone asks me what my fee would be to speak to their group, I really ought to come up with a better answer than to snort hot chocolate through my nose and choke.
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New Coolest Picture Ever

2008-05-27T14:15:00.001-07:00

I'm not intending my blog to become "all Mars all the time," but c'mon, I can't let this pass:
. My friend Sherwood the Astronomer left a comment in yesterday's post informing me that the reign of yesterday's Coolest Picture Ever has ended, and so it has. We have a cooler Coolest Picture Ever.

This is a shot from HiRISE, the same Mars satellite that took the parachute photo as well as the great photo of the Earth and Moon I loved back in March. It's looking straight down on the Phoenix lander from space. And not just the lander: this image also shows where Phoenix's heat shield, parachute, and backshell (a protective cover ejected before touchdown) all landed.

The quality and resolution of this image is astounding. Phoenix isn't very large, about five feet tall and wide, but you can even make out its two solar panels unfurled to the sides (spanning about 18 feet tip to tip). A person could walk across this picture in a couple of minutes. The beautiful part is that HiRISE is charting the entire planet at this level of detail. I'll bet there are spots on Earth we haven't seen this well.

What a triumph! And how amazing that we take such triumphs for granted. Science has spoiled us.

EDITED TO ADD: Just found this photo, which puts the former Coolest Picture Ever into even cooler perspective. It turned out that the photo released yesterday was a heavily processed blow-up of a much larger HiRISE image. Here's the original:

Hard to see at Blogger resolution, but the inset at lower left shows what that little white speck looks like magnified. This is Phoenix and its parachute drifting in front of the large Heimdall Crater (same photo as yesterday--they only had one shot at this). The probe was still several kilometers high at this point and landed nowhere near the crater. But that's some impressive context!

Coolest Picture Ever

2008-05-26T17:56:00.000-07:00

Building on my previous post and tying in to an older one, this is the coolest picture ever. This is a photo of the Phoenix lander and its parachute as it descended toward the surface of Mars on Sunday. You can see some detail in the parachute and even a hint of the lines connecting the chute and lander.

Immediate obvious question: Who took this picture? Why, our old friend HiRISE (High-Resolution Imaging Science Experiment) on the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter, which has been orbiting and mapping Mars since March 2006. So an Earth probe circling Mars was aimed to take a picture of another probe landing on Mars. What I love about this image is that it probably happened just because someone said, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if...?" And it is, very cool.

Now that Phoenix has landed, I imagine they'll ask HiRISE to try to photograph it on the surface as well--if for no other reason than to figure out exactly where it is. I've seen HiRISE pictures of the two Mars rovers (Opportunity and Spirit) already there, and Phoenix should be baaaaarely visible from orbit.

What a great time to be alive.

Quick Bits

2008-05-26T08:58:00.001-07:00

I'm very excited about the successful landing of the Phoenix craft on Mars. Unlike other recent Mars machines, but very reminiscent of the Viking landers of my teens, Phoenix can't move. It will sit in one spot, scoop up soil (and, with luck, ice), and analyze it with a small onboard chemistry lab looking for complex organic compounds. The first photos from the landing site are coming in, and I'm again struck with the wonder of seeing something for the first time that no one in human history has seen before. Terrific!
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We're not finding our quail family around the yard anymore, but trust they scuttled away safely. Taking over their niche in our little domestic ecosystem has been a group of three or four squirrels that look like young siblings. They're having a joyous time chasing each other through the trees and digging up Karen's newly planted flower pots. As always, our indoor cats are not amused. Nor is Karen, much.
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Following up on this post, the family and I saw the new Indiana Jones movie on Friday. We all found Indy much too indestructable but thought there were enough good character and action moments to compensate. We each had our own quibbles and favorite bits, but on consensus thought it was worth our time and money. Not the painful embarrassment it could have been by any means.
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EDITED TO ADD because I forgot to mention that I also made ravioli from scratch for the first time in my life this weekend. Fresh ricotta, mozzerella and parmesan blended with oregano and pinched between sheets of homemade pasta. My girls and I did it together and it was good. Suggestions for future ravioli stuffings will be gratefully accepted.
Today is Memorial Day in the U.S. Take a second to remember why.

Orphan Works

2008-05-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

I wish I posted more often and regularly, but I've been awfully busy and blogging takes time, what with the thinking and writing and all. My site stats say a bunch of you check in regularly and I appreciate it.

"Orphan Works" is a topic that's really riled up my cartooning and illustrating acquaintances. Senate Bill S2913 is the Shawn Bentley Orphan Works Act of 2008 and HR5889 is its counterpart in the House. If the legislation passes, it will dramatically change copyright law in the U.S., and not for the benefit of creative types. I'm trying to educate myself and haven't actually yet read the text of the bill, so my comments are tentative and based on what others tell me.

As I understand it, Orphan Works are creative products--books, articles, essays, photos, artwork, cartoons--that somebody wants to reproduce but can't find the original copyright holder to pay or ask permission. As the law stands now, you'd be a criminal fool to say "what the heck" and use it anyway; someone owns the rights to the work even if you don't know who. If the Orphan Works bill passes, it would make it legal to do a diligent search for the work's original owners and, if you can't find them, not only go ahead and use it but register it for protection under your own copyright. What exactly constitutes a "diligent search" isn't defined.

Here's part of the problem: before 1978, if you created something and wanted to copyright it, you had to pay a small fee and register it with the U.S. Copyright Office. But in 1978 the law changed so that creators obtain copyright to their work the moment they create it without doing anything at all. You don't have to register or pay a fee; if you made it, you automatically own the legal rights to it and get to decide what happens to it. (If you want, you can still register with the U.S. Copyright Office, which does leave a useful paper trail. But you don't have to.) From the creator's point of view, that's great. It really cuts down on the hassle and expense. The drawback is that it doesn't create an official record for someone else to follow.

So let's say you wrote or drew something a few years ago. Maybe the publisher went out of business, maybe your signature or byline isn't legible, maybe your work is clearly marked “©1989 Bob Smith” but there are a million Bob Smiths in America so good luck finding the right one. Maybe you've got an old family photo posted on the Web. Or maybe you created one of those memes that just floats around the Internet. Next thing you know, someone else could take your work, register it as theirs, and crank out t-shirts, posters, books, movies and breakfast cereals based on your stuff. They could even prevent you from using it. And there's nothing you could do about it.

You can understand where the outrage comes from. Some artists call it legalized theft. Some imagine giant corporations laying claim to all the work they can find and bulldozing any creators who come out of the woodwork to object. Some fear the establishment of a registration clearinghouse--essentially a return to the pre-1978 situation--that could put them out of business (imagine being a magazine cartoonist creating 50 gags a week and having to register them all at $20 a pop).

I can actually see both sides of the issue. As a writer, I'm a very vigorous defender of copyright and I'd be outraged if someone took my words, art or characters and used them without my permission (if there's any exploiting to be done, it'll be by me!). I created 'em, I say what happens to 'em. I really despise the whole modern song-sharing software-pirating mash-up-media "information should be free" ethic. It's disrespectful. As I've written before: especially in a society that produces so few material goods anymore, the most valuable products we have are ideas; if you think my ideas are good enough to steal, you ought to think they're worth asking permission or paying for.

On the other hand... I'm working on a project now that incorporates bits of old artwork. One was copyrighted by General Motors in the 1940s, so I wrote GM (they've got a whole department for the purpose) and paid them a fair fee to license its use. Another was produced by a now-deceased artist in the 1950s, so I tracked down his estate and got their permission to use it. But there are other pieces done for publications long defunct by obscure artists long dead who as far as I can tell left no heirs. They're terrific work I'd really like to use but I can't and won't. That's a shame, and it also seems contrary to the original spirit of copyright, which was to give creators a reasonable time to profit from their work before freeing it for use by everyone (that's called "public domain," which is why anyone who wants to can write a Dracula or Sherlock Holmes story). Instead, the work is locked away and nobody benefits.

Still, it seems clear to me that the current Orphan Works bill is an abomination that ought to be stopped. It's an overkill solution to an insignificant problem. I'd urge you to write your legislators blah blah blah, and I have, but I don't really expect you to. I just thought you'd like to know what they're up to and why your favorite cartoonists may seem grouchy lately.

My copyright registration for Mom's Cancer.
So don't even think about trying any funny business.

To the Bat Ballot!

2008-05-13T09:09:00.000-07:00

Upcoming elections make this a perfect time to pause and reflect on the wisdom of the Caped Crusader:

The nice thing about the clip is that it works no matter what your political persuasion. Because, you see, all the pandering and dirty tricks are the fault of those other guys.... Never yours.
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Mothers Day '08

2008-05-12T08:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Mothers Day in the U.S., and I let it pass without mention. One reason is that Karen and I were out of town spending the day with our kids. Another is that I couldn't think of much interesting to say.

But of course I was thinking about and missing Mom. It's only in retrospect, and with the perspective of being a parent myself, that I realize how much she loved her children and genuinely wanted nothing but happiness for us. And gave to us unconditionally... including, I realized too late, giving me the final gift of letting me write a book about her. Thanks, Mom. Love you, too.

Cap'n, There Be Quails Here!

2008-05-10T12:52:00.000-07:00

About 11 months ago, I wrote about a family of blue scrub jays that had nested in our backyard. Those fledglings are long gone (though I wonder if some of the babies I so carefully nurtured have grown into the annoying squawkers who dominate our bird feeder--if so, nice payback, guys), but today we found that another family has assumed their lease: Quail.

We count seven young'uns. Sorry the picture quality isn't better...

We've seen Dad around a lot in the past week. He's particularly handsome, a finely plumed dandy. He flies pretty well for a quail, too. We've been surprised to notice him watching us from high tree branches overhead. This morning the reasons for his diligence introduced themselves by scrambling over to a small shallow birdbath we have sitting in the dirt, taking a quick refreshing dip, then scurrying back to cover. I couldn't catch it with the camera, but there was a squirrel sitting nearby watching them the entire time, while one of our cats was perched on the windowsill watching both quail and squirrel and cursing the inventor of glass.

Family photo of Dad, Mom and a couple of chicks

I like the idea of our little suburban yard being a nature preserve. Once word gets out, there'll be no keeping the critters away.
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He's the Cool Exec with a Heart of Steel

2008-05-04T11:56:00.000-07:00

Karen and I saw "Iron Man" yesterday and liked it a lot. As a once-enthusiastic collector of "The Avengers," Marvel Comics' Justice-League-like supergroup that Iron Man helped form, I'm an old fan of shellhead's adventures.

I found the film very respectful of its source material--unlike many comic book adaptations that wink at their origins--and surprisingly faithful. Southeast Asia circa 1963 was easily updated to Afghanistan today. It has a nice mix of humor and action. Robert Downey Jr. plays Tony Stark perfectly as a suave mix of Howard Hughes, Bill Gates and Errol Flynn. Stark has a satisfying emotional arc from insouciant weapons dealer to conscience-stricken knight, and Jeff Bridges plays the villain Stane with a great combination of warmth and menace. You'd believe he was your best friend until the second he stuck a knife in your ribs, and might even believe him when he said he regretted doing it.

All in all, I'd call it one of the best comic book movies ever and, more importantly, a movie that audiences completely unfamiliar with Iron Man (admittedly a second-tier character) will enjoy. My only caveat is that it's fairly violent; Iron Man doesn't hesitate to kill bad guys who deserve it, and though the deaths are mostly bloodless and off-screen, they might be too much for young or sensitive viewers.

That's all well and good, but I don't normally post movie reviews unless I have ulterior motives. In this case, I noticed an end credit acknowledging the work of four men in creating Iron Man: editor Stan Lee, (who makes his customary cameo in the film), writer Larry Lieber (Stan's brother, who wrote Iron Man's early stories), Jack Kirby (who I believe designed Iron Man's first armor), and ... Don Heck, Iron Man's first artist. I wrote about Mr. Heck in April, citing him as my personal example of an artist whose work I didn't appreciate until my critical eye had matured. Heck's loose brushwork was perfect for the Swingin' Sixties James Bond vibe of the early Iron Man stories. It was nice to see a maligned artist get his deserved due.

Iron Man sketch by Don Heck, done in the late 1960s

Baby Blues

2008-04-29T13:10:00.000-07:00

One of the very nice things about being a member of the Charles M. Schulz Museum is that you don't have to waste a lot of time seeking out your favorite cartoonists. Sooner or later, they all come to you.

So it was last Sunday, when I went to a talk and book signing by the gentlemen who do the successful comic strip "Baby Blues," Jerry Scott (writing) and Rick Kirkman (art). Jerry had been scheduled to appear last year with his "Zits" co-creator Jim Borgman but canceled for a medical emergency, so it was good to finally see him. They gave a swell chalk talk in the museum's little theater, clearly something they have a lot of experience with. Jerry spoke and Rick drew, anticipating and punctuating each other's points like a good comedy team, and they did a nice job talking about the origin of the strip, how their partnership works, how they developed the characters and themes, etc.

View from the back row of the theater. My wife and I habitually
sat up front for these things until we figured out that, when it came
time to queue up for book signings afterward, everyone behind us
got to file out of the room and get in line first. We learn by doing.

The most fun part of the talk was a look at some of the outraged letters they receive from readers--some not entirely unexpected, as when the strip jokes about (and shows) breastfeeding, but others from completely beyond left field. For example, I learned that you never want to anger square dancers. They also marveled at the mail they got when cartoonist Stephan Pastis borrowed their characters for his "Pearls Before Swine" comic strip--for example, showing the "Baby Blues" toddlers driving a car to go on a beer run. The very best part of that story? Stephan himself sitting beside me in the theater laughing his butt off.

I was really looking forward to meeting Jerry and Rick afterward. Jerry I didn't know, but Rick and I have met electronically in an Internet forum. He's said some very kind things about Mom's Cancer and even given me some invaluable Photoshop advice. So I figured he'd recognize my name, and it turned out Jerry did, too, and we all had a very nice conversation for a minute until it was time to move the line along.

Rick, Jerry and me

What Rick is drawing in the photo above. This
brings my collection of original "Mom and Dad
cartoon character art" to two (see Borgman).

Once again, after hearing Scott and Rick's talk, I was struck by how hard these guys work. Anytime I've met professionals at the top of their field (any field, not just cartooning), I came away impressed by the time and dedication they devote to it. That seems like such an obvious secret of success--"hard work, huh, who'da figured?"--and yet it seems to be the one thing I've seen that always separates the achievers from the wannabes. It also always strengthens my resolve to do better.

Cat-Shaving Weather

2008-04-23T16:13:00.001-07:00

It's spring. The days grow longer, flowers shoulder their way out of the warming earth, the scent of barbeque wafts through the neighborhood. Have you shaved your cat today?

I've written about Amber the Simple Cat before. Amber joined our family after a veterinarian friend of ours saved her wee kitten life. She was found alone in a field, just a few weeks old, comatose, and our good friend nursed her back from the brink. Then this good, good friend called us and asked if we could give the kitten a home because, if we didn't, he was regretfully going to have to send her to the pound and his heroic life-saving effort would likely be in vain. "Oh, and by the way, she's probably brain damaged."

Well, you can't say "no" to a good, good, good friend like that. I wanted to name her "Eileen" because she had no cat-balance abilities at all (like the old joke: "I lean"), but my wife and kids vetoed that as an affront to her dignity (like how's she gonna know?) so we settled on "Amber" after her golden color. And she's been a fine addition to our family, with luckily no lingering health problems and a disposition just as sweet as she is stupid. Which is very.

Now, Amber is a tabby with long hair. We didn't know about the long hair when we took her in, nor did we anticipate that she'd never really get the hang of grooming herself, she'd hate brushing, and our other cats would be no help whatsoever. All autumn and winter she builds up massive mats and tangles, shedding ever more elaborate tufts throughout the house; every spring when the weather turns warm enough, we have our good, good, good, good friend shave it all off.

If you're ever in my home and want to know if spring has arrived, just look for the naked pissed-off bobble-headed cat.

Ollie Johnston

2008-04-15T08:21:00.000-07:00

I'm lifting my head above the surface of work and deadlines to note the passing of animator Ollie Johnston, the last of Disney's "Nine Old Men." Walt Disney himself gave the group its name--though most were only in their thirties at the time--in deference to their pioneering work in the earliest days of the studio, when they refined a new art form beginning with Snow White and progressing through about the 1970s.

Johnston began working for Disney in 1935 and animated movies ranging from Snow White, Fantasia, Bambi and Pinocchio to The Rescuers. He retired in 1978. In 2005, President Bush presented Johnston the NEA National Medal of Arts in recognition of his career. Late in life, he and his partner Frank Thomas--the second-to-last "Old Man"--experienced something of a renaissance, as younger audiences remembered and honored their work. They became the subjects of a popular documentary film, Frank and Ollie, and won much well-deserved recognition. Among Johnston's new generation of fans were director Brad Bird, who used caricatures of Frank and Ollie in The Iron Giant, and the people at Pixar, who put them in The Incredibles (also directed by Bird). It was nice to see.

Johnston in Iron Giant (top), and Frank and
Ollie in The Incredibles, voiced by themselves

There are far more knowledgeable Disney experts and animation historians who can talk about Johnston and his colleagues' artistic contributions. Jim Hill is one. What Ollie Johnston meant most to me was that he and Thomas wrote The Illusion of Life, an inside look at the art and process behind Disney's classic films. Though ostensibly about animation, I think it's also an excellent book for cartoonists and even writers, and one of the first I recommend when asked.

The Illusion of Life is a beautifully illustrated coffee-table "How To" book. I'm sure it's one of the first that a serious student buys when they get to animation school, but I think it's more than that. What I got out of the book was less about how to do the work than how to approach it, and those lessons apply far beyond animated cartoons. I was amazed by how much thought went into the apparently simplest of things. How much analysis lay behind structuring stories and building characters. It's hard, and it's supposed to be hard, but if you do it right it looks easy--even inevitable, as if it were impossible to imagine turning out any other way. I use insights from this book every time I draw.

When I pulled my copy of Illusion of Life off the shelf this morning, I found tucked into its pages a few sheets of paper I printed off the Web more than 10 years ago summarizing advice from Johnston as passed on by Pixar's John Lasseter. Luckily, the same list is still available online. The 30 tips include technical notes that only an animator would need, but also some good advice for anyone creating characters in any medium. For example:

If possible, make definite changes from one attitude to another in timing and expression.

It is the thought and circumstances behind the action that will make the action interesting. Example: A man walks up to a mailbox, drops in his letter, and walks away. OR: A man desperately in love with a girl far away carefully mails a letter in which he has poured his heart out.

Concentrate on drawing clear, not clean.

Everything has a function. Don't draw without knowing why.

Does the added action in a scene contribute to the main idea in that scene? Will it help sell it or confuse it?

Solid gold principles to write and draw by. More information about Johnston is available from Disney and at the official (and not recently updated) Frank and Ollie website. The Associated Press has written a nice obit as well.

Edited to Add: New links to nice tributes by animator Brad Bird and writer/animator John Canemaker.
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2.9

2008-04-09T05:29:00.001-07:00

This little feller rudely woke me up too early this morning. Quick and loud. No harm done.

Seminar: Living Well with Cancer, April 19

2008-04-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

I did such a swell job publicizing the last event hosted by the Washington Cancer Institute in Washington DC that they asked me to do it again. This looks like a worthwhile series of free seminars and I'm happy to comply:

Living Well with Cancer – April 19, 2008

Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center invites you to its second FREE Living Well with Cancer seminar of the year featuring Alice Matthews Beers, BSN, an oncology nurse and expert on cancer patient recovery. Beers will provide information and guidance on how to communicate effectively with your doctors and other health care providers about post-treatment issues. She will also address the importance of a healthy emotional recovery by discussing how to recognize and manage anxiety, depression and fatigue.

The event will be held on Saturday, April 19, from 9 a.m. to Noon at the National Rehabilitation Hospital Auditorium located on the Washington Hospital Center campus, 102 Irving St., NW, Washington, DC 20010. To register, please call 202-877-DOCS (3627) or register online at www.whcenter.org/livingwell

Casting a Critical Eye

2008-04-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

Back when "Calvin and Hobbes" was an actual daily comic strip, a person of my close acquaintance looked up from the newspaper and asked, "Is Bill Watterson a really good cartoonist?" I assured them that Watterson was fantastic, one of the best working at the time, maybe one of the best ever. "I thought so," came the reply. "But it's hard to tell."

I understood the question. Watterson's brushwork is so economical and confident, I could see how it might look sloppy and slapdash to a "civilian." What was evident to me--but, as I was reminded, not to everyone--was the bedrock foundation of artistic fundamentals underlying it. Perspective, composition, expression, use of negative space. Watterson was also particularly smart about what he didn't draw. For example, if you or I set out to draw two characters walking through a snowy field, we might show drifts piled against fence posts, icicles hanging from tree limbs, rocks protruding through a crunchy crust. In contrast, Watterson followed Walt Kelly's directive: the best way to draw snow is to draw nothing at all. Feet disappearing into the ground, a scraggly weed, everything else blinding white as far as the eye can see. With such scant clues, you still immediately get a feel for how deep the snow is, maybe even its texture. That's fine cartooning.

I'm reminded of Jack Benny's ability to get laughs with silence, the audience reading his mind and filling in funnier responses than he could possibly voice. One imagines that the perfect cartoonist would somehow be able to communicate an idea by drawing nothing at all.

(Remember my post on Victorian era cartoonist Phil May? "When I can leave out half the lines I now use, I shall want six times the money." A cartoonist who figures out how to omit all the lines should get all the money.)

Of course there's more to cartooning than economy. A fairly common topic among cartoonists is "artists I didn't think were any good when I was young but love now." You hear names like Steve Ditko, Alex Toth, Chester Gould. My example is a comic book artist named Don Heck. When I was a kid reading Marvel Comics' "Avengers," Heck's credit on the title page made me groan. Part of the problem was that in the 1970s, when I was a young teenager collecting comics, Heck was in poor health and winding down his career. In addition, he was often called in to do rush jobs on tight deadlines when other artists couldn't. Frankly, I didn't catch him at his best.

But my main problem with Heck was that I just didn't "get" his style, which was so different from either the pop-art Jack Kirby or super-slick Neal Adams styles popular at the time. At his best, Heck did loose, sophisticated, impressionistic, dynamic brushwork in the tradition of newspaper great Milt Caniff ("Terry and the Pirates," "Steve Canyon"). He had a great eye for layout and storytelling, and a successful career in romance and western comics before superheroes hit big in the 1960s. It wasn't until I learned a little about the history and craft of cartooning, and maybe tried to do some myself, that I really appreciated how tremendously skillful he was.

Art by Don Heck ca. 1966

I've learned you can come to respect work that you don't particularly like. I recently had a cup of coffee with a syndicated cartoonist, during which the conversation turned to a comic strip done by another syndicated cartoonist. "I don't really like his strip," he said. "It's just not my thing. But you can tell at first glance that he's a great cartoonist who belongs on the comics page." I think that's a mature way to look at things, and I've got a fairly long list of artists like that: I'll probably never buy their work, it just doesn't appeal to me, but they're obviously very skilled professionals doing terrific stuff that somebody out there will really appreciate. I'll also admit there are artists I still don't get despite the raves of people whose opinions I trust. I'm always open to the possibilities that either they're wrong or I need to get educated.

How can you tell the good from the bad? The "so good it looks simple" from the "looks simple because it really is simple"? I'm not sure. Read a lot, I guess. Good cartooning is always clear; if you have to stop and go back because you missed something or don't understand what a character is doing or how the action progresses, that's a failure (the cartoonist's, not yours). You shouldn't have to think about it. If a piece of writing or art makes me care about the characters and feel something--happy, sad, even appalled--I figure it's doing something right.

Honestly, I think I divide other people's work into three categories: 1.) I could do that. 2.) I wish I could do that. 3.) Wow, I have no idea how they did that. I think many people's taste evolves and matures as they realize that a lot of work they thought fell into Category 1 really belongs in Categories 2 or 3.

More a "Guideline" than a "Rule"

2008-03-30T11:57:00.000-07:00

A few entries ago, I posted a photo of my identical twin girls when they were wee babies just a few days old. In the comments, Jan asked, "Shouldn't we get an 'after' photo of the girls, since the 'before' is so lovely?" That's a more interesting request than you might expect.

When I first started blogging, one of the "rules" I set myself was to keep my family out of it as much as practical. Especially after exposing my mom, dad and sisters in Mom's Cancer, it seemed the least I could do was respect everybody's privacy. And in general, I think the less personal information you broadcast about yourself, the better. As a result, I've only posted one or two photos of my wife and none at all of my kids (as non-infants).

However, as I later discussed privately with some friends and fellow bloggers with similar concerns, the unintended consequence is that you end up writing about everything in your life except the most important people in it. That doesn't seem right, either. Besides, we're all friends here, right?

So from time to time, when I have good reason and I get their permission, I'll try to loosen up and sneak in my family. In that spirit, for Jan and anyone else who cares, here's a photo of my girls now, all growed up and headed back to college today after spring break. As good and important as it gets.

Laura and Robin

Edited to Add: And here they were a couple of years ago, when I drew them for my book. That's me at left (yes, I own that Hawaiian shirt) and my wife Karen at lower right.

The Denial of Something Essential

2008-03-28T10:48:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I read a Q&A column by San Francisco Chronicle movie critic Mick LaSalle, in which a reader asked why modern film actresses don't get the same loving attention to lighting and cinematography that, for example, Von Sternberg lavished on Marlene Dietrich. The reader asked, "What's missing?"

"Black and white is what's missing," LaSalle replied. "The denial of something essential (like color) creates a longing in the viewer, which translates into an arresting image."

I think exactly the same thing happens in cartooning. It's all about "the denial of something essential," distilling characters and situations into the fewest words and lines possible--just enough to communicate an idea. When information is missing, readers fill in the rest--they yearn to fill in the rest--and the less the cartoonist gives them, the more invested they can become. Paradoxically, the more abstract a story, the more real it can seem. Somehow, a few squiggles of ink become a boy waiting by a mailbox for a Valentine's Day card that never comes. A few squiggles of ink can make you happy or sad. That's amazing.

I've mentioned this before, but I got a modest glimpse of this with Mom's Cancer when I heard from a few readers who said, "I'm not like you, my family's not like yours, and we weren't dealing with cancer, but it's just like you were in our living room." None of the details fit but somehow it still hit home in a way that felt very specific. That's also amazing.

Even more than black-and-white film, I think cartooning demands that its readers do their share the heavy lifting. That's one reason the characters in Mom's Cancer didn't have names: if I don't tell you what they're called, maybe their name is the same as yours. That's also why my editor and I didn't want to put a family photo in the book: it would've turned those abstract characters who maybe sort of resemble you and your family into real people who don't look anything like you at all. The more details I give, the more opportunities you have to find differences between us. I've thought a lot about how and why cartooning sometimes seem to tap directly into a reader's brain, and I think that's close.

I really like LaSalle's "denial of something essential" formulation. Of course for that to work, you also have to provide something essential and meet the audience half way. Otherwise, you've denied them too much to make any connection with the work at all. I think that's the difficult and rewarding (when it works) give-and-take conversation that the best writers, artists and cartoonists have with their readers or viewers.
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Storming the Canon

2008-03-26T07:41:00.000-07:00

Deadlines. Lots and lots of deadlines. Your loyalty is appreciated and feared.

Rod McKie is a British cartoonist, critic, and Internet buddy of mine, and one of the early supporters of Mom's Cancer who encouraged me to seek publication. He's got a blog I like in which he wrote a recent post about graphic novels that opened with, "Okay, I think I can just about stop doing the nerdy 'graphic novels' air-brackets." Rod argues (if I understand him right) that graphic novels have proven their worth as literature and it's time to quit explaining or apologizing for them. Writes Rod:

Often, a novel is full of impossible, trite and inapt descriptions that seek to convey, for instance, a sense of place. They work in absence of a visual image, employing metaphor and simile and symbolism, and almost always speak of comparison, which is of course one of the constraining limits of language itself. A graphic novel, on the other hand, still uses the same language, but the image is often there, on the page, where 1,000 or more words of descriptive text would be. The written text then, the words on the page, can be more sparse or even non-existent. It seems that when this is the case, the literary critic cannot understand how to 'read' the work, and so, one assumes, how to judge its literary value.

Rod hits on a point I've made before, which is that a good graphic novelist needs to have all the skills of a good writer plus the ability to draw. In any case, Rod then goes on to look at the graphic novels Persepolis, From Hell, Road to Perdition, Blankets, and Houdini the Handcuff King with an eye toward how they might fit into the literary canon. I commented:

That's a nice, insightful essay, thanks for writing it.

I think I'm coming around to the view that the graphic novel's yearning for literary respectability is hardly worth the fight. There's something faintly desperate and pathetic about it, banging on the clubhouse door begging to be let in, and it's an argument that can only really be won by creators doing one excellent job after another for a long time--building, as you suggest, a canon. In this, I think we're sometimes our own worst enemies. I've met comics fans who argue with a straight face that Watchmen is the best work of literature they've ever read. The only possible answer for that is that they need to read a lot more. Too many readers' standards are too low.

In point of fact, I think it's inarguable that graphic novels haven't yet produced anything on par with the best of Dickens/Twain/Joyce/Hemingway/Orwell/Literary Giant of Your Choice. They just haven't. I'd like to think that graphic novels have that potential, but I sometimes wonder if there's something inherently limiting in the medium. In any case, what I'm getting at is that may be the wrong comparison to make. I suggest we worry less about bashing in the door of the other guys' clubhouse than building our own. If, in time, ours becomes interesting and impressive enough, they'll come to us.

It's late at night, that's off the top of my head, and I may change my mind tomorrow....

Well, it's morning and I still feel that way. But it's a topic on which I'm open to argument and willing to be swayed. I look at it like this: let's take a graphic novel that everybody agrees is great: say, Maus by Art Spiegelman. Certainly one of the Top Five graphic novels on almost anyone's list, a Pulitzer Prize winner that crossed over to the mainstream and is taught in college classrooms. (If you don't like Maus, substitute your own favorite.) Great. But is Maus one of the best five books in the library? Not even close. Top 50? Not on most readers' lists. Top 500? Maybe.

Could some hypothetical graphic novel become one of the best five books ever written? As I replied to Rod, I'd like to think so but I'm not certain the medium has it in it. The only way creators and readers will find out is by aiming higher. Even if they fall short, there's a lot of uncharted territory to explore and the results will be interesting.
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Cats, We Got Cats

2008-03-17T11:39:00.000-07:00

Here's a late birthday present for my girls, who I know will relate, as will many cat owners:

To quote detective Adrian Monk, "I LOL'd out loud."

We all had a great birthday weekend, I think. Now back to work for everyone. Kids, quit goofing around online and study for your finals!

Ides of March Eve

2008-03-14T13:59:00.000-07:00

Today is a really good day. The evidence:

1. It's "π Day," 3.14. Please notice that I've manipulated the post time to read 1:59 (p.m.), which pointlessly carries the digits of π out three points further. (If I wanted to do it right, I'd calculate that 0.159 of a day equals 3 hours 48 minutes 58 seconds, and reset the post clock to 3:48:58 a.m. But I'm not that big a nerd.)

2. A few days after 20 years ago tomorrow, I was doing this:

Apologies for the picture's stripes.
A new scanner is on order.

My two little pooquita chiquitas celebrate their birthday tomorrow, and Karen and I are taking a cake, gifts, and a couple of their girlfriends to spend the day at their all-grown-up big-girl university. In contrast to 20 years ago, I think today if they ganged up and used some strategy, they'd have a fair chance of taking me. Good thing I instilled all that respect when I had the chance. Right, girls? Right?

3. One other reason.

I hope you have a great weekend, I think I will.

One Of Those Days....

2008-03-09T16:53:00.000-07:00

Below is my impromptu ranking of some artistic media I've used. On top are those with which I have the most practice, can usually achieve the look I intend, and enjoy working. The farther down the list a medium falls, the more likely it is to make me waste many frustrating hours before throwing away the result.

#1. Ink and brush
#2. Watercolor
#3. Acrylic
#4. Pastels
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#10. Oils
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#34. Wacom tablet and computer
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#73. Dog poo and a wiggly twig
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#652. Gouache

Stupid gouache.
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Shake shake BOOM! rattlerattlerattlerattle

2008-03-06T16:35:00.000-08:00

I felt this cute little earthquake about eight minutes ago.

An amusing trifle, really; just a magnitude 2.2 that wouldn't be noteworthy at all except the US Geological Survey says its epicenter was 5 km directly below my house. Someday the Gates of Hell will open up in my backyard and you'll all be sorry. But I'll be sorrier.

I Can See My House From Here

2008-03-06T10:54:00.001-08:00

I find this photo very moving.

That's a picture of the Earth and Moon as seen from the planet Mars. Frankly, I didn't know we had anything in the Martian neighborhood with optics good enough to take a shot like that, and at first suspected it was a fake. But it's real, shot by the High-Resolution Imaging Science Experiment (HiRISE) on the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter currently orbiting the red planet. Usually it's pointed down toward the ground. By the way, NASA says that's the west coast of South America in that picture, and in a higher-res version I can just make it out.

What strikes me is that we go to all the trouble of sending these spacecraft out to explore the unknown millions of miles away, yet are moved most powerfully when they point their cameras back at us. It's the same reaction the world had when the Apollo 8 astronauts became the first humans to see the far side of the Moon first-hand* and photographed Earth rising over the lunar horizon as they flew back around. To paraphrase Carl Sagan, everything you know and love, everything that ever happened in all of human history, all the life we have knowledge of anywhere in the universe, is on that fragile little blue sphere.

I've seen a few photos like this before. As I recall, one of the Voyager probes photographed the Earth-Moon pair as it soared away from us on its way out of the solar system. We send surrogate eyes out only to look back and see ourselves more clearly. These pictures get me every time.

* The Soviets took the very first pictures of the far side of the Moon via unmanned probe, which is why most of the craters back there have Russian names.

In Praise of Pioneers

2008-03-04T09:06:00.000-08:00

A recent discussion at an Internet watering hole got me thinking about pioneering cartoonists, comic book artists and writers, and the lack of respect they get. The business has always been cruel to its veterans--comic books much more than comic strips, I think, but both find new voices more compelling, new styles more diverting. They eat their old. That's the way of the world, the way of business, and I understand it. I expect a profit-driven publisher (and publishers who aren't profit-driven don't publish long) to put out what sells.

What pains me is that fans go along.

The newspaper comic strip is just over a century old. Comic books have a history almost as long--at first, many of them existed to reprint newspaper strips--but turned a corner when Superman debuted in 1938, 70 years ago this June. Before the invention of television, comic strips were a major mass medium of entertainment and cartoonists were stars. Millions of comic books were sold every month during the "Golden Age" that began with World War II and lasted about a decade after (again, probably not coincidentally ending with the proliferation of TV). Into the 1970s, comics and cartoons were important and popular cultural touchstones in a way that many, including I, believe they haven't been since and probably won't be again.

That wasn't that long ago! A lot of very creative people who did that work are still alive. A few of them would still love to work. Not many of them get the opportunity.

Attending the big San Diego Comic-Con the past three years, I've gotten used to seeing cartooning pioneers sitting ignored in Artist's Alley, their view blocked by a long line waiting to meet the superstar wunderkind sitting at the next table. I dunno.... I've got no business telling people what to like. But to me, being a fan of something means having an appreciation of its history and the contributions of those who came before. To me, those fans lining up at the wrong table are like baseball fans who worship Barry Bonds but have never heard of Willie Mays.

(It's not the same thing, but I remember reading about a convention whose guests included "Star Trek" actors and Apollo astronauts. The actors drew huge crowds while the astronauts sat alone, chuckling to each other that fans would rather meet people who pretended to explore space than those who actually had.)

I can't say that the experienced pioneers deserve work; that's for the market to decide. But they deserve acknowledgement and respect. I've been lucky to meet a few. I never know what to say and I'm sure I always manage to sound like an idiot fanboy. It seems to come down to "thank you for your work, it means a lot to me," which is pretty weak but I think is better than nothing.

I'd take Willie Mays any day.

Top to bottom: Jerry Robinson, Irwin Hasen and Gene Colan,
talented pioneers and gracious gentlemen all. Look 'em up.

On Cheating

2008-02-26T07:59:00.000-08:00

Never draw what you can swipe.

Never swipe what you can trace.

Never trace what you can cut out and paste.

And never do any of that if you can hire somebody to do it for you..

--Wally Wood
Master Cartoonist

I hate drawing cars. I'm not good at it. There's always a kid in the high school art class who earns minor fame, and maybe even a little pocket change, drawing beautifully rendered hot rods, with giant exhaust pipes roaring, tires squealing off the page, and every chrome reflection perfectly in place. He (invariably a "he" in my experience) is a venerated specialist, and he is not me.

In theory, an artist who understands perspective can draw anything. Establish a horizon line and vanishing points, and build the object out of simple shapes. It works great for a lot of things. The problem (or rather, my problem) with cars is that they're pretty complex objects, with lots of compound curves and subtle angles. Another problem with cars is that everyone is intimately familiar with them; if a drawing doesn't get the proportions just right, readers know it looks "funny" even if they can't say exactly why. Yet another problem is that every car model has dedicated owners and fans who know every bumper and bolt. I'd really like to get 'em right. .

So when I recently had occasion to draw an old car, I knew I needed help. The first resort is reference photos, and indeed you can google hundreds of pictures of old cars in various states of restoration and repair. That helps, but didn't give me the angle I needed. Evidently, no one in automotive history has ever photographed a car from a spot hovering 30 feet above the front left fender. That's a tough angle to extrapolate from a bunch of ground-level front and side shots.

I needed a model. After combing fruitlessly through dozens of Hot Wheels racks, I found an online vendor of affordable, accurate models of old cars. A couple weeks later, I had a 1939 Chevy coupe ready to pose for me.
.

At this point I might've drawn it freehand, but I decided not to do that. Instead, I put the model on a sheet of white poster board and took digital photos of it from several angles.

1939 Chevy coupe, with a smaller-scale 1940 Ford on its tail

I chose the photo above, opened it in Photoshop, and made the Chevy approximately the right size to fill the hole I'd left for it in another drawing several weeks earlier.

At this point I might've traced the photo using a light box ... but I decided not to do that. Instead, I converted the color photo into a duotone image, which is like a black-and-white photo except you substitute shades of some other color for black and gray, in this case cyan.

Cyan duotone

I printed that picture onto a sheet of the same 2-ply Bristol board I use for all my cartooning. Then, I used a brush and pens to ink directly over the light blue image.

Inked

The tricky thing here is to not get bogged down in detail and draw too tightly, despite the pains I've taken to this point to be as precise as possible. Cartooning is distillation and simplification. It's got to look as loose, relaxed, and hand-drawn as the rest of the artwork that will eventually surround it. I didn't go nuts putting in lots of reflections and spotted black because, again, that wouldn't match the style of the rest of the page.

Next, I scanned the drawing into Photoshop, where I made all the blue disappear (I likewise pencil all of my artwork in light "non-photo" blue so I don't have to erase after I've inked). All that remains is my black line art, ready to copy and paste onto the open road I drew for it elsewhere.

Blue erased, ready to copy and paste

Semi-final (I may add some shadows and such later). The road texture is a charcoal rubbing I did of my concrete front porch.

I ... kinda wish I hadn't had to do that. I'd love to have the skills to dash off any car from any era from any angle, but I don't. I admit I feel a little disappointed in myself--but not much. Over time, I've come to regard both writing and drawing as primarily problem solving. I know what I want to accomplish; now what's the best way to do it? This is the best way I could think of to solve a particular problem and produce the result I wanted.

; !

2008-02-19T09:20:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's New York Times had a nice little article about my second-favorite punctuation mark, the semicolon. The lede of the story is that a new subway placard, reminding riders to throw away their newspapers, properly--even elegantly--used a semicolon. Such a marvel! The article then touched on the use and misuse of the shy but intimidating character.

My favorite passage in the story: "David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer who taunted police and the press with rambling handwritten notes, was, as the columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote, the only murderer he ever encountered who could wield a semicolon just as well as a revolver."

I mention the article here even though I don't expect anyone else to follow that link or care. That's part of the story's charm.

What? Doesn't everybody have a second-favorite punctuation mark?
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I Am Old

2008-02-18T19:42:00.001-08:00

My wife, kids and I are all fans of the Indiana Jones films (someday I'll tell you about our bathroom decor), and we all agree that our first look at the online trailer left us pretty happy and eager for May 22. Happy? "Giddy" is more like it. Harrison Ford still cuts a credible figure with the hat and whip, and we're impressed with the look and tone glimpsed in the preview. However, the point of this post isn't to give a bit of much-needed publicity to Mr. Lucas and Mr. Spielberg's obscure little art-house film.

The point of this post is that I'm old. We were talking about the trailer when one of my girls said, "This'll be our first chance to see Indiana Jones on the big screen!"

My wife's and my reactions were identical: "What do you mean? Surely that can't be true. Never once seen an Indiana Jones movie in a theater? How is that possible? How could you even become an Indy fan without seeing it as God intended? You obviously forgot!" Even after we spent a few minutes working out the timeline, we couldn't quite comprehend how our kids had reached adulthood only seeing videotapes of Indiana Jones on television.

Here's how. My twins are nearly 20, born in 1988. The last Indiana Jones movie--which I clearly remember seeing as a full-grown mature adult--came out in 1989. QED.

Today we all went to the movie theater to see "The Spiderwick Chronicles" (not bad), which was preceded by the same Indiana Jones trailer we'd huddled around my monitor to watch two days before. The first time my kids have seen Indiana Jones on the big screen.

I was thrilled for them. And a little wistful for myself.

This movie better be good....

Review: Suite 101

2008-02-17T17:31:00.000-08:00

There's a very nice review of Mom's Cancer just posted at Suite 101, an interesting site with which I was not previously familiar. Suite 101 is hard to describe: it's like a general-interest magazine that publishes freelance articles on a variety of subjects such as lifestyle, health, education, entertainment, books, technology, politics and more, with dozens of new pieces posted every day. Very ambitious, and evidently successful.

Editor/reviewer Irene Taylor concludes, "This book is a 'must read' for anyone facing cancer of a loved one. Make no mistake--this graphic novel isn’t a child’s comic book. It is a serious, often humorous, always honest guide on how families can cope with a cancer diagnosis and survive the difficult road ahead." Irene and I corresponded when she asked permission to post my cover art with her review--a courtesy I always appreciate--and I'm grateful for her recommendation. Thanks!
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My Friendly Neighborhood Furry-tailed Rats

2008-02-16T09:08:00.001-08:00

About a year and a half ago, I posted this sketch of a very determined squirrel in my backyard. This little guy worked extraordinarily hard for every seed he managed to sneak from my bird feeders, clinging to a slippery pole while an infinite feast awaited just beyond the tips of his fingers.

This morning I looked out my back window and spied the little guy below, probably a direct descendant, no less determined and a slightly more capable climber. Or maybe the pole just wasn't as slippery today.

Odd Ends

2008-02-11T19:26:00.001-08:00

I've been busy lately--very, very busy--and likely to remain that way for a while, which explains my dearth of blogging but does not ease the guilt gnawing at my soul. I appreciate the loyalty of everyone who checks in once in a while. I'll try to make it worth your while soon. Meanwhile, here are some Internetty things I've come across that I've found interesting:

1. Successful science fiction writer John Scalzi posted 10 tips titled "Unasked for Advice for New Writers About Money." Although aimed at aspiring, inexperienced, or struggling writers, I found much wisdom there for any sort of self-employed freelancer type (which I've been for about nine years, completely independent of cartooning). Scalzi's aim is to wipe the romantic stardust from wanna-be eyes and tell some hard truths: Treat it like a business. Don't quit your day job. Don't undervalue your work. Your income is half what you think it is (there's no automatic paycheck deduction to help pay those quarterly taxes). And my favorite, marry someone with a real job. I have little argument with any of it, although the comments raise some interesting counter-examples and objections.

2. Comic book writer Steve Gerber, creator of Howard the Duck, died today at age 60 after a long fight with pulmonary fibrosis. Mark Evanier broke the news and wrote a nice obit in his blog. I liked Mr. Gerber's work, which was intelligent and witty, but mention him here mostly because he wrote a blog himself. In it he discussed current comic book projects but also his illness, and his archived posts describing successive set-backs with a mix of hope, frustration, courage and fear reminded me very much of my mother's. It's good to remember once in a while.

3. Something lighter? Drawn is "the illustration and cartooning blog" that always gives me a dozen new ideas and two dozen talented people to be jealous of, while io9 is a new blog that delivers news about science fiction and speculative tech in a breezy format that consistently scores one or two hits a day with me. And every month or two I find time to listen to the JCB Song. I can't help being a sentimental dope; having kids'll do that to you.

4. Something lighter still? There's no going wrong with a Monty Python Video Wall.

More and better later. Thanks.

Gus Arriola and the Language of Lines

2008-02-03T09:09:00.000-08:00

Cartoonist Gus Arriola died yesterday at age 90. His Associated Press obit is here. Mr. Arriola wrote and drew the comic strip "Gordo" between 1941 and 1985, when he retired. It's fair to say he's not a household name, but when I was a kid trying to figure out how comics worked, his strip was among those I most frequently clipped and saved. I think he's one of the all-time underrated greats.

"Gordo" was set in Mexico and featured an overweight tour guide, his housekeeper, and various human and animal characters--notably a chihuahua, pig, cat and rooster. The strip had swell characters and an easy-going charm, but what really caught my eye was the way Mr. Arriola played with the language and iconography of comics in ways I'd never seen before. His use of graphics was masterful.

Unfortunately, good examples are hard to come by online and I have no idea where to find my 30-year-old clip file (though I suspect I still have it somewhere). The images below were the best I could find, and you'll just have to take my word that I remember several even better.

(click to see larger)

The Sunday strip above, which I scanned from Jerry Robinson's book The Comics (which unfortunately reproduced it in black and white), is a nice piece from 1954. There's a lot of arty goodness going on here: the shapes of panels, the bottom border and negative profile in panel 6, the playful use of lettering guides as a design element in panel 3. Even the cigar smoke in panel 6 is an interesting squiggle. But what sells it is the checkerboard pattern, introduced in panel 4 and finished off in the final panel, where Gordo is not just a checkerboard silhouette, but one that has shattered into surprised shards.

The next Sunday strips are in color and highlight's Mr. Arriola's use of same as well as his incredibly graceful and expressive ink line. I thought he really shined when drawing the animals, particularly in frenetic action accompanied by colorful streaks or lightning bolts. I love the first strip, which is very "meta," in that the cartoonist literally cools off the characters by coloring them in cool colors (and maybe letting in some cross ventilation by cutting two holes through the panel border?).

(click either to see larger)

Next, another black-and-white Sunday strip I found online, this one capturing the dark festivities of Dia de los Muertos. Note that these aren't just pretty pictures, but pretty pictures that tell a story. But mostly, it's just Grade-A cartooning.

In his imaginative use of the entire cartoonist's toolbox, I always thought of Arriola as a natural heir to Cliff Sterrett, the best cartoonist you've never heard of. Mr. Sterrett did "Polly and Her Pals" in the 1910s through '30s, when he created innovative, abstract work that was both of its time and far ahead of it. Below are a couple of good examples.

(click either to see larger)

Here's a close-up of that sixth panel, which I think shows just how far comics allows you to push the boundaries of literal representation to communicate an idea--in this case, a spooked cat in the middle of the night--that couldn't be shown any other way. This is just beautiful stuff.

The Language of Lines
Coincidentally, I learned of Mr. Arriola's death after coming home last night from the opening of a new exhibition at the Charles Schulz Museum titled "The Language of Lines." The show pretty much covers what I've been writing about: the unique symbolism of comics that instantly communicates an idea, from the antique "light bulb of inspiration" and "sawing log of slumber" to increasingly sophisticated techniques that continue to emerge. Originals in the show date from the early 20th century (including Sterrett) to today, as represented by "Pearls Before Swine" and "Stone Soup," among others. Good examples from "Peanuts," "Pogo," "Doonesbury," "Calvin and Hobbes" and many others illustrate the thesis. When you see Snoopy dance on Schroeder's musical notes, Calvin melt into a puddle of snot, or George W. Bush depicted as an asterisk wearing a Roman soldier's helmet, that's the language of lines.

(An "inside baseball" note: I don't think I've ever seen "Calvin and Hobbes" originals before and was astonished by how small Bill Watterson drew them--particularly his Sundays, which looked even smaller than published size to me. Most cartoonists draw originals at least 1.5 to 2 times the size at which they'll be printed, and often larger. For example, "Peanuts" originals are huge. I guess the tight confines gave Watterson the look and line he wanted, but it really surprised me. Very gutsy.)

The exhibition was curated by Brian Walker, cartoonist Mort Walker's son and part of the Walker-Browne dynasty that continues to produce comic strips such as "Beetle Bailey" and "Hi & Lois." However, Brian may be even better known as a comics historian, author and museum curator, having organized dozens of comic art shows in the U.S. and abroad, including the very high-profile "Masters of American Comics" in 2005 through 2007. He also flew across the country to speak at last night's opening.

I've met Brian twice before. We share a publisher in Abrams and, I discovered just last night, the same editor (look out, Charlie, we compared notes). I also met his wife Abby. Brian grew up immersed in comics and is one of the most knowledgeable experts around, and it was a pleasure to reconnect with him. A bad cold, as well as sadness over not being home to see his beloved New York Giants play the Super Bowl, didn't distract him from giving a nice talk on the language of lines as demonstrated in the pages we then went into the gallery to view. Add some music, wine and snacks, and it was a very memorable evening.

So it was somehow fitting to come home with that exhibition and conversation on my mind, and then read about Mr. Arriola. "Gordo" isn't represented in "The Language of Lines" but it could be--probably should be. It was a very influential strip for me personally. In the bigger picture, I can't help comparing the bold graphic sensibilities of creators like Arriola and Sterrett to the much more pallid, static comic strips of today. If somebody drew comics like that now, it'd be heralded as a cutting-edge creative breakthrough--never mind that Sterrett did it 90 years ago and Arriola 60. This great stuff used to be in the newspaper every day!

Too many contemporary cartoonists and readers don't even remember what they've forgotten.

MoCCA Exhibit Extended

2008-01-24T11:06:00.000-08:00

Forgot to mention.... I got an e-mail a few days ago from Jennifer Babcock, curator for the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) in New York City, asking if she could hold onto my Mom's Cancer originals a little longer. Their exhibit, "Infinite Canvas: The Art of Webcomics," was supposed to wrap up more than a week ago, but now they'd like to extend its run through March. I guess it's going well.

Flattered, I replied "Hell, no!"

Aw, not really. As I remarked while dining with the folks from the Norman Rockwell Museum, my stuff looks a lot better hanging on their walls than sitting in an accordian folder beside my desk.

I'd still love to hear from anyone who's seen the MoCCA exhibit, since I'm not planning to get to New York in the next couple of months. It sounds like a great show for any comics fan.

Rockwell Interview

2008-01-18T10:27:00.000-08:00

Back in August I blogged about recording a video interview to go along with the "LitGraphic: Art of the Graphic Novel" exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum, which is currently showing eight pages of original art from Mom's Cancer along with scores of more interesting works from better artists. As I mentioned in my report from the exhibit opening, the museum is playing these interviews of me and several others in a continuous loop on two monitors near the galleries.

Anyway, museum curator Martin Mahoney--who flew to my home with Jeremy Clowe to tape the interview--just sent me a copy of the DVD and gave me permission to post my piece of it. Here it is, courtesy and copyright of the Norman Rockwell Museum:

Subjectively, I think I'm hideous. (My wife: "No, really, that's how you actually look and sound." Me: "Good lord, why did you ever marry me?!") Objectively, I think it's a nice piece of interviewing with terrific production values.

Backstage trivia: the rolltop desk I'm sitting at is where I actually do most of my artwork. My Eisner Award is on the desk beside me but I don't normally keep it there; the guys wanted it in the shot. The two plaster masks on the wall behind me are the Greek gods Hermes and Apollo, made by my children in art class several years ago. The big poster on the wall at upper left is an uncut sheet of 16 pages of Mom's Cancer as they rolled off the press, which I think is really cool. Mom made the stained-glass shade for the desk lamp behind me. And the outdoor footage near the end is my backyard, where I never actually sit around sketching but which I think looked particularly green and flowery that day.

"LitGraphic" will be on exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Mass. through May 26, and after that could be coming to a museum near you. I think it's worth a visit.

Jeremy and Martin: the view
from MY side of the camera

Wow, Should'a Seen That Coming

2008-01-17T20:30:00.000-08:00

"We regret to announce that due to unforeseen circumstances beyond our control, the publication of The Astrological Magazine will cease with the December 2007 issue."

True irony is such a rare and precious gift.....
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Messenger to Mercury

2008-01-16T22:44:00.000-08:00

I know no one visits my blog for the latest news and opinion on space exploration, but a probe named Messenger just blew past Mercury and took some great photos I think are very exciting. My interests, my blog, my rules.

Nobody's visited Mercury since the single Mariner 10 mission more than 30 years ago, and that machine photographed less than half the planet. Messenger will eventually go into orbit around Mercury and shoot the entire thing in high resolution. This pass is just a rendevous to begin to slow it down. Launched in August 2004, Messenger already flew by Venus once, Earth once, and Venus again, using those planets' gravity to change speed and direction, and it'll fly past Mercury again in October 2008 and September 2009 before parking itself in orbit in March 2011.

No doubt some interesting science will come out of Messenger, but to me the excitement of a mission like this is more visceral: we are seeing things that literally no one has ever seen before. How often can you say that? Until today, we didn't know what more than half of an entire planet in our solar system looked like. The beauty of modern technology and communication is that everyone on the planet can find out nearly as quickly as scientists download pictures from the probe. And a few minutes later, I can post them on my blog for you.

That amazes me.

Interview: The McGill Tribune

2008-01-15T12:55:00.000-08:00

Mom's Cancer is mentioned in an article published today in the McGill Tribune, which I take to be the student newspaper of McGill University in Montreal. The story by Carolyn Yates is headlined "The Death of the Sunday Comics" and is pretty good despite showing some of the hallmarks of college journalism. I think Ms. Yates bit off a bit more than she could chew, trying to cover the rise of webcomics and the fate of print in a brief feature. My name is misspelled "Flies" a couple of times but I don't feel picked on; Scott McCloud got renamed "McLeod." That's the "student" part of "student newspaper."

Ms. Yates offered me a choice of being interviewed over the phone or via e-mail, and for some of the reasons I discussed a while back--mostly the fact that I write a lot smarter than I speak--I chose e-mail. She sent me some good questions, I replied, and the best stuff got cut (that's not a particular criticism of Ms. Yates--it always happens). I genuinely appreciate being asked.

I always agree to do interviews and such, but knew I had to respond to Ms. Yates's request in particular when I saw that the offices of the McGill Tribune are housed in the Shatner University Centre, named after esteemed McGill graduate and noted thespian William Centre.* Some forces of the universe are not to be trifled with.
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*This joke adapted from Disneyland's Jungle Cruise Ride, where guests view the lovely Schweitzer Falls, named after famed African explorer Dr. Albert Falls. All humor content of this post copyright 1955 by The Walt Disney Co.
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Return to the Lopsided Universe

2008-01-11T08:47:00.000-08:00

Back in early December I wrote about the Galaxy Zoo project, in which millions of regular folks (including me) help astronomers classify the shapes of galaxies. Our effort yielded the profoundly surprising result that, as seen from our nothing-special galaxy in a nowhere-special corner of the cosmos, the universe seems to have more galaxies that spiral counter-clockwise than clockwise. By all rights, they should be 50-50; any other ratio is insanely inexplicable. At the time, I guessed it probably said less about the universe than those observing it. Maybe, when faced with a faint fuzzy image and asked to detect a structure, more people somehow perceive a counter-clockwise one. That would be weird, but a lot less weird than a crooked cosmos.

Turns out I got it about right. To figure out what was going on, the Galaxy Zoo people did something very simple and clever: they flopped a bunch of their galaxy photos into mirror images of themselves, shuffled them back into the deck, and let us classify them again. And we beefwitted classifiers still thought we were seeing more counter-clockwise spirals than clockwise, and in about the same proportion (52-48). This post explains the statistics in numbing detail, but the essense is that if there's something screwy in the human-universe interaction, it ain't the universe's fault.

Galaxy Zoo can't explain why the observational bias exists, just that it does. Still sounds like a pretty interesting question for some psychologist or neurologist to look into. But not an astronomer.
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Seminar: Navigating Cancer

2008-01-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago I received an e-mail asking if I would pass along the information below, concerning an informational seminar in Washington D.C. later this month. Happy to do it, this looks good. Here's the press release:

Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center invites you to the first in our series of free Living Well with Cancer seminars to be held throughout 2008. The first event, Navigating Life after Cancer: A Road Map for the “New Normal,” will feature two speakers, both well-respected experts in working with cancer patients and the challenges they face. Brenda Hubbard, RN, an oncology nurse and patient educator at Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center, will address some of the physical, psychological and spiritual issues that come with a cancer diagnosis. Patricia Smith, an attorney, will focus on navigating employment and insurance issues.

The event will be held on Saturday, January 26, from 8 to 11:30 a.m. at the National Rehabilitation Hospital Auditorium located on the Washington Hospital Center campus, 102 Irving St., NW, Washington, DC 20010. To register, please call 202-877-DOCS (3627) or register online at www.whcenter.org/livingwell.
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In Which My Drawings Lead a More Exciting Life than I Do

2008-01-08T11:24:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I received a very nice letter from the Norman Rockwell Museum asking if they could hold onto the eight pages of Mom's Cancer artwork they're exhibiting a bit longer than planned.

Curator Stephanie Plunkett wrote that the show, "LitGraphic: The World of the Graphic Novel," has been a big success--enough so that after it closes in May, they'd like to make it a traveling exhibition and loan it to other museums. Not every exhibition is so honored; apparently they've already gotten a lot of interest from big-time institutions.

Since Stephanie bribed me by enclosing a great book full of Rockwellian arty goodness, I said "yes."

If all goes as planned, I won't be reunited with my artwork until June 2010--unless I go visit it, and even then they probably won't let me take it out of the frame and mess around with it ("it's all right, I'm just fixing a little mistake...."). My drawings will visit parts of the country I've never seen. I'll be an old man by the time they come home. Still, as I mentioned to my wife, I guess if I miss them that much I can always redraw them.

So look for LitGraphic, coming soon to a museum near you (tour details will follow as I learn them). If you see my stuff, say "Hi" for me.
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Ah, Reddy Kilowatt, My Old Nemesis

2008-01-07T09:39:00.000-08:00

A severe winter storm swept through the West Coast at the end of last week, splitting trees, loosening mudslides, and knocking out power to 2 million people between central California and Oregon. Unfortunately, I couldn't blog about it until now because my electricity's been out since 9 a.m. Friday.
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Now, there's a stretch of time after the power goes out that's kind of fun. You slip a flashlight into your pocket, light candles, break out the camping lantern, start a fire in the fireplace, dance to 78s on the antique hand-cranked phonograph, play "Clue." When the lights flicker back on everyone groans a disappointed "Awww!" because they were having a neat little adventure without them.
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This weekend I learned that "fun time" lasts about 12 hours. After 67 hours, it gets really old. You run out of "Little House on the Prairie" and Donner Party jokes on Day Two.
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Part of our back fence blew over. We lost much of the food in the fridge and freezer, which wasn't actually a lot. Some of it made for an excellent barbeque Saturday night. I don't usually barbeque in the rain, but this was a special occasion. Like well-prepared Boy and Girl Scouts, we took stock of our resources. What worked: the fireplace, gas water heater, gas stove top, laptop computers (but no wireless Internet in range). What didn't work: lights, heat, refrigerator, oven, Dance Dance Revolution, the computer with all my good stuff. Fortunately, we had sufficient firewood, blankets, sleeping bags, and cats to prevent hypothermia.
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Also fortunately, our children were home from college for winter break. They were delicious.
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It was both a blessing and a curse that our neighborhood was a little island of darkness surrounded by otherwise normal, fully electrified homes and businesses. All our usual supermarkets, restaurants, shopping centers and movie theaters worked fine. Sunday night my wife and I went to see a movie in which we had no interest just to sit somewhere warm and distracting for two hours ("The Waterhorse," which was not bad). That was the blessing part; the curse part was that because our outage affected a small number of people in the middle of a functioning civilization, we were a very low priority for repair work. At night, we could see the lights of homes around us--twinkling, mocking, bragging about all the electrons flowing through their wires--and fantasize about long extension cords that would deliver us sweet relief at last.
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Everything clicked on at 4 a.m. today, and all is nearly forgiven. The inside temperature of our house has risen 20 degrees. My wife is at the supermarket restocking our larder. And we have vowed to never take electricity for granted again, in a spirit of thankfulness and appreciation I expect to last at least another hour.
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All The World Seems In Tune

2008-01-02T11:04:00.000-08:00

Little by little, the industrious (or even lazy) blogger reveals more about himself than he realizes or intends. My few long-time readers may recall mentions of the roles Star Trek, Monty Python, Victor Borge, Carl Sagan, Walt Kelly, Disney, NASA, comic books, comic strips, and many other influences played in forming little me. However, I have never mentioned the towering influence of Tom Lehrer.

Mr. Lehrer is a musical satirist who came to prominence in the late 1950s and '60s, a proto-Weird Al who composed and performed little piano ditties on best-selling comedy albums and, occasionally, on stage. His songs were smart, sharp, funny, wry, very dark and a little naughty--the perfect combination to appeal to 14-year-old Brian. His heyday was before my time but we got acquainted through a local radio comedy hour that played him regularly, and he perfectly captured the dry, sarcastic, mocking, too-cool-for-school attitude that comprises the mandatory uniform of adolescence. Song titles include "The Old Dope Peddler," "The Vatican Rag," "I Got It From Agnes" (a saucily subtle ode to VD), and "Lobachevsky," a jaunty tribute to the Russian mathematician. Luckily, and unlike many favorites from my youth, Mr. Lehrer still turned out to be pretty cool even after I grew up.

Mr. Lehrer left entertainment to teach math at the University of California, Santa Cruz, cementing his nerd credibility forever. He became something of the Salinger of Satire (or perhaps the Watterson of Wit) and rarely performed in public after the 1960s, although he did surface briefly in 1980 when a Broadway show titled "Tomfoolery" revived his songs in a well-reviewed revue. He is also reputed to have invented the Jell-O shot. I won't go so far as to say Tom Lehrer was an important intellectual influence in my life, but he sure was a fun one.

That's my introduction to these videos that capture the magic of Mr. Lehrer. My favorite is the last, which not only features one of my favorite Lehrer songs but shows a rare later performance in 1998 to honor the producer of "Tomfoolery," who also did a little show called "Cats." If you're inclined to watch, I hope you enjoy.

Extra Bonus Video: Something else by Mr. Lehrer that those slightly younger may remember from "The Electric Company":

Raindrops on Roses, Whiskers on Kittens

2007-12-28T09:43:00.000-08:00

This seems like the right time to remember people whose work--and, when I was lucky, friendship--made my life better in 2007:

My friend Mike Lynch, successful magazine cartoonist and fellow Trekkie, whose impromptu calls I'm always delighted to take and whose blog is terrific.

My friend Patricia Storms, whose cartooning and illustrating career really seems to have taken off lately, and it couldn't happen to a nicer person.

My friend Jeff Kinney, whose career as a best-selling author I can actually claim to have witnessed the very start of. It also couldn't happen to a nicer person.

My friend Paul Giambarba, a cartoonist, artist, illustrator, author, art director and much more, with a multi-decade career I can only envy.

My friend Otis Frampton, writer, artist, and creator of Oddly Normal among other great work.

My friend Arnold Wagner, who made my life better until the evening of August 31.

My friend Ronniecat, who started a blog when she suddenly lost her hearing at age 39 and soon branched out to write about anything else that interested her.

My friend Mike Peterson, a career journalist and newspaper editor in Maine, and a cartooning connoisseur.

My friend Sherwood Harrington, an astronomer, traveler, and better writer than he lets on.

My friend and editor Charlie Kochman, who grasps ideas immediately, figures out ways to make them better, and would never do anything to disappoint me in any way ever.

Writer, comics creator, and Hollywood insider Mark Evanier, whose blog is a daily stop of mine.

Annie and Jazz Age cartoonist Ted Slampyak, likewise a regular surfing destination.

Between Friends cartoonist Sandra Bell-Lundy, likewise likewise.

Agreeably cranky writer and artist Eddie Campbell, who made my week a couple of months ago.

The many artists, writers, comics and cartooning professionals I've gotten to know online, plus a few I've gotten to know in person, including Guy Gilchrist, Stephan Pastis, Michael Jantze and Terry Moore. Thanks for your time.

Annette Street, Professor of Cancer and Palliative Care Studies, La Trobe University, Australia.

My neighbor Larry, who I just discovered reads my blog. Thanks for helping me fish my eyeglass lens out of the storm drain that time, plus for protecting our country. That was good, too.

Martin Mahoney, Jeremy Clowe, and the staff of the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

Jennifer Babcock and the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) in New York City.

People who voted for me in the Eisner Awards in vain.

People who voted for me in the Harvey Awards--not in vain.

Wolfgang Fuchs, who translated my book into German, accepted an award on our behalf, and exchanged some very nice notes with me about it.

Germany.

People who read my book, and maybe even paid money for it. I don't ever, ever take that for granted. Thank you.

People who read my book and then wrote to tell me about it, themselves, their families, and their stories. Thank you especially.

Everyone else I don't want to embarrass by naming in public but who know who they are.

My wife Karen, who didn't think the preceding sentence applied to her.

My girls, who make me proud.

A happy new year to us all!

*I reserve the right to wake up in the middle of the night, slap myself on the forehead crying "How could I have forgotten them?!" and add names to this post at any time. If that's you, I apologize.
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Once More, With Feeling

2007-12-24T14:22:00.000-08:00

Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
Walla Walla, Wash., an' Kalamazoo!
Nora's freezin' on the trolley,
Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo!
Don't we know archaic barrel,
Lullaby Lilla boy, Louisville Lou?
Trolley Molly don't love Harold,
Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Polly wolly cracker n' too-da-loo!
Hunky Dory's pop is lolly
gaggin' on the wagon,
Willy, folly go through!
Donkey Bonny brays a carol,
Antelope Cantaloup, 'lope with you!
Chollie's collie barks at Barrow,
Harum scarum five alarum bung-a-loo!

--Walt Kelly

Best Christmas Ever

2007-12-17T10:12:00.000-08:00

I won't embarrass my sister by revealing what year this picture of us was taken. Let's just call it an obviously pre-digital era. Possibly pre-transistor. I'm pretty sure we at least had steam engines.

The best Christmases ever experienced in the history of humanity happened in this house, my grandparents' log cabin, on the banks of Rapid Creek west of Rapid City, South Dakota. To call it a "log cabin" conjures images of "Little House on the Prairie" privations and is a bit misleading; it was a full-sized home built in the early 1960s with all the modern conveniences, but the walls were in fact made of stacked and interlocked yellow logs. Plus, "log cabin" sounds way cooler.

This house had the biggest stone fireplace in the world, across the room from which stood the biggest, shiniest, tinseliest Christmas tree in the world (as obviously exemplified above). Although my grandparents had neighbors, their home backed up against pristine Forest Service land. The pine trees of the Black Hills stretched into infinity, the creek was laden with 12-inch trout, and a small pond across the highway froze every winter for us to practice our wobbly skating skills.

My sister and I with Mom and my grandparents' nippy little dog Salome on the pond across the highway. (See, we had color film, too!)

This was where the family gathered for my first nine or ten Christmas Eves. I'm pretty sure my grandma was the best cook in the world, though later in life Mom tried to convince me that her mother had actually been terrible in the kitchen. I'm dubious. Anyone who can line a fireplace hearth with pans of unbaked cinnamon rolls rising under moist kitchen towels and fill an entire house with that sweet yeasty scent is a five-star chef in my restaurant guide.

On Christmas Eve, the kids were readied for bed at some unjustly early hour while most of the adults steeled themselves to drive to midnight church services in town. Some years, depending on how that day's contest between snow and plow had fared, the trip was harder than others. I remember my sister and I, shivering under electric blankets turned to 9, trying desperately to keep each other awake while simultaneously pretending to sleep. Tough task. I still have an absolutely clear recollection, as real as the keyboard I'm typing on now, of hearing sleigh bells on the roof one of those nights.

What can be said of the big day itself? Anticipation, greed, the unthinking cruelty of adults marching children through the living room to the kitchen with our eyes closed so we'd eat breakfast before laying eyes on a single gift (as if there's ever been a child born who didn't master the trick of peeking sideways through downcast eyelashes). The triumph of a Lionel HO oval or G.I. Joe. And disappointments as well, such as the year my uncle broke my genuine Batman flying batcopter before I laid hands on it. I never let him live that down.

Although no holiday celebration could possibly rival my old ones, I hope the coming weeks are good for everyone. Just remember: if there are children in your life, you're making lifetime memories for them whether you intend to or not. Might as well make them nice.
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worrA s'emiT

2007-12-15T08:32:00.000-08:00

Lying in bed this morning mulling over physics (no, really! I don't know what's wrong with me either!), I had one of the few original ideas I've ever had. By "original" I don't mean no one else has ever thought of it--it's probably one of those ideas real physicists conceive when they're eight years old and realize how stupid it is when they're nine--but I'm pretty sure I've never seen it anywhere else. I'm posting it here not because I think anyone will be interested, but to create a paper trail for future Nobel Committees to follow.

1. The Arrow of Time. One of the fundamental puzzles of the universe is why Time moves the direction it does. Physics calculations work just as well backward as forward, and yet all the Time we see wherever we look seems to be moving the same direction as ours. (I'm not quite sure how the idea that Time could just as easily move back as ahead squares with the thermodynamic law that the entropy (disorder) of a closed system always increases, but I'll assume someone else already solved that and move on.)

In our universe, when I drop a rock, gravity draws it toward the Earth. It also draws the Earth toward the rock, just much much much much much much less. But if I run the film backward, to observers in our timeframe the rock and Earth seem to repel each other (I assume a native of that universe wouldn't notice anything strange at all). It's not really anti-gravity, it's just regular gravity going backward through time.

2. Dark Matter. As I mentioned a few posts ago, astronomers have figured out that the universe has much more mass than we can find. For example, if you add up the mass of all the stars in a galaxy then look at how that galaxy interacts with others, it acts a lot heavier than it looks. That missing stuff got the name "dark matter," though if I understand correctly it's better thought of as "transparent" or "invisible" matter; it's not like chunks of charcoal floating out there, but more like stuff that can't be seen or felt no matter how closely you look, refusing to interact with our regular ol' protons, neutrons, electrons and photons at all except through gravity.

At the same time, astronomers say that the universe seems to be expanding faster than it ought to. Galaxies and the very fabric of space between them are flying apart faster now than they did billions of years ago, even though common sense suggests they should be slowing down as gravity tries to pull everything together. It's almost as if there were some unknown repulsive force--some mysterious anti-gravity--pushing things apart. They call this "dark energy."

(My wife just walked in and, when I told her I was blogging about physics, she said "Ooooooh!" But I'm pretty sure that was sarcasm.)

3. My Hypothesis: Dark matter is nothing but a whole bunch of regular matter moving backward through time. What looks like a repulsive dark energy to us is ordinary gravitational attraction as seen by someone going the other direction. We can't see or touch the dark matter because it's playing by a different set of physical, chemical and electromagnetic rules, but we can feel the gravitational effects of its mass, the one characteristic that doesn't change no matter which direction time goes.

I leave the math as a trivial exercise for future grad students. QED.

We now conclude the wild-eyed crazyman portion of our blog. Have a nice day.

Me, earlier today

UPDATE 15 Minutes Later: Just uncovered a fatal flaw in my reasoning ("Only one?!" I hear you cry). Bad idea. Never mind. Still pretty sure my flux capacitor will work, however. All I need now is a DeLorean.

Two Newspaper Stories

2007-12-13T09:17:00.000-08:00

Tim Kane of the Albany Times Union in Albany, N.Y., wrote a nice piece on the "LitGraphic" exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum, of which several original pages of Mom's Cancer are the least interesting part. The article quotes curator Martin Mahoney (hey, I know him!) and provides a nice historical perspective on graphic novels/comics, tracing them from their 19th-century roots through the underground sixties, Will Eisner, R. Crumb, and the modern move into mainstream films such as Sin City, 300, and V for Vendetta. An excerpt:

Adjacent to the permanent collection of traditional Rockwell illustrations, the bold irreverence and iconoclastic spirit of "LitGraphic" is only magnified. they can be dark and political or mystical and outright humorous; a number of artists have used the form for bracing works of social commentary.... Nothing is out of bounds: Sexual orientation, racism, feminism, fascism, violence, war, famine and health care fuel intricate narratives and stirring graphics.

Guess I'm the "health care."

For yesterday's New York Times, Motoko Rich wrote an interesting story titled "Crossover Dreams: Turning Free Web Work into Real Book Sales," which looks at exactly that. The article features the best-selling children's book Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney (hey, I know him!), quotes Abrams editor Charlie Kochman (hey, I know him!), and cites the recent publication of Shooting War, a new webcomic-to-book success story, by Anthony Lappé and Dan Goldman (hey, never met 'em!).

I'm not mentioned. Charlie said he told Ms. Rich all about Mom's Cancer and its status as the first webcomic to cross over to mainstream publishing (we think; if anyone has a counter-example, let me know, I'm happy to give credit where due). She didn't take the bait and that's cool. I've been a newspaper reporter and know you can only cram so much into a story, especially a little 1200-word feature. No harm no foul.

Nevertheless, the article touches on a topic of great interest to me: the decision to publish stuff in book form that readers can already get free online. The article offers two examples of different approaches and I offer a third.

Wimpy Kid was first posted to the Website funbrain.com and is in fact still there--all 1300 pages of it. For the book and its sequels, Jeff and Charlie are breaking it up into 200-page bites and, I think, doing significant rewriting and editing. Still, if someone wanted, they could read the entire Wimpy Kid saga right now. And yet the print version has spent 33 weeks on the NYT best-seller list. What's up with that? The article quotes Abrams CEO Michael Jacobs (hey, I've met him! and that's the last of those, I promise): "I think books are still things, thank goodness, that people want to own. The package of the book and the way it feels is something apart and separate from being able to read it online." I think that's right and at least part of the answer.

The authors of Shooting War used the Web as a tease, posting the first 11 chapters in a Web magazine while hoping and intending them to lead to a book deal. They rewrote some parts, added 110 pages, and ended up with a book very different from the introduction that's still available online. That strategy worked for them.

I serialized Mom's Cancer online because I didn't know what else to do with it. I never thought of it as a webcomic per se, but as a comic that happened to end up on the Web. It would be disingenuous to claim I wasn't thinking about print; in fact, I hoped it might become a book from the start. I just had no idea how to do that, and in the meantime I wanted to get my story out.

I stumbled into a good synergy. The many people who read it free online caught the attention of the Eisner Award folks, which probably would have opened some publishing doors regardless. However, in fact, the Eisner nomination hadn't yet happened and Editor Charlie wasn't aware of the webcomic when he accepted my proposal. Still, the fact that I could say "Umpity-thousand people have read this story in the past few months and my readership continues to grow" helped Charlie and me make our case to the publishing-house bean-counters that printing my story was a risk worth taking.

He Who Steals My IP Steals What Exactly...?
So why did I take it offline? One reason is that my publisher Abrams requested--not demanded, but requested--that I do. But I'll step up and say I honestly had no qualms about doing it. The way I looked at it, my publisher and I were entering a business partnership to publish and sell a book. It was in our common interest to make the best book possible and sell as many of them as we could. My partner was making a big financial investment and shouldering considerable risk; my personal risk was negligible. Worst case, if we didn't sell a single book, I wouldn't lose a dime. So it seemed to me the very least I could do to minimize my partner's disproportionate risk was not offer a directly competing product--my Web version--free of charge. I thought it was the professional and right thing to do. One of my proudest days as a writer was when my editor told me the book had broken even. That's when I felt I'd fulfilled my obligation.

I also think an important difference between Mom's Cancer and Wimpy Kid is simply length. My story is about 110 pages, Jeff's is 1300. You can read mine in one sitting; Jeff's takes a few days. Reading Wimpy Kid on a monitor is a significantly different experience than reading it as a paperback in bed or on the playground; mine less so. I don't know where to draw the line--200 pages? 600?--but given Wimpy Kid's size and audience, it seems to me that the risk of free competition is much smaller with Jeff's book than mine.

So I took it offline. Some people were disappointed. If anyone wrote and said, "I'm going through the same thing right now and would really like to read it," I gave them access to the Web version, especially before the book was published. Very rarely, if someone writes from a country where the book is otherwise unavailable, I still do. Otherwise, I've got no problem asking potential readers to pay $12.95 for my book. My mother's Afterword alone is worth at least $12.94.

The reaction that surprised me, and I still don't understand, was hostility. A small number of people seemed really angry, and not because they cared so passionately about my work. I think they're consumers used to getting their reading free, their music free, their games and entertainment free, and they somehow assume a profound philosophical right to get everything they want for nothing. Their rallying cry is "Information Should Be Free!" and they seem deeply offended by being asked to pay money for content or respect a creator's right to control what happens to their own work.

But...in an Information Age society--and in a country that doesn't forge steel, sew clothing, or build cars anymore--what do we produce of real value except the creative output of our minds? Indeed, why shouldn't good, creative ideas be the very things we treasure and protect the most? They're certainly rare enough. Honestly, my story is worth $12.95. It contains at least $12.95 worth of writing, drawing and ideas. I think it's worth a movie ticket and box of popcorn. If you don't, don't buy it. But don't tell me my work has no value and I have some social or moral obligation to let you take it and do what you want with it. Nope. My stuff's better than that.

And hey, you know what? If I make a few bucks and my publisher makes a few bucks, maybe we can do something else again. But neither of us can afford to do it for nothing.

Writer Harlan Ellison has had a reputation for offering strong, loud, controversial opinions on professionalism and creators' rights for about 40 years. The interview below was taken from an upcoming documentary about Ellison and captures some good thoughts much more passionately and (fair warning) profanely than I could. It's a worthwhile 3 minutes and 25 seconds. Although I have to admit I hope I'm never on the other end of a Harlan Ellison phone call.

(Note: there's no irony in my posting a free video clip from a commercial film on a free blog. This clip was released by the film's producers with, I presume, Ellison's OK.)

The Vast Wasteland

2007-12-11T16:31:00.000-08:00

If you are anywhere around my age and grew up watching television in the United States, absolutely the worst possible thing you could do is click this link. (Link removed, see update below.)

I'm not kidding. Don't do it.

And if you do, don't leave it running on your computer all day. That would be wrong.

UPDATE: The link connected to a radio station that played nothing but old TV theme songs, commercial-free, around the clock. However, it looks like that was just a short-term gimmick while they switched formats. Now it's just a plain ol' rock-and-roll station, and more's the pity. They had a good thing going.

Another Reason to Love the British...

2007-12-05T09:27:00.000-08:00

...Because when baby hedgehogs break their legs, they take them to the animal hospital and put little casts on them. Also, because they named an animal hospital "Tiggywinkles."

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See How It Turns Out

2007-12-04T09:04:00.000-08:00

Mike commented on my previous post, "Heh. Not sure astronomy is the best hobby for someone who wants to 'follow and see how it turns out.'" Very funny and true. Most astronomy involves timeframes that make evolutionary biology look like a sprint. And yet, I can't think of a better era for a space buff to be alive.

Mike's comment also got me thinking about a little mental list I keep of things I'd really like to witness in my decades (I hope) left on the planet:

1. I'd like to be around when someone figures out dark matter and dark energy, the invisible something no one can find that seems to comprise 90% of the mass of the universe.

2. I'd like to see a picture of a planet outside our solar system--preferably Earth-sized. Not a wobble, spectrograph, or statistical chart. I want oceans and clouds.

3. I'd like to live long enough to see a permanent manned base on the Moon, something that could mature into a colony. Maybe even something with a little studio apartment set aside for me.

4. I'd like to see us discover evidence of intelligent extraterrestrial life. That would be a turning point in human history, the event that everything else either came before or after. (At the same time, I imagine that people living centuries in the future will envy our virginal ignorance in the same way we're wistful for a pre-Columbian America: "Gee, I wonder what life was like before we found out about the Zorxian Empire? Good times, good times....")

I think I've got a fair shot at the first three; the fourth much less so. Give me one or more of those--plus my family happy and healthy, poverty and disease eradicated, the environment in decent shape, blah blah blah--and I think I'd die a happy man.

The Lopsided Universe

2007-12-03T08:09:00.000-08:00

Messier 101: A counter-clockwise spiral galaxy

I've always had a passionate amateur's interest in astronomy and once, long ago, hoped it might become more. In college I taught astronomy labs and helped run my campus's small observatory, and "astronomer" seemed like just about the coolest thing anyone could ever put on a business card. I just couldn't convince a grad school to agree with me.

That's all right. The nice thing about astronomy is you can keep up with it as a civilian. You can even do it; I have a small scope I don't pull out too often because my house is surrounded by street lights, but in theory it's a field where amateurs often put together equipment just as good as the professionals' and can still make a contribution.

A few years ago, I was one of millions who turned over a portion of my computer's processing power to help find ETs. A group called SETI at Home (SETI = Search for Extraterrestrial Intellligence) developed a program that anyone could install to help analyze signals captured by a radio telescope. The program works like a screensaver. Whenever your computer is idle it switches over to analyzing data, automatically reporting its results to the researchers and downloading another batch of signals. By distributing the task among legions of ordinary computers, the SETI folks got more done faster than if they'd used the world's most powerful supercomputer. As far as I know my computer never found anything interesting. In fact, as far as I know, the entire project hasn't found much interesting, which is kind of an interesting result in itself. It was fun until they issued an update that gave my computer indigestion and I stopped participating. But it's been a while and I think I might give it another try.

More recently, I've been looking at smudgy little space photos for an effort called Galaxy Zoo. Galaxy Zoo aims to classify galaxies, and its strategy is similar to SETI at Home's: spread out a job too daunting for a small team of researchers among millions of amateurs instead. Once you sign up and pass a test to prove you know what a galaxy looks like, you can log on to Galaxy Zoo and sort them to your heart's content. There's nothing automated about it. You manually click through image after image, deciding whether each depicts an elliptical or spiral galaxy (the two main types) and, if it's a spiral, whether it turns clockwise or counter-clockwise. In practice it's not easy--everything looks like a dim fuzzy blob after a while--but the Galaxy Zoo researchers at Oxford University show the same images to several people to reach consensus. In fact, I got an e-mail from them this morning explaining that each target galaxy has been looked at more than 30 times, and our amateur results agree with a smaller sampling classified by professionals. So far so good.

Here's the bizarre and interesting part: as this article in the U.K.'s Daily Telegraph newspaper explains, the universe seems to have a lot more galaxies spinning counter-clockwise than clockwise.

That is a deeply astonishing result. First, understand that a spiral galaxy that appears to be wound counter-clockwise would look clockwise if we were on the other side of it. The direction of a galaxy's spin is nothing more than an accident of where you happen to be when you look at it. Second, one of the fundamental principles of astronomy is isotropy--that is the idea that, on average, the universe is pretty much the same no matter which direction you look and there's no special vantage point that's better than any other. With that in mind, looking into space from our nowhere-special perspective, you'd expect to see nearly equal numbers of clockwise and counter-clockwise galaxies. If you dump a million pennies on the ground, approximately 500,000 will be heads and 500,000 tails. It's the only result that makes any sense at all.

And yet, I and my fellow Galaxy Zoo galaxy classifiers say the cosmos, as seen from Earth's vantage point, strongly favors the counter-clockwise.

Clearly, I broke the universe.

The researchers are trying to figure out what it means, if anything. Analyzing more pictures might help solve the puzzle. My own suspicion is that they've discovered less about the universe than about the flawed eyes and minds observing it. When confronted by an indistinct image our brains find patterns and fill in details that aren't really there, and I think it's possible that maybe--maybe--there's something hard-wired into us to discern counter-clockwise patterns more readily than clockwise. Like seeing ghostly faces in the static.

That sounds like a reach, but it makes a million times more sense to me than the alternative. In any case, it'll be cool to follow and see how it turns out. Which is the entire point.

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I'm Here!

2007-11-27T10:18:00.000-08:00

Everything's fine, just very heavy on deadlines and light on blogging inspiration.

In an upcoming post I'll recap the two cancer-fighting walk/run events I plugged earlier this month. In short: Great! Thanks again to everyone who read about them here and was inspired to help out somehow.

I saw the new Disney movie "Enchanted" a few days ago and thought it was very good. Many nice references to Disney classics that you'll catch if you've seen them a thousand times (during my raising of two girls we wore out tapes of "Little Mermaid," "Cinderella," "Sleeping Beauty," and Disney's "Robin Hood") and know some of their backstory. "Little Mermaid" voice actress Jodi Benson has a good role as Patrick Dempsey's secretary, and I've since read that Paige "Belle" O'Hara and Judi "Pocahontas's singing voice" Kuhn are in it as well, though I didn't catch them at the time. I think the movie's real accomplishment is successfully navigating the fine line between mocking the genre (as with "Shrek") and respecting it (I almost typed "respecting the essential validity of its archetypes" but then pulled the stick out of my rear and thought better of it). And little bits of cartoon at the beginning and end sure made me miss good ol' hand-drawn two-dimensional animation, which I understand John Lasseter has restored to Disney after previous administrations scoured it. Good for him.

Thanksgiving (U.S.) at the in-laws was very nice family time. It occurs to me I haven't often expressed thanks to the people who've bought my book, read my blog, or gone to the time and trouble to send me a note. So ... Thank You. It means a lot. Special appreciation for those few friends who were among the first to find Mom's Cancer online and have stuck with me since.

I expect I'll have more to say soon.
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The Trip Report

2007-11-15T08:09:00.000-08:00

The Mighty Housatonic
(I hope to someday learn how to pronounce that)

One of the nice things about travel is it makes you appreciate home. My wife and I are happy to be back, although I return to face a mountain of work that has to get done before Thanksgiving. You may judge how eager I am to tackle the mountain by the length of this post. Let's see how well I can procrastinate.

Elaborating on my previous post's highlights:

1. Western Massachusetts and Connecticut. The Berkshires. Beautiful country, perfect little villages full of nice people. If there is a single home in the entire region that doesn't look like it belongs in a painting by Grandma Moses, Currier & Ives, or Norman Rockwell, we didn't see it. Ordinary houses well off the beaten path have all the clapboard, dormers, gables, cupolas, cornices, finials, and flying buttresses you could hope for (maybe not flying buttresses). Beautiful brick construction of the type we simply never see in northern California because ours all fell down in 1906. We're pretty sure everyone keeps their one-horse sleighs locked up in their garages until the first snow falls, because that was the only detail missing.

We met several locals who were almost apologetic about the state of their trees' leaves. Leaf tourism is a big deal, and we were alternately told that we'd missed the best colors by a few weeks, that we'd see better color a little farther north, or that the colors were bad everywhere this year. As we explained to a few folks: we're from California. Our standards for fall leaf color are pretty low. However, I don't see anything wrong with vistas like these:

2. Opening of the LitGraphic Exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum. What a beautiful facility. I only realized as we drove to it that the reception was scheduled to begin after sunset, and it was pitch dark by the time we arrived at 5:45 p.m. So of the building exteriors and surrounding landscape, I can only say that the photos I've seen look very nice.

The interior, I can report first-hand, is terrific. Galleries are arrayed around a small central rotunda featuring Rockwell's "Four Freedoms" paintings. Many of Rockwell's huge, stunning originals are on display, in some cases accompanied by the sketches or studies he used in their creation. It's not an enormous place; I'd call it appropriately intimate, in an architectural style that seems to reflect a Rockwell aesthetic without calling attention to itself at the expense of the artwork.

The LitGraphic exhibit occupies three galleries in the back, with one dedicated to "historical" work by artists such as Eisner and Kurtzman, and the other two to more contemporary pieces. A tiny side gallery--almost a corridor--has benches facing two TV monitors that looped five-minute interviews with six of the exhibit's contributors, including me.

Me and my wall.

Watching myself on TV.
Because I'm just that vain.

It's hard to estimate how many people attended the opening reception. More than 100 for sure. Several were museum patrons and members, though the museum staff told me there were many new faces they didn't recognize--presumably people just drawn by the subject matter--and they were thrilled with the turnout. The first person we recognized shortly after we arrived was curator Martin Mahoney, who came to my home to interview me. I also reconnected with Jeremy Clowe, who ran the camera and did a fantastic job editing all the interviews into a great presentation. He worked very hard to find five minutes that did not make me look stupid. We also enjoyed meeting their friends and loved ones as well.

3. Meeting Artists. Dave Sim, Peter Kuper, Howard Cruse, Marc Hempel, and Mark Wheatley all had work in the exhibit and attended the opening. I spent a few minutes and had good conversations with each, during which we said nice things about each other. Dave was great, and Peter and I turned out to have a mutual friend in Editor Charlie (not as big a coincidence as it may seem; Charlie knows everybody). Even artists much cooler, better, and more experienced than I admitted that showing their work in the Norman Rockwell Museum was something of a career highlight, which made me feel a bit less like a freshman at the senior prom.

With "Cerebus" creator Dave Sim.

4. Terry and Robyn Moore. I mention Terry Moore of "Strangers in Paradise" separately because we had a little more time to talk and, maybe, connected in a less superficial way than usual at an event like this. We really had a good visit about writing, the creative process, family, all sorts of stuff. As I wrote in my last post, Terry and Robyn seem like especially nice people I look forward to seeing again whenever I can.

Terry (center) and I chatting with a museum patron who was very proud of the comic-themed tie he'd worn for the occasion.

Dinner following the reception was held at the palatial (literally) Cranwell Resort in nearby Lenox, where I got to know more of the museum's staff, curators and administrators. I was impressed by how excited they seemed to be about hosting the exhibit. They talked about the emergence of a new narrative form and the continuum of telling stories with pictures that linked Norman Rockwell to us. Good food and better company. It was after 11 when we finally parted.

5. Guy Gilchrist. Guy began his professional cartooning career at age 14. Mentored by "Beetle Bailey" creator Mort Walker and often working with his brother Brad, he's had an impressive career that's included "The Muppets" and "Nancy" comic strips as well as many books and commercial art projects. Now he works out of Guy Gilchrist's Cartoonist's Academy in Simsbury, Connecticut, which serves as his studio, a school, and a summer day camp for kids.

The first impression any fan of comics and cartoons would have when entering Guy's academy is jaw-dropping wonder. The walls are covered with original art, some by Guy but most by other great pros: Milt Caniff, Stan Drake, Curt Swan, Cliff Sterrett, Jack Davis, too many others to count or recount. As I told Guy, I think young cartoonists can learn more from looking at original artwork for 10 minutes than they can from a shelf full of books, so he's done them a tremendous service right there. The academy is also outfitted with desks, art supplies, light boxes, and computers for the students to make their own comics and flash animations. It's quite an undertaking.

Guy very graciously treated us to lunch and spent about two hours of his day off with us. He's known a lot of the old-guard East Coast cartooning elite and is quite a raconteur. He's also very generous. I won't embarrass Guy (or me) by revealing how generous; let's just say I'm pretty sure if I'd expressed admiration for his microwave oven, he would have unplugged it from the wall and carried it to my car. All in all, it was one of the nicest, most interesting, insightful and engaging conversation I can recall having with any cartoonist. Thanks, Guy.

Talking cartooning over the foosball table. Guy's students do animation at these computers, hence the cels on the wall for them to study.

6. Historic Boston. Not much to add here, except that we spent a day walking the "Freedom Trail" and seeing all the highlights. A couple of hours were spent in the company of this delightful man, who led a group tour and enhanced our understanding and enjoyment enormously.

My wife Karen and I flanking Revolutionary-era hat maker Nathaniel Balch.

We spent some time exploring the Common, the Public Garden and Beacon Hill, and Boston seems like a perfectly fine city that well deserves it reputation for nighmarish traffic. Now, I expected that in the heart of the city, laid out 250 years before the invention of the auto. Jumbled narrow streets are part of the charm. My real puzzlement and frustration was with the modern stuff, which was a lot more baffling than it ought to be. Tunnels you can't get to, streets with five names within four blocks, interstates to nowhere. And the Massachusetts Turnpike: seriously, what the hell? I'm familiar with the concept of toll roads, but this thing's got booths that take cash, booths that dispense little tickets with teeny Excel spreadsheets printed all over 'em, booths at every exit manned by three guys who collect $1.10 from the six cars per hour that wander through. We went through one booth whose entire purpose seemed to be circling us around to a different booth. To misappropriate an old saying, this is no way to run a railroad.

However, it's a poor guest who leaves badmouthing his host, so I'll wrap up by saying we had a wonderful time in Massachusetts and Connecticut, and only regret we didn't have a chance to see everyone we wanted to. Also, I have never seen so many Dunkin' Donuts franchises in my life.

UPDATE: At the request of exactly one person, I've linked the first four photos above to higher-resolution version of the same. OK, Sherwood?
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Mini-Memo from Boston

2007-11-12T16:22:00.000-08:00

Weather Report: Chilly but clear, perfect for our Nor'east trip so far.

Highlight #1: Western Massachusetts and Connecticut.

Highlight #2: My work on a wall at the Norman Rockwell Museum. Holy cow.

Highlight #3: Dave Sim, Peter Kuper, Howard Cruse, Marc Hempel, Mark Wheatley.

Highlight #4: Especially Terry Moore ("Strangers in Paradise") and his wife Robyn. Nice, nice, nice people. I feel like I made new friends for life.

Highlight #5: Two hours with cartoonist Guy Gilchrist, a kind, generous, and entertaining gentleman. And he bought the pizza.

Highlight #6: Historic Boston. Never been here before, and I love going someplace and having my perspective rearranged. The places in the history books are real, many within a short walk of each other. Cool.

Pictures and more maybe late Wednesday.

Quick Reminder...

2007-11-08T06:01:00.000-08:00

...about two worthy causes this weekend that I'm sure would appreciate your physical, financial, or moral support.

On Saturday in Tonawanda, New York, a 5K run and after-party will benefit Lindsay's Legacy, with funds going to the Rhabdomyosarcoma Research Laboratory at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine and to Carly's Club, Roswell Park Cancer Institute's pediatric fundraising division.

Sunday in Los Angeles is the National Lung Cancer Partnership's "Free to Breathe" walk-run. My thanks to my friends and readers who already donated to Nurse Sis's fundraising team, "Mom's Heroes." It's much appreciated. 5K and 8K runs will begin at 8:30 a.m., followed by 1.4-mile and 5K walks at 8:35 a.m. Same-day registration opens at 7 a.m. The event happens at Lake Balboa Park in scenic Encino, where Interstate 101 hits 405.

I imagine that there are dozens of similar events happening in communities near you that would love to have your help, support and participation as well. Look for them!

Meet Momo

2007-11-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

This great statue of the Michael Ende character Momo arrived yesterday, my award for winning the German Youth Literature Prize for nonfiction, about which I blogged back on October 12 and 17. It really is a beautiful piece of work, depicting Momo standing on a round clock face with a tortoise named Cassiopeia at her feet and a "time lily" in her hands. I admit I haven't read the book--although very popular in Europe, it apparently only had a small U.S. printing 20 years ago--but I think I'll have to seek it out. Again, my genuine appreciation to everyone involved for the honor.

The sculpture is heavy bronze, with "Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis" inscribed on the front of the base and "2007" on the back. It's hard to get a sense of how truly impressive Momo is by herself, so I took a photo of her with ordinary, everyday objects found around my household to provide a sense of scale:

Please forgive me. I needed the picture anyway and couldn't resist.

LitGraphic at the Norman Rockwell Museum

2007-11-05T09:08:00.000-08:00

Lions released from a zoo in war-torn Baghdad; a mother's battle with lung cancer; an American expatriate searching for her identity in Mexico--serious subject matter for any medium, but particularly so for a new wave of critically acclaimed and commercially successful long form comic books. In these illustrated stories, called graphic novels (a mostly grown-up version of the comic book), themes explored include culture, society, and current events, and topics range from heart-wrenching to thought-provoking to risqué....

Norman Rockwell Museum Press Release

Next weekend my wife and I will be taking our first trip to Massachusetts for the opening of the "LitGraphic" exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge. The show opens November 10 and runs until May 26, 2008, and has nine pages of original art from Mom's Cancer among other work by Jessica Abel, R. Crumb, Howard Cruse, Steve Ditko, Will Eisner, Milt Gross, Peter Kuper, Harvey Kurtzman, Frank Miller, Terry Moore, Dave Sim, Art Spiegelman, and many more.

These Rockwell folks are the same ones who flew a camera crew across the country to interview me and sent an 18-wheeler to my house to pick up nine sheets of paper, and they impress me as a first-class organization all the way. I'm also impressed by the many activities the museum is planning in conjunction with the exhibit throughout its run: children's programs, workshops, artists' visits, symposia for educators. They're not just hanging drawings on the walls, they're doing something with them. Cool.

Of course I'm thrilled and honored to have my work in the exhibit. Also puzzled, but I'll try to act like I belong there. When we were exchanging paperwork, the curator mentioned that there's a decent chance this exhibit will travel to other museums after it closes next May. If so, it could be years before I get my pictures back. That's all right. I'll just be jealous if they end up better-traveled than me.

My wife and I are making a little vacation out of the trip, spending a couple of days in Boston afterward. As you might imagine, we're watching the weather pretty closely; hope Hurricane Hugo is long gone and all the electricity's back on by them. We're also getting more invitations from friends in the Northeast than we can possibly accept. I hope there are no hard feelings when we can't see everyone. It's very nice to be asked, thanks.

Pictures and stories will follow I'm sure.
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I Can'nae Change the Laws of Physics, Cap'n!

2007-11-04T13:51:00.001-08:00

That's my oven. It's a 20-year-old Whirlpool with the oven underneath, a microwave on top, and controls for both at the upper right. Yesterday, the control panel went dark. Dead. Joined the choir invisible. Same for the microwave. The oven still worked, although if we wanted to do something fancy like set a delayed cooking time--not that we ever have before--we were out of luck. We couldn't live like that ... like animals. Something had to be done.

It is understood that repairing a broken microwave costs more than replacing it. This wasn't just the microwave, though; it was the whole control panel, too, and they're both integrated with the oven. Either we would have to call in a sure-to-be-exorbitantly priced repairperson or replace the whole darn thing, and what are the odds we'd ever find anything that'd fit into our 20-year-old cabinet hole? Neither option was appealing.

This morning I figured I'd take a peek at its guts. Just in case there happened to be a huge, clearly labeled switch inside that had somehow flipped from "Work" to "Don't Work," because if it were more complicated than that I was pretty sure I was out of luck. I turned off the circuit breaker, unscrewed the control panel at upper right...

"What should I tell the paramedics?" asked my wife.

"Probably 220 volts," answered I.

And there, sitting fat and pretty under a tangle of wires with a big blinking neon arrow pointing at it saying "Look Here!" was a 20-amp fuse. Gingerly reaching in (yeah, I know what a capacitor looks like), I pulled the fuse and checked it with my multimeter. Resistance = infinity; that's a hopeful sign (a good fuse would have had a resistance near zero). Called the hardware store half a mile away, went and picked up a new fuse for $3.75, and popped it in. Asking my wife to watch the oven and scream in panic if she saw sparks or flames, I flipped the circuit breaker and.....

It worked.

I think I now understand how a soldier feels dragging a wounded buddy to safety under fire. How a surgeon feels pulling a patient back from death's icy grip. But mostly, I now know what it feels like to be this guy:

Congrats to Kid Sis; Curses upon Bill Gates

2007-11-02T08:31:00.000-07:00

Congratulations!
Hey, there's a writer in the family! My sister Elisabeth ("Kid Sis") wrote a screenplay that just won first prize in the 2007 Screenwriting Expo Screenplay Competition!

She won in the "Thriller" category for a movie script titled "Pistoleras," which I have read and she hopes to put into production soon--just as soon as she splices together another independent film she just finished shooting. The awards are sponsored by Creative Screenwriting magazine and I'm sure will draw the attention of investors and scouts looking for emerging talent. If anybody wants to back a feminist spaghetti Western set in a Mexican bordello, I can hook you up.

Gosh, if I hadn't let her read my comics and taken her to see "Star Wars" 30 years ago, who knows where she'd be today? That's right, I'm taking the credit.

We're proud of you, kid.

The Gates of Hell
Bill Gates and I are going to have a long talk someday. Sometime yesterday morning, he sat in his Redmond lair stroking his long-haired cat and pushed a button that made two months of my e-mails disappear. It took me most of the afternoon to figure out where they'd gone and how to get them back where they belonged. Grrrrrr.

I don't wanna hear from you smug Mac or Linux cultists. I've used Macs in professional settings and found them just as temperamental and prone to bog down or crash in the middle of The Big Job as PCs. My experience has not convinced me of their superiority. I don't have the time or interest to tackle Linux. When my computer is acting up, I can usually figure out the problem and I like being able to tinker under the hood. The downside of that: sometimes you have to tinker under the hood. Still, I'm considering making my next box a Mac just because I don't want to have anything to do with Vista. Everything Microsoft has done in the past decade seems based on the assumption that they know how I want to use my computer better than I do, and Vista looks like the worst yet.

Bill Gates owes me an afternoon.
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Ridiculous, Meet Sublime

2007-10-31T11:18:00.000-07:00

1. This site features a detailed model of Uncle Scrooge's money bin built by 15-year-old Norwegian fan Mats Gullikstad. Based on blueprints sketched by cartoonist Don Rosa and architect Dan Shane for the back of an Uncle Scrooge comic book, the model features hundreds (thousands?) of individually cut coins, a removable wall that reveals 12 stories of office space, 250 individually built desks and chairs, tiny props that appeared in decades of Scrooge adventures, and--of course--a giant swimming pool of money.

2. This site features a super-high-resolution image of Leonardo daVinci's "Last Supper." And I mean super-high-resolution. Zooming in on the 16 billion-pixel image just 20% or 30% reveals the crumbling texture of the wall and its precarious hold on Leonardo's pigments. Zoom in all the way and I'm pretty sure you can see electron orbitals. The site also offers terrific background information about Leonardo's life and analysis of the painting's details and significance. I didn't care for the music, but you can turn that off. It also understandably takes each image a little time to load whenever you zoom, but it's worth the wait. I hope this project is the model for many more like it.

Feel free to conclude what you will from the fact that I think these two topics somehow belong together.

Three Shades

2007-10-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

I don't do many "How To" posts about cartooning. I don't feel particularly well qualified--there are 3.74 million people doing this stuff better than me and I think of my own work as just adequate. I write and draw well enough to tell any story I can think up. I try to improve. I also think as fewer and fewer creators show interest in story or craft and readers' standards slip, my work will gradually look better and better.
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(That last is a joke, but in fact I think few people making a living cartooning today--some very celebrated and successful--could have gotten a job in the 1950s. There are some legitimate reasons for that: styles and tastes change, and modern readers value a quirky authorial voice. That's great. Still, I can't think of more than a dozen contemporary cartoonists who would've been fit to clean brushes for Walt Kelly, Milt Caniff, Will Eisner or Stan Drake. Including me. Those artists knew so much we don't even know we don't know.)
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However, I drew some stuff in the past few days that I thought turned out all right and might make a nice "How To" post. I noticed I'd used three different techniques to show the boundary between light and dark on a shaded object, and thought I could write about the techniques and the thinking behind them.

This is pretty simple but also exacting and a bit tedious. I'd use it to shade a smooth but not necessarily shiny object in bright light; it also makes a fine "Ka-Pow!" effect. Using a crow-quill nib, I start each line at the narrow pointy end nearest the light source and pull the pen toward me, pressing down gradually to make the line thicker as it goes.

You can do this very precisely using a straight edge to make sure the lines are straight and all converge to a single point. In this case I wanted to suggest a less even surface so I did it freehand. I wanted them wiggly and uneven.

The next surface is illuminated by a single bright light source that casts deep shadows. In this case, it's a cavern wall.

I do about 80% of my cartooning with a brush, this included. The technique is almost the same as above: starting at the pointy end of each shadowy spike, I pull the brush toward me (toward the top in this picture) and apply more pressure to widen it as I go.

You can pull the brush at the same angle for every point or, as I did here, change the angles to suggest and enhance the curve of the surface. Each gives you a different look.

The surface below is a hard, dark, and metallic. The points showing the transition from light to shadow are short because the edge is sharp.
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I could very well have just drawn a straight line instead, but wanted to suggest a rough texture, like iron. I used the same brush here, and again started with the tip at the pointy end of each spike. But instead of pulling the brush backward, I swept it sideways to make a thicker sawtooth line.

I only notice now that I haven't done any cross-hatching lately. I can cross hatch; I guess I'm just going for a cleaner, slicker look than that. In general, when I find myself wondering if I should cross hatch an area, I decide I'm better off just making it black instead. I think spotting blacks is a dying art--notice how few areas of solid black there are in a typical page of contemporary comic strips or comic book panels--and I try to exercise it when I can. It really helps a picture jump off the paper.

None of this decisionmaking is really conscious. I don't spend a lot of time mulling it over (maybe that's one of my problems...). I do think about what and where the object is, and my pen or brush seems to know how to do the rest. I trust my tools.
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Oddly Ends

2007-10-28T21:11:00.000-07:00

Oddly Normal creator Otis Frampton had posted some thoughts in response to my October 22 post in his own blog. While I touched on the idea that too few "mature" comics actually aspire to provide mature characters, plots and themes, Otis comes at it from the other direction: too few comics that should be for kids actually are.

Good point. While some sigh in frustration that comics aren't taken seriously as adult literature, it's worth remembering that they're still a terrific medium for juvenile literature--and there's no shame in that. As I replied to Otis, creating quality juvenile literature is hard and important, and I have great respect for people who do it with integrity and responsibility. Comics are big enough to embrace both--or should be.

Can't Think of a Good Segue to....
Family, friends, and regular readers know of my fondness for "Star Trek." Less frequently mentioned is my affection for Monty Python. I hope I'm forgiven, then, for finding the clip below irresistible. Thanks to my friend, cartoonist Mike Lynch, for the lead.

Sorry. I feel happy....
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Walking & Running vs. Cancer

2007-10-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

There are two cancer-fighting events coming up that, if you're disposed to support such things, could use your participation or contribution.

The first I wrote about in August: an organization called the National Lung Cancer Partnership is holding four "Free to Breathe" walk-runs across the country this fall. This is their first year and it'd be great if it were successful enough to do a second one. Their first walk-run happened in September in Connecticut; future events are November 3 in Raleigh, N.C., November 4 in Philadelphia, and November 11 in Los Angeles. My sister Brenda ("Nurse Sis") is helping organize the L.A. event. Sign-up information is available at the link above. Brenda has also set up her own fundraising team called "Mom's Heroes." That's the link I'd click if I were you.

The National Lung Cancer Partnership is a non-profit lung cancer advocacy organization founded by physicians and researchers to increase understanding of how the disease affects women and men differently. Its mission is to decrease lung cancer deaths and help patients live longer and healthier lives through research, awareness and advocacy. Although I avoid endorsing anything, I can vouch for this group. They helped me help Mom.

The second event is a 5K run for Lindsay's Legacy in beautiful Tonawanda, New York on November 10. Lindsay MacIver died from alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma at the age of 21, and this run memorializes her life and struggle by raising money for childhood cancer research. Funds raised will be donated to the Rhabdomyosarcoma Research Laboratory of Dr. Frederic Barr at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine and to Carly's Club, Roswell Park Cancer Institute's pediatric fundraising division. And there's a party afterward!

I learned of this effort through Lindsay's stepfather, Frank Mariani, a cartoonist, designer and illustrator I met through an online cartooning forum. This is the third year for Lindsay's Legacy, and I'm proud to vouch for Frank as well.

Through the generosity of Editor Charlie and my publisher, Harry N. Abrams, I was able to donate signed copies of Mom's Cancer to both events for them to use as their organizers see fit. These are all good people doing good work. I wish them perfect weather and great success.
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Eddie Campbell + A Bonus Tirade

2007-10-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

I broke a rule. Turns out it's more of a "guideline" than an actual "rule," but I wanted to explain myself anyway.

In a few long-ago posts I wrote about my tiny collection of original cartoon art. Knowing that I could easily get carried away and bankrupt my family, I established my rule: I would only acquire art from friends or artists with whom I'd developed a relationship. We don't have to be buddies forever; just a couple of e-mails or a nice 10-minute conversation will do. The point is that when possible I'd get pieces directly from the artists themselves and have an emotional connection to the work that conjured a good story or nice memory. Right now I've got Irwin Hasen, Raina Telgemeier, Otis Frampton, Ted Slampyak, Charles Schulz (acquired way before I made up the rule but still a nice story) and Winsor McCay (also pre-rule--but I would have broken it for him anyway).

And now I've got Eddie Campbell. Here's the original Page 80 from Mr. Campbell's recent book, The Black Diamond Detective Agency.

Original p. 80, Black Diamond Detective
Agency, by Eddie Campbell. Captions and word
balloons were added in production.

I broke my rule for Mr. Campbell. Never met him, never corresponded with him. I saw him at ComicCon last July and almost approached his table, but he looked too busy and I never got back to him.

Eddie Campbell is probably best known for drawing From Hell, a retelling of the Jack the Ripper story written by Alan Moore. He's the creator of a long-running series titled Bacchus about the Greek gods living in modern times; a few semi-autobiographical works including The Fate of the Artist, which I thought was terrific; and The Black Diamond Detective Agency, based on an unproduced screenplay about a deadly train explosion in 1899 Missouri and a Hitchcock-esque man-on-the-run framed for it.

On paper, I'm not a particularly devout fan--haven't seen much Bacchus and didn't actually care for From Hell, which I found unengaging, overwrought, silly, and lurid in a Bret Easton Ellis "let's carve up some women for fun" sort of way (I concede that if any subject cries out for carving up some women for fun, it's Jack the Ripper). However, Mr. Campbell's contributions are, I think, always excellent. Both his writing and artwork are interesting, witty, well-researched, and thoughtful. His confident, relaxed impressionistic style is built on a rock-solid foundation of craft. He's comfortable with ink, paint, collage, multi-media, typography: whatever he needs to get the effect he wants, he's not afraid to put it on the paper. He knows which rules to follow and break, and why. Everytime I read his work, I come away inspired to try two or three things I'd never thought of. In addition, I always get an absolute sense of integrity from his work.

Reading his blog for a while, I've also gotten a sense for Mr. Campbell as a person and I like the cut of his jib. He seems to be one of a small number of grown-ups working in the comics/cartooning/picture book/graphic novel business, and now I need to go on a little rant to explain what I mean by that.

Here's the Tirade
Comics are in an interesting, tricky place right now. First, there's the problem that much of the general public thinks comics are for kids. Some creators are striving mightily to have their comics taken seriously as literature, while others deliberately wallow in their low-class outsider status and confirm every slander against the entire medium. Others just don't care. Every few months for the past couple of decades, some reporter does a story with the headline "Pow! Bam! Comics Aren't Just for Kids Anymore!" Some of them have been about me. Every comics convention has at least one panel discussion on the topic of when comics will finally enter the mainstream. I've been on some of them.

As comics have been taken more seriously, they've drawn critics, students, analysts, theorists, and cranks. Much of their discourse happens on the Internet, though it occasionally spills over to print. There are people dedicated to making rules, defining terms, arguing what is or isn't a comic, deciding who's in or out of the club. Is it a comic strip, a comic book, an illustrated book, or a graphic novel? There are people who question whether "Prince Valiant" is a comic because it doesn't use word balloons or whether "Family Circus" is a comic because it doesn't show the passage of time via sequential panels. (Answer: they're comics. If your definition of comics excludes them the problem is yours, not theirs.) Webcomics spice the debate with arguments about what is or isn't a digital comic.

There are people who confidently declare that there are only eight kinds of this or four ways to do that, and whenever I hear that I immediately think of three other kinds of this and two different ways to do that, and then I realize what a waste of time it is. It all reminds me of a Victorian gentleman's butterfly collection in which the point isn't to appreciate butterflies or advance science, but to pin the right label on every specimen so it ends up in the proper cabinet drawer. That's the sport of it: getting the taxonomy right. And the way some of these guys talk, if they don't have a drawer for your butterfly, it might as well be a lemur.

In response to such as that, Mr. Campbell once assembled a tongue-in-cheek "Graphic Novel Manifesto." All 10 points can be read at the end of Mr. Campbell's Wikipedia entry; I'll just provide the first and last:

1. "Graphic novel" is a disagreeable term, but we will use it anyway on the understanding that graphic does not mean anything to do with graphics and that novel does not mean anything to do with novels.

10. The graphic novelist reserves the right to deny any or all of the above if it means a quick sale.

Yes! If I could be so bold as to sum up Mr. Campbell's perspective in one sentence, I'd say it's "Just shut up and make the things as best you can!" Don't worry about fitting into someone else's definitions or rules. Don't fret over whether its Number 6 or Number 7 on somebody's list of the only 12 things it could possibly be. It doesn't matter if it's a cartoon or comic or graphic novel. Like the shoe commercial said, Just Do It. If it's good, people will find it. None of them will care what it's called.

This was brought home to me in a small way at the San Diego Comic-Con last July, when I had dinner with Jeff Kinney, author of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. We were on our way to watch me lose two Eisner Awards and had a short chat about whether Jeff's book would be eligible for Eisner consideration next year. It looks like a comic--it's got little cartoon drawings with words coming out of characters' mouths--but, on the other hand, most of the book is typeset text (in a font made from Jeff's hand printing), so maybe it's more of an illustrated book or novel with pictures. As we were having this discussion, I realized two things: first, it was a ridiculous conversation that had absolutely no impact on what the book actually was and who would buy and read it; second, this was almost the only context in which that conversation had any merit whatsoever. The only people who should ever care are award administrators who need to decide which trophy to give you and bookstore clerks who need to figure out which shelf to put you on. It's otherwise useless, irrelevant, and probably counter-productive.

Anyway, in the weeks to come, we did figure out what to call Jeff's book: "Bestseller." Now with 26 weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List for Children's Chapter Books, including a stint at Number 1.

I've never liked the term "graphic novel," though I accept its practical utility. When I was making Mom's Cancer, I thought of it as a serial comic strip. In light of the rant above, then, I've been especially delighted that it's gotten some recognition from the American Library Association, the German Jugendliteraturpreis, and others as a work of youth literature. I didn't know I wrote a kids' book. Never intended it, my publisher never positioned it as such. It not only broke out of the graphic novel drawer others put it in, but the drawer I put it in. I think that's just wonderful.

Here are some questions I ask when reading anything--even a graphic novel. Does it reward my time and attention? Does it introduce ideas I've never had before? Is it skillfully made? On its own terms, does it accomplish its goals? Is it worth the $2, $12.95, or $200 I paid for it? Is it good?

Some people in comics/cartooning are doing excellent, ambitious, high-quality work. But far too often, based on what I see (which is far from the whole industry), a lot of creators demand literary respect but do little to earn it. They want to sit at the adult table but don't know how to use a knife and spoon. They have no idea what makes great literature great or why theirs falls short. They're their own worst enemies. Not all, but some. Many. Maybe most.

(What's funny is to read someone's high-minded academic defense of their comic as art and literature just as good as anything ever done by Hemingway or Joyce, and then go look at it and find an artless scrawl about a video-gaming slacker with a time machine and wise-cracking dinosaur. You're not part of the solution, dude, you're part of the problem.)

That's what I mean when I say Eddie Campbell is a grown-up. He not only knows how to use a knife and spoon but also a finger bowl and the funny little fish fork (metaphorically; I have no idea what his actual table manners are like). He's cranky. He's sat on too many panels dedicated to dissecting what graphic novels are and when they'll be respected as real books, and he's tired of it. Instead of endlessly debating, he works. He makes books with words and pictures that reward the reader's time and attention, introduce new ideas, accomplish their goals, and are worth the money people pay for them. Even more than his work, I appreciate and respect his attitude toward his work. It's worth breaking a rule--or bending a guideline--to have it in my home. It makes me happy.

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More Jugendliteraturpreis

2007-10-17T10:28:00.000-07:00

I got a great note yesterday from Wolfgang Fuchs, the German translator of Mom's Cancer, following our win of the Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis. Although I couldn't attend the awards ceremony in Frankfurt, a publicist for my German publisher Knesebeck e-mailed to tell me that Herr Fuchs accepted on our behalf with thoughtful and touching remarks in which he spoke of working on my book at the same time his wife was diagnosed with cancer. She's reportedly fine now, and I couldn't imagine a better acceptance speech. I thought Wolfgang's e-mail was very interesting and, with his permission, I've excerpted it below:

Heartfelt congratulations for your winning the Jugendliteraturpreis 2007 in the non-fiction section with "Mom's Cancer". It was the first time ever in the Award's 50 years history that a comic book won this award. And thus it has become proof positive of my conviction--stated in a number of publications, lectures and articles--that comics are not a medium that can be used for entertainment purposes only.

(Wolfgang and I are in strong agreement on that.)

I found the book straightforward and yet also highly emotional--which sometimes interrupted my work on the translation because it was so easy to identify with the characters and to be swept away by emotion. But--discounting for a moment the award the book brought--it was well worth it that you wrote and drew this book. And I am glad I could help in bringing it closer to German audiences.

(As am I. Wolfgang then provided me with a more natural translation of the award citation I ran through BabelFish's delightful online translator in my previous post:)

In the award-winning book "Mother's Cancer", translated by Wolfgang J. Fuchs in stylistic perfection, Brian Fies documents, diary-like, the problems in coping with his mother's getting cancer: This results in a moving non-fiction comic book which appropriately uses the medium for a sensitive treatment of the topic in an up-to-date format.

(And an explanation of "nut/mother":)

Incidentally, the translation of Mutter as "nut/mother" just shows an ambiguity of langauge that is also present in English. While nut means edible nut, crazy person, and the nut you screw on a bolt, in German "Mutter" in addition to meaning mother also is the word used to described the nut you screw on a bolt....

Wolfgang also described the Jugendliteraturpreis "trophy" to me, a 15-pound bronze statue of author Michael Ende's character Momo. A moment's googling turned up the picture below of a Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis from 2005 that fits his description. What a fine work of art and honor to receive! Many thanks again to Wolfgang for his work and his gracious note.

Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis

2007-10-12T12:53:00.000-07:00

If I read German press releases correctly, the German edition of Mom's Cancer, titled Mutter Hat Krebs, has just won the 2007 Deutscher Jugendliteraturpreis (German Youth Literature Prize) in the non-fiction ("Sachbuch") category.

The prizes, which are the most prestigious awards given for children's and young adult literature in Germany, were announced today at the Frankfurt Book Fair, the largest literary trade convocation in the world. It draws publishers looking to celebrate books, acquire properties and make deals in nearly every country and language on Earth. This is a big deal!

Quoting from the press release: In dem prämierten Sachbuch Mutter hat Krebs, das von Wolfgang J. Fuchs stilsicher übersetzt wurde, dokumentiert Brian Fies tagebuchartig die Auseinandersetzung mit der Krebserkrankung seiner Mutter: "Entstanden ist ein bewegender Sachcomic, der das Medium angemessen nutzt, und eine sensible Bearbeitung des Themas im zeitgemäßen Format darstellt."

Running that through the reliably hilarous AltaVista Babel Fish translator: In the praemierten special book Nut/Mother has Cancer, which was translated by Wolfgang J. Fuchs, documents Brian Fies diary-like the argument with the cancer illness of its nut/mother: "developed a moving Sachcomic, which uses the medium appropriately, and a sensitive treatment of the topic in the format up-to-date represents."

I especially like the translation of "Nut/Mother." Mom would have found that apt.

I was invited to attend the Frankfurt Book Fair and momentarily considered it, but the time/distance/cost equation was too hard to solve. I honestly thought my odds of winning were very low. Sadly, this continues my woeful pattern of only winning awards I don't show up for. I hate looking ungrateful. Now I'm thinking a fall vacation to Germany might have been very, very nice....

What an honor! This is another one of those moments when I really can't believe how far my story about Mom and my family has come. My thanks to my German publisher Knesebeck and Herr Fuchs, who must have done a bang-up job of translating. I suspect he even improved me in spots. I'm also very grateful to everyone at Abrams Books and my editor Charlie Kochman, who made it all happen.

More later, probably.

S.F. 49ers 7, Baltimore Ravens 9

2007-10-07T22:08:00.000-07:00

A portrait of failure:

I yelled "De-fense!" as loud as I could but it wasn't good enough. I'm sorry I let my team down.
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Dreams

2007-10-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

Although I sometimes remember and enjoy my dreams, they're generally worthless to me as a source of inspiration. They're too random and unstructured. The rules of causality don't apply. I've never awoken from a dream with a flash of inspiration, jotted a note on the pad beside my bed, and had it be good, useful, or even very interesting in the light of day.

I always figured that was because the dreaming brain makes it up as it goes along. I assumed that, like a three-year-old telling a story of unrelated events linked by "and then ... and then ... and then ...," dreams aren't created with any particular structure, narrative, or destination in mind. It's as if that process demands some higher-brain storytelling function that just isn't engaged while asleep.

That's what I thought until last night, when I had a dream that was a brilliant short story with a beginning, middle, and a boffo surprise ending with an O. Henry twist that tied all the previous events together. I don't remember all the details but, when the dream climaxed with my car getting towed away, it was just the perfect ironic, inevitable culmination of that story. Perfect.

Now the question is: was this story really such a nifty little gem of narrative genius, or did I just dream that it was? I'll never know. In any case, it made me rethink some of my assumptions about dreaming.

By the way, I have had lucid dreams before. That's a dream in which you realize you're dreaming, and you're suddenly a god with a universe at your command. You can fly, breathe underwater, soar into space, all the while thinking, "This is just a dream, might as well enjoy it." Your own private Star Trek holodeck.

Physicist Richard Feynman wrote in his autobiography of disciplining his mind so he could dream lucidly at will. Every night he went to sleep knowing he'd be the hero in his own romantic fantasy adventures, and he said it was terrific fun for a while. Eventually, though, it began to wear on him, leaving him feeling tired, irritable, out of sorts. He finally realized his mind required the down time he was denying it, and stopped. The brain needs what it needs.

Although I've seldom found dreams useful, I do get my best creative work done first thing in the morning, still lying in bed about three-fourths awake. Cartoonist Lynn Johnston and others have written the same thing. I think the mind can still access the undisciplined freedom of dreams and yet is awake enough to guide it in productive directions. I'll often lie there semi-dozing and finally sit up to write down three or four ideas that are actually good. I've gotten adept at using that state of mind well. In some ways, it's the most productive part of my day.

At least that's what I tell my wife.
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What My Harvey Award Looks Like

2007-10-05T15:04:00.000-07:00

Pretty cool, huh?

UPDATE: At my friend Sherwood's request, clicking on the photo links to a larger version of the same. It's even cooler.

An Illustrated History

2007-10-02T11:33:00.000-07:00

I have better regular readers than I deserve. I've not been particularly blog inspired and have been otherwise busy for several days, and appreciate the loyalty of all six of you.

When I was a teenager trying to figure out how these things called "comics" were made, my local public library was a lode of meager treasure. The "treasure" was big, beautiful books about cartoons, comic books and comic strips, some written by or including information straight from the creators themselves. It was a meager trove because the library only had about five of them. I knew exactly where they were, had a favorite chair by a window next to their shelf, and spent hours reading and re-reading the same five books. I mourned when one was checked out and mourned more as, one by one, they were pulled from circulation over the years.

Of course those were the pre-Internet Dark Ages. Now we have the miracle/curse of eBay, which is where I stumbled across one of those jewels from my youth and bought it for less than its 1974 cover price of $15. It's The Comics: An Illustrated History of Comic Strip Art by Jerry Robinson, and I'm pleased to say it still holds up. It offers a terrific overview and sampling of newspaper comics from 1896 to the then-present. It's probably where I first saw Winsor McCay's "Little Nemo" and Herriman's "Krazy Kat." Best of all, it contains full-page essays by Milton Caniff, Lee Falk, Charles Schulz, Mort Walker, Chic Young, Hal Foster, Walt Kelly, and others that I remember absorbing through my pores as a kid.

Do kids ever actually spend afternoons hanging out at the library anymore? (Maybe they never did; maybe it was just me. Little freak....)

I met Jerry Robinson at Comic-Con in 2006 and wish I'd remembered to mention this book to him instead of whatever lame hero worship I managed to stammer out. He's had a heck of a career, from his very early contributions to Batman (creating or co-creating Robin and the Joker) to editorial cartoons to syndicated comics to, obviously, comics historian. Maybe someday I'll get another chance to thank him. This book was important to me and I'm thrilled to be reunited with it.

Rachel's Dad's Cancer

2007-09-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

Last November, a Georgetown University master's candidate named Rachel Plotnick wrote to tell me that her father had recently died of lung cancer and she was working on a thesis on the topic of comics and cancer. She asked me some questions and we exchanged correspondence that amounted to a mini-interview. The results of her work are now available at Gnovis, Georgetown's online journal of communication, culture and technology. It was also posted in two parts on YouTube, to which I've linked below.

(By the way, Rachel explained to me that the YouTube images are grainier than she'd like and she had to swap out the music she really wanted to use to avoid copyright concerns. She promised to send me a "good" version; however, I think this one is fine, and also the only one I can link to, so....)

There are two things going on in this video, which runs about 17 minutes total. At the beginning and end, Rachel takes a scholarly look at how and why people tell stories like Mom's Cancer, and why comics is an apt medium with which to do it. She writes about the role of families as stewards of memory and tradition, and the responsibility within families to tell our unique stories and pass them down. At the end, she writes about the power of cartoons as icons that allow readers to project their own lives into, and more closely identify with, the story they're reading. I certainly think that's true.

The heart of the video shows Rachel applying her academic insights to her story of "Dad's Cancer." I wouldn't be writing about if I didn't think she did an extraordinary job. Purely from a creative standpoint, it's interesting for me to see how Rachel approached and solved some of the same questions and problems I faced. As I mentioned to her, I'm envious of the tools of motion and sound she has at her disposal that I didn't, and I think she puts them to good use. It's nice work, and Rachel was very gracious to acknowledge my work as part of it.

It won't be to everyone's taste--nothing is--but if you appreciated Mom's Cancer and have 17 minutes to spare, I think you'll appreciate "Dad's Cancer" as well.

Some Recent Mentions

2007-09-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

British writer Jan Marshall left a comment on my previous post asking permission to borrow my artwork to accompany her post about Mom's Cancer. Of course that's fine--reproducing an excerpt of a work for the purposes of criticism is allowed under copyright law and I'm happy to comply--but I always appreciate it when someone asks. It strikes me as both professional and polite.

Anyway, Jan has now posted a nice review of my book on her blog (dated Sept. 24), which I appreciate very much. I also read quite a bit more of her blog and found it very engaging, with topics touching on her 99-year-old grandfather, books, photography, poetry, and some good opinionated information on cancer. Thanks Jan.

There are some nice short write-ups about the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) exhibit "Infinite Canvas: The Art of Webcomics," to which I contributed four original pages from Mom's Cancer, by The Beat's omnipresent Heidi MacDonald, Pulp Secret, Wizard, and Fleen. the latter focuses on curator Jennifer Babcock, who was about as nice and personable as she could be with me. A lot of artists and works are represented in this big exhibit and, at first glance, I don't see a single mention of Mom's Cancer in any of that brief coverage. That's fine. It still looks like a pretty great show and I hope anyone in the New York area checks it out... and reports back to me.

Comics Reporter Tom Spurgeon recently summarized the results of the Harvey Awards, including the one I won and the two I lost. I understand that my trophy has made its way from Cartoon America author Harry Katz, who very kindly accepted it on my behalf, to the desk of Editor Charlie, who is holding it hostage until he can have it professionally photographed with the other Abrams Harvey Award won by Dan Nadel for Art Out of Time. I think sometimes Charlie also closes his door, gently lays the awards on the floor, and rolls around on them. When mine arrives, I intend to inspect it for unhygienic smudges.

Harvey Award results were also summed up by ICV2 News, which I mention only because their story's third graf begins, "Other key 2007 Harvey winners include: Brian Fies...." I like the word "key." It makes my ego puffy.

Finally, the Oregon Statesman-Journal published an obituary for my friend Arnold Wagner, who died August 31. I noticed something with Arnold's passing that also struck me after syndicate editor Jay Kennedy's death last March: the number of people who came forward with nearly identical stories of friendship, encouragement, and generosity was enormous. A lot of people who didn't know each other and might have assumed their relationship was unique started comparing notes and realizing, No, Arnold and Jay treated everyone like that. That's a really nice way to be remembered, I think.
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Avast Ye Bloomin' Cockroaches

2007-09-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

For the desk-bound pirate in your life.

Dead men tab no tables... nor apparently backspace, spellcheck, ten-key, or ctl-alt-del, either.

Arr? Aye!

2007-09-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

Nearly as important as defending the right of free speech is defending the right of very, very silly speech, an aptly timed example of which is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, Wednesday, September 19.

Wikipedia summarizes the growth of this most wonderful and pointless of holidays, from its humble origin in 1995 to its emergence as a worldwide phenomenon following columnist Dave Barry's endorsement in 2002. Note that it is not International Dress Like a Pirate Day, although I can't imagine how anyone would object if you did. People wear shamrocks on St. Patrick's Day and Santa caps at Christmas; who's to snicker if you show up for work with an eyepatch, parrot,* buccaneer boots and cutlass? Especially a cutlass.

So this International Talk Like a Pirate Day, please remember to answer your phone with a hearty "Ahoy!" Begin sentences with a growly "Arrh!" Refer to family and co-workers as "matey" and "scurvy dog." Work the word "Avast!" into casual conversation.

If we're afraid to talk like pirates, the terrorists win.

*As with bunnies at Easter or dalmatians following the release of a new Disney movie, the American Humane Association cautions the public not to purchase parrots just to celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Very often, such parrots become neglected as the festive joy of the holiday season fades, with many winding up in animal shelters or abandoned to join marauding flocks of feral parrots. Participants may want to consider renting or leasing a parrot for celebratory purposes from a reputable parrot broker. Please be a responsible parrot owner/renter.
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More Cartoons Matter

2007-09-18T08:43:00.001-07:00

Some follow-ups to my previous post, from The Times of London.

Reaction from cartoonist Lars Vilks:

Mr Vilks arrived back in Sweden from Germany yesterday and made light of the assassination call. “I suppose that this makes my art project a bit more serious. It is also good to know how much one is worth,” he said.

“We must not give in. I’m starting to grow old. I could die at any time — it’s not a catastrophe.”
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From the same article:

A leading Swedish daily newspaper, Dagens Nyheter, yesterday republished the cartoon in an act of solidarity with the local paper that first printed it.

Thorbjörn Larsson, the editor, said in an opinion piece: “We live in a country where freedom of expression is not dictated by fundamentalists, nor by governments. To me, publishing it was the obvious thing to do.”

The daily newspaper Svenska Dagbladet urged Swedes to defend their right to free speech in the face of religious fanaticism. It said: “Freedom of expression is not a privilege for the media companies and journalists but a guarantee that citizens can have different impressions, numerous sources of information and inspiration, as well as the possibility of drawing their own conclusions.”

Go Sweden.

UPDATE: Just found this by Oliver Kamm, writing in the magazine Index on Censorship:

The notion that free speech, while important, needs to be held in balance with the avoidance of offence is question-begging, because it assumes that offence is something to be avoided. Free speech does indeed cause hurt – but there is nothing wrong in this. Knowledge advances through the destruction of bad ideas. Mockery and derision are among the most powerful tools in that process. Consider Voltaire’s Candide, or H L Mencken’s reports – saturated in contempt for religious obscurantists who opposed the teaching of evolution in schools – on the Scopes ‘Monkey’ Trial.

It is inevitable that those who find their deepest convictions mocked will be offended, and it is possible (though not mandatory, and is incidentally not felt by me) to extend sympathy and compassion to them. But they are not entitled to protection, still less restitution, in the public sphere, even for crass and gross sentiments. A free society does not legislate in the realm of beliefs; by extension, it must not concern itself either with the state of its citizens’ sensibilities. If it did, there would in principle be no limit to the powers of the state, even into the private realm of thought and feeling.

The debate has not been aided – it has indeed been severely clouded – by an imprecise use of the term ‘respect’. If this is merely a metaphor for the free exercise of religious and political liberty, then it is an unexceptionable principle, but also an unclear and redundant usage. Respect for ideas and those who hold them is a different matter altogether. Ideas have no claim on our respect; they earn respect to the extent that they are able to withstand criticism.

Cartoons Matter

2007-09-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

I think this is important:

By MAGGIE MICHAEL
The Associated Press

CAIRO, Egypt -- The leader of al-Qaida in Iraq offered money for the murder of a Swedish cartoonist and his editor who recently produced images deemed insulting to Islam, according to a statement carried by Islamist Web sites Saturday.

In a half hour audio file entitled "They plotted yet God too was plotting," Abu Omar al-Baghdadi also named the other insurgent groups in Iraq that al-Qaida was fighting and promised new attacks, particularly against the minority Yazidi sect.

"We are calling for the assassination of cartoonist Lars Vilks who dared insult our Prophet, peace be upon him, and we announce a reward during this generous month of Ramadan of $100,000 for the one who kills this criminal," the transcript on the Web site said.

The al-Qaida leader upped the reward for Vilks' death to $150,000 if he was "slaughtered like a lamb" and offered $50,000 for the killing of the editor of Nerikes Allehanda, the Swedish paper that printed Vilks' cartoon of the Prophet Muhammad with a dog's body on Aug. 19.

Vilks said from Sweden he believed the matter of his cartoons had been blown out of proportion.

"We have a real problem here," Vilks told The Associated Press by telephone. "We can only hope that Muslims in Europe and in the Western world choose to distance themselves from this and support the idea of freedom of expression..."

...Al-Baghdadi added in his message that if the "crusader state of Sweden" didn't apologize, his organization would also attack major companies.

"We know how to force you to retreat and apologize and if you don't, wait for us to strike the economy of your giant companies including Ericsson, Scania, Volvo, Ikea, and Electrolux," he said....

More here.

I'm struck by the fact that al-Qaida conveys the generous spirit of Ramadan not by offering mercy to those who offend them, but by providing an extra large bounty on their heads. Not being raised on a farm, I can only wonder what lamb slaughtering involves and why it's worth an additional $50,000. I was unaware until now that Sweden had taken part in the Crusades. And I believe "we have a real problem here" is a masterpiece of understatement. Indeed, we have an enormous problem here.

If Western Civilization means anything, it's that freedom of speech, press, and religion are inviolable. Anyone offended can peacefully protest, boycott products or media, and express their competing point of view. Free speech carries risk and consequences, and I have little patience or respect for those who whine "censorship" whenever someone objects to their message. You have a right to speak and others have a right to disagree. If Al-Baghdadi's reference to Ericcson, Scania, Volvo, Ikea, and Electrolux were a call to boycott (which I definitely don't infer from context), that's fair play. But he can not put a price on writers' and artists' heads with a bonus for "extra messy."

Well, obviously he can, but it's barbaric and wrong. This is so self-evident to me that I simply can't understand anyone in the West who fails to regard it as a serious strike at civilization's most essential foundations. Or more: anyone who apologizes for it, expands definitions of hate speech to embrace it, or reassigns or fires cartoonists and their editors to pacify it. The timidity and cowardice I see astounds me.

I can't imagine any circumstance in which I'd draw a cartoon defaming The Prophet (PBUH), any more than I would Jesus Christ or the Buddha. I just wouldn't do that. But today, Ich bin ein Swedish cartoonist.
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Home Again

2007-09-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

Just returned home from a great summers-end vacation that included a visit to my sisters in Southern California. However, for the most part it did not include easy Internet access, which explains my lower-than-usual profile 'round these parts. I would have mentioned my plans in advance except I've got this thing about not announcing to the world that my house is going to be vacant for a week so everyone is welcome to drop by and help themselves to my stuff.

It was great to come back to all the nice comments on my previous post, plus some additional e-mails from friends and strangers alike. I've since learned that Harry Katz--author of the book Cartoon America, which was also published by Abrams and nominated for a Harvey Award--attended the Harveys and very graciously accepted awards on behalf of Dan Nadel and me. I shared a table with Harry and his family at the Eisner Awards, really enjoyed meeting him, and appreciate his being there for me now. He has generously promised to send me my Harvey Award as soon as I pay a reasonable ransom.

A Miniature Interlude:
So we're on vacation and my wife and I want to go one way and our two daughters another. My wife has a cell phone and I give the kids mine in case we need to communicate. "What if someone calls?" "Don't worry. No one else even knows my cell number. I don't give it to anyone. The only people who could possibly call you is us." Four minutes later: deedledeedledeedle. It's Editor Charlie calling from New York.

What really puzzles me is how Charlie got my cell phone number. There's no way I let him have it.

Something more substantial later....

UPDATE: I edited this post and removed some comments because a remark meant as a joke was taken seriously by some friends. Dry humor is hard to communicate online, and the words that sounded one way in my head obviously didn't come off the same on the page. Sorry 'bout that; entirely my fault. Do over.
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Hey, I Won!

2007-09-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

Late-breaking results posted on Newsarama (thanks, Newsarama!) tell me I won the 2007 Harvey Award for "Best New Talent."

My wife says Funny, it looks like the same old talent to her....

It's a great thrill. Thanks to my readers, thanks to the Harvey voters, and congratulations to my Abrams-mate Dan Nadel for winning "Best Biographical, Historical or Journalistic Presentation" for his great book Art Out of Time: Unknown Comic Visionaries 1900-1969. My compliments also to the other winners.

Hoorah!

Misc.

2007-09-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

I was just absent-mindedly reading some light news stories when I came across the most remarkable sentence. I had to stop and read it over three times before I believed that it really meant what I thought it did. The sentence began:

"Michael Sands, a publicist whose clients have included the divorce attorney for Britney Spears' ex-husband Kevin Federline, said..."

Parse that: Britney married Kevin. Who has a divorce attorney. Who has his or her own publicist. Who gets quoted in a story that has nothing to do with Britney, Kevin, or Kevin's attorney.

What a world, what a world.

Still, publicist-to-the-stars'-husbands'-attorneys Michael Sands is doing something right. He's obviously on at least one reporter's contact list, filed under "Desperately Need a Quote from Someone Distantly Related to the Entertainment Industry Late Friday Afternoon When No One Else Picks Up the Phone."

Harvey Awards will be presented at the Baltimore Comic-Con tomorrow night. I'm up for three Harveys and am pretty certain I have no chance at two (remember, I have an excellent track record predicting the results of awards for which I'm nominated). The third one ... honestly ... immodestly ... maybe I have a shot. A month ago I hoped to make it to Baltimore and find out for myself, but ultimately couldn't. Editor Charlie thought he might go but he's not free either. So if anyone wants to attend an awards banquet, say a few words on my behalf if I win, and then mail a Harvey Award to me (I'll pay postage!), please feel free. If you're ruggedly handsome with thick dark hair and a strong chin, you can even pretend to be me. Sign some books, draw some doodles. I won't mind.

More seriously, I do wish I could be there. As I wrote a while ago, if someone honors your work with an award nomination, it just seems minimally polite to show up. I want to reiterate that I don't take the Harvey Award nominations for granted, I'm very grateful for the recognition, and incredibly appreciative. My absence is in no way meant to be cavalier or disrespectful. It's just life.

Mo MoCCA

2007-09-06T12:58:00.000-07:00

Friend of the Blog Amanda ("Shrinking Indigo") replied to the previous post to point out that my work is on the poster for the MoCCA exhibit. Why, so it is.

She also promised to check out the show and let me know how it looks. That'd be great! ...and same goes for anyone else in the vicinity of 594 Broadway in the next few months. Right now I don't plan to visit New York City before next January, but y'never know. I like the town and it would be fun.

Thanks, Indigo.

MoCCA: Infinite Canvas

2007-09-04T16:20:00.000-07:00

I see that New York's Museum of Comics and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) is promoting the exhibition Infinite Canvas: The Art of Webcomics, to which I've contributed four original pages from Mom's Cancer. The show will be up September 14 through January 14, 2008, with an opening reception on September 13. Unfortunately I won't be there, but I know some people who might make it and report back to me.

"The exhibit explores three aspects of online comics," reads MoCCA's blurb. "The unique format and design of webcomics, their appeal to niche audiences, and the transitions between web and print comics." Curator Jennifer Babcock further explains, "webcomics are free of the space constraints and editorial censorship to which printed comics are often subjected...." I agree with that sentiment completely. I also think that freedom to break all the rules doesn't necessarily carry an obligation to do so.

Let me back up to explain that the exhibition's title, "Infinite Canvas," comes (to the best of my knowledge) from Scott McCloud's notion that the Internet provides just that: an infinite canvas. Online, there's no need to restrict a comic to three or four panels, stick to traditional comic book page layouts, or draw in black and white. No need for most of the artistic constraints imposed on comics by 19th-century printing press technology. No need to avoid words that might emotionally scar five-year-old Suzy or give Grandma the vapors. We're finally free. Free!

So why do so few cartoonists take advantage of the limitless space, time and language available to them? Why do so many webcomics look exactly like their print counterparts? Why did mine?

I can't speak for anyone else--although I have some notions--but I put considerable thought into how I wanted Mom's Cancer to interact with the electronic medium that transmitted it. First, I designed the pages to be proportional to a least-common-denominator computer monitor. I wanted anyone on any computer to be able to read each page without scrolling or clicking. That in turn mandated the size I needed to draw to produce art that would be clear and legible at on-screen resolution. My decision was a deliberate break from the infinite canvas idea, which can obviously demand significant reader interaction (and allow the cartoonist to play with story flow as scrolling reveals and conceals information). Those were features I willingly gave up so that my readers could apprehend each individual page as a unit of story--a thought, an idea, a chunk of time. I did that on purpose.

Also, I always had hopes that Mom's Cancer might see print. I didn't know how, I couldn't imagine who would publish such a book, but I wanted to keep my options open. I drew in black and white, colored in the cyan-magenta-yellow palette needed for press, and saved high-resolution versions of everything (not high enough, I later learned, but that's another sad story). I think that same hope motivates more web cartoonists than would admit it, and partly explains why so few break out of the shackles of print: they want it. Print still matters.

For similar reasons, I wrote and drew Mom's Cancer to be as all-ages as possible. It's an adult story, but I wanted it accessible to readers from young children to great-grandparents. There's not a dirty word in it (I actually thought long and hard about the "My God" on Page 99 but couldn't conceive of anything better). I fought my first impulse to draw it dark and gothic with scritchy-scratchy cross-hatching, partly because I wanted it to look as friendly and familiar as a 1950s' comic strip. I wanted people who'd never read a comic or graphic novel to get comfortable and ease into the story, where I hoped to hit 'em between the eyes. The web gave me complete freedom--including the freedom to approach the audience however I wanted.

Still, I share McCloud's frustration (as I perceive it) that almost no one has grabbed webcomics by the horns and exploited the new medium's potential to create something never seen before. Literature done in a new visual language that couldn't have existed until today. Why do so many webcomics consist of tiny, repetitive, static panels of talking heads when they could be ... ANYTHING? I would very much like to see that someday--maybe even try to do it. But that's not what Mom's Cancer was intended to be. I've always seen it less as a webcomic than as a comic that happened to be on the web, and never pretended it was anything else.
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More Arnold Wagner

2007-09-04T08:27:00.000-07:00

One of the Internet forums Arnold participated in was Toon Talk, hosted by cartoonist Darrin Bell (Candorville, Rudy Park). Another poster there, Armand Anloague, compiled some of Arnold's Toon Talk contributions over the years and I thought they were worth sharing, both for their content and the insight they provide about their author. With thanks to Armand, here's Arnold:

ON STRIPS VS. PANELS: "I've always seen a correlation between cartoonists and comics. The gag cartoonist is doing standup and the the strip cartoonist is doing situation comedy. Not everyone can do both. I'd make a third classification for a few like Wiley. There are comedians who don't really fit into either class. Fanny Brice, Red Skelton, and Carol Burnett are examples. They have a repertory of characters they use without order or set frequency. Wiley obviously does that. Larson also did it to an extent, his cows were the most noticeable example, but you can go through one of his collections and make a list.

As gag cartoonists most of us never develop a strong connection with the audience, not the way a strip artist can, or the way Wiley or Larson could (can't believe I'm putting those two in the same category). That isn't to say the strip artist has it easier, developing characters that the reader connects with isn't easy."

ON LEGACY STRIPS [Note to those not hip to comics lingo: a "legacy strip" is a still-published comic that has outlived its creators, e.g., Blondie, Dick Tracy, etc.]: "This plays into the myth that it's the legacy strips that are keeping newcomers out of syndication. Syndicates don't have a limit for signing strips. They sign those they think they can sell. If they haven't signed a strip that's the reason. They may be wrong, but it has nothing to do with numbers, budget is the only other factor involved.

Actually the legacy strips help with that. The profit from them pays for launching new material. If we knocked out all the strips not done by their creators tomorrow it wouldn't change anything for the hopefuls, unless it makes it harder. It would be huge benefit to those already syndicated who don't have enough papers to make a decent living, but have a good product, and I'm all for that."

ON HUMOR VS. GAGS: "There are basically two kinds of strips, those that use gags, and those that use humorous situations that we can identify with. In the long run humor is better than gags. Strips that become popular are ones that we identify with. Appeal tops funny every time. In addition to Dilbert another strip that takes a lot of hits here in a mostly male forum is Cathy, and yet the feature has a huge and very loyal fan base who identify with it."

"A mistake too many beginners make is thinking they need a knock 'em dead gag every day. If that were true, or even half true, Mutt and Jeff would still be syndicated as one of the hottest strips around. Generally that approach may result in a strip that's hot for a year or so then fades rapidly without ever building a strong following. If you look at the top strips they have a much larger repetoire. That's true of gag cartoons, stand up comics, sit-coms, the works. They do the ironic, the satiric think bits, the pathos, bathos, maybe even a touch of tragedy now and then. They may be nostalgic or sentimental. Variety makes them real."

ON STYLE: "Without naming the guilty, copying a style is not good. At least four features looked so much alike I had to check to see if they were by the same person, they weren't. A sophisticated and fairly illustrative style hooked to slapstick humor kills the gag. Colored art that is busy and doesn't have good contrast is hard to read, and you only have a couple seconds to get your premise across. Contrast and simplicity are better. If you have to use templates or tracing to make the strip you're wasting your time, and don't fool yourself by comparing it to Dilbert. He spent a lot of time developing his style.

Assuming that the goal is syndication (and that may be a false assumption in some cases) there were features that would have failed simply due to the language or the situations. Others used formats that wouldn't fit in papers. Old gags, gags that telegraphed the punch line, and captions that should have been polished for better tempo and impact, were also very common. Never use the first idea you come up with."

ON WORKING: "The one thing never to do is stop and wait for the muse to return. In any of the arts the difference between a pro and an amateur is that the amateur waits for their muse, the pro does their best and works through it."

"The reasons vary, but it's always because of pressure we put on ourselves making us tighten up. Some of the work I've been happiest with was when things went wrong and I had to get something for a client yesterday. No time to redo or be careful, quality wasn't the issue, having something on paper was."

Arnold Wagner

2007-08-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

For several reasons, I'm sorry to follow my previous post with this one. I heard this morning that a good artist, cartoonist, historian and terrific friend of mine, Arnold Wagner, has entered hospice care after fighting cancer for a long time. His daughter Rachel posted the news at an Internet watering hole Arnold and I both frequent, and I've already replied privately to Arnold but wanted to say a bit about him here, too.

Arnold was one of the first professionals to read Mom's Cancer and encourage me strongly and frequently to pursue it, for which I was happy to mention him in my book's acknowledgements. He's an old-school cartoonist whose career goes back decades and who brought a lifetime of experience, authority, and real-world saavy to any discussion he entered. He co-authored The Complete Idiot's Guide to Cartooning, a how-to book I know he wasn't entirely happy with (lots of editorial interference, I gather) and which frankly isn't the best of its type but nevertheless captured some of his wisdom and wit.

His Amazon.com bio says this about him: "Arnold Wagner is a cartoonist, gag writer and cartoon scholar, whose work has been featured in many publications, including: IF Science Fiction, The Saturday Evening Post, Writer's Digest, Boys Life, Parade, Suburbia Today, The National Enquirer, Golf World, Broadway Laughs, and the New Yorker. In addition, a great deal of his work has appeared in the syndicated strip 'The Flintstones.' Arnold has always held an interest in historical, technical, and artistic subjects relating to cartooning, and has collected a great deal of material along those lines."

I got to know Arnold the same way I've gotten to know a lot of people in the past few years: online. Never met him in person. As I mentioned in my note to him this morning, I wish I'd had a chance to buy him lunch and run my fingers through his extensive collection of antique and exotic pen nibs. But I think you really can get to know a person well through writing--perhaps better than face to face--and I'm happy for the relationship we have and proud to have him as a friend.

Arnold is a great man and a great gentleman. We all face our ends someday and, if this is his, I hope it comes with all the ease, grace and love he deserves. My best to him, his wife Connie, and his family.

A card I drew for Arnold when he was in the hospital for
a short stay last year. I'm sure he's still giving 'em hell.

UPDATE: Arnold passed away the evening of August 31. I will miss him keenly for a long time.

Happy Birthday to Mom

2007-08-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 22 would have been Mom's 68th birthday. I can't let the day pass without many private thoughts and at least a public mention.

When I was being interviewed by the Rockwell Museum guys last week, the conversation turned to what Mom's Cancer means to me now that some time has passed since the events I wrote about. That's a hard question to answer. One surprising thing I realized is that my understanding of Mom's ordeal still changes and grows. For example, it was many months later, long after the book was published, that I looked back with astonishment at just how unbelievably brave Mom was. I wrote in Mom's Cancer that "it's amazing what you can get used to," and until everything was long over I didn't quite understand what a miserable situation she'd gotten used to--we'd all gotten used to--one sad and disspiriting setback after another, Mom trying to maintain hope for herself but mostly for her children. It was an amazingly graceful exhibition of love.

Here's to Mom, still teaching me stuff.

In the TB sanatorium as a child

School portrait

Dressed for prom

A brief turn as a model, around age 19. What a babe.

A young mother and ... er, ahem, well ... Me.

The day she married my (step)Dad

Her 64th birthday, when she received her pup, Hero.

Inside the Studio

2007-08-16T11:49:00.000-07:00

I think my video interview with the guys from the Norman Rockwell Museum went well. Of course, all depends on which five minutes of our two-hour conversation they decide to use. I'm sure I provided plenty of "idiot blowhard" ammo if they look for it, but I trust Martin and Jeremy not to make me look too bad. After all, Martin paid for lunch afterward; how evil could he be? If you guys read this, thanks again for lunch and for coming all the way out here. I enjoyed it.

Jeremy, Martin, and the interior of my office closet. Jeremy had to open the mirrored door to eliminate a bad reflection from a 2000-watt light rig they brought with them. I'm sorry you had to see that.

That glimpse into my messy closet dovetails nicely with recent posts on a couple of other cartoonists' blogs in which they shared pictures of their "studios" and inspired me to show off mine. The word deserves quotes because many cartoonists' workspaces consist of a corner of the dining room table or patch of floor beside a couch. My set-up is a little better than that but still nothing I'd elevate to the status of "studio." It's a spare bedroom with a couple of desks, bookcases, computer and a filing cabinet. Not a big deal.

I do most of my artwork at a rolltop desk I got when I graduated from college. Drawers hold supplies and I draw on a large board propped between my lap and the desk. The picture below shows a lot of brushes. In fact, I generally only use two or three at a time; I just can't ever throw anything away. Likewise pen nibs. I've got about three good ones and 57 bad ones that keep getting mixed in with the good ones.

So here--not posed or dressed up in any way, captured in its entirely natural state--is my "studio" with a key to its contents (I know some of the green numbers are hard to see. Sorry.):

1. Etch-a-Sketches (one small, one large)
2. Watercolors
3. Charcoal pencils
4. Conte crayons, tempera. I forgot to number it, but the wide drawer below drawers 2-4 holds acrylic paints.
5. Colored pencils
6. Gouache, oil pastels, oil paints
7. Felt-tip and technical pens, non-photo blue pencils
8. Electronic parts and doo-dads
9. Legos!
10. T-shirt I've used as an art rag since I was 16
11. Acid-free artist's tape
12. Triangle, templates for drawing circles and ellipses
13. Heap o' sketch books, secret projects
14. One-quart Baskin-Robbins bucket of old brushes, magnifying glass
15. Linseed oil, plastic cement, old nibs, deck of magic trick cards
16. Bigger brushes, more pens, compass and X-acto blades
17. Electric pencil sharpener
18. White-out, Sharpie, kneaded eraser
19. India ink that I keep in a ceramic saucer ever since I spilled a bottle and ruined a carpet 25 years ago
20. Active pens, brushes, pencils, erasers, etc.
21. Drawing board
22. Paper

This is, by the way, the same desk I depicted in Mom's Cancer:

I may have tidied it up a bit for the book. I haven't actually seen that much clear desktop since at least 1992.
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Ends and Odds

2007-08-13T17:21:00.001-07:00

I neglected to mention that I recently received copies of the Italian edition of Mom's Cancer--titled, oddly enough, Mom's Cancer. The last time I mentioned the Italian edition, I said I was surprised they didn't translate the title. Editor Lorenzo from my Italian publisher Double Shot-Bottero Edizioni was kind enough to reply that they "talked very much between us if we had to translate the title or not. At the end, we decided for the original title, because the word CANCRO still (frightens) people, and because the book was famous with its original title." That's a nice explanation.

Now that I have it in my hands, I'm happy to report that Lorenzo and his partners did a terrific job. I'm very happy with the look, feel, and quality of their work. Again, my thanks to them; I appreciate the risk they took and hope it's a success for them.

I think I've decided, with regret, to miss the Baltimore Comic-Con next month. It's not an easy decision. I'm honored, humbled, amazed to have my work nominated for three Harvey Awards, and believe that if someone pays you that kind of respect you should reciprocate by showing up. It seems like the least you could do. But the fact is I live on the other side of the country, the date conflicts with other commitments, and the cost of what would be a cross-continent hit-and-run round trip is pretty high. Editor Charlie is planning to attend and can represent me if I improbably win. I just don't want to leave any impression I take the nominations for granted, because I don't.

Wednesday should be interesting. A curator from the Norman Rockwell Museum in Massachusetts is coming to my home with a cameraman to film an interview that will, as I understand it, accompany the "LitGraphic" exhibition I'm participating in later this year. A couple of weeks ago I sent the museum nine of my favorite original pages from Mom's Cancer, which they'll display with the work of several other writer-cartoonist types. Although "sent" isn't quite the right word; the Rockwell people constructed a specially padded portfolio just the right size for my pages and dispatched an 18-wheel truck to pick it up. (To be fair, the truck was also picking up a lot of other art for other museum customers on its way cross country. But I'm greatly pleased to imagine they sent it just for my nine sheets of paper.) In short, the Norman Rockwell Museum is obviously a first-class professional organization used to working with a much better class of exhibitor than me. But I could get used to it.

Free to Breathe

2007-08-09T08:11:00.000-07:00

The National Lung Cancer Partnership is a non-profit lung cancer advocacy organization founded by physicians and researchers to increase understanding of how the disease affects women and men differently. Its mission is to decrease lung cancer deaths and help patients live longer and healthier lives through research, awareness and advocacy.

I discovered the group when Mom was diagnosed and it was called Women Against Lung Cancer, and found it to be a tremendous source of reliable, useful information. Somehow my sister Brenda ("Nurse Sis") got involved with them and recently, almost to her surprise, found herself helping organize one of several "Free to Breathe" walk/runs the group is holding across the country this fall: Glastonbury, Connecticut on September 23, Raleigh, North Carolina on November 3, Philadelphia on November 4, and Los Angeles on November 11. Brenda's working on the L.A. one.

Right now, she needs two things: volunteers to help put on the event, and corporate sponsors to help pay for it. If you have some time or funds to give to a good cause, please e-mail the National Lung Cancer Partnership at info@NationalLungCancerPartnership.org or call them at 608-233-7905. Smaller donations and pledges are also welcome.

I usually avoid endorsing particular groups or organizations. I don't feel I have the expertise or time to make sure all of their information and services are legit, and I'd hate to steer anyone wrong. However, I'm happy to vouch for the National Lung Cancer Partnership and the work they do, and think the "Free to Breathe" campaign is a good way to contribute. Besides, Nurse Sis could use the assist.
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How to be a Successful Comic Artist

2007-08-06T09:06:00.000-07:00

I stole this from Eddie Campbell's blog and guarantee that cartoonist and friend Mike Lynch will steal it for his blog before the week is over. It's an invaluable guide to the nuts and bolts of cartooning, done by George Storm in 1923.

Click on the top image to see it at a readable size. For those not so inclined, I blew up a couple of panels I liked below.

The keys to the kingdom are yours. Best of luck in your new career!
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Coin of the Realm

2007-08-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

I only asked my daughters to bring me back one souvenir from their trip to the U.K., if they were able to find it without too much effort. They were.

It's a 2-pound coin, worth about $4 U.S. I wanted this coin for two reasons: first, because the rings of gears and stylized circuit board make it an unusual tribute to technology, capturing progress from the early Industrial Age to the Electronic Era. I further learn online that the innermost circle's subtle pattern of whorls around a rudimentary wheel is meant to symbolize the Iron Age, while the outermost ring of criss-crossed lines is meant to symbolize the Internet. Neither is obvious to me but I appreciate the effort. An inscription on the edge of the coin quotes Isaac Newton: "Standing on the shoulders of giants." (The "heads" side is a portrait of Queen Elizabeth.) Not many governments acknowledge the importance of science and technology on their money like that.

Second, there is something about the coin I find irresistible. I'll say no more for now; I leave the reason for my fascination as a puzzle for the reader. All the necessary clues are in the image above. I'll update this post in a couple of days to explain.

UPDATE, August 7: Thanks for commenting and playing along. Your answers are better than mine, which I hope isn't too disappointing.

What I love about the two-pound coin--the quality that made me have to have it--are the 19 interlocked gears in that ring. Any odd number of gears arranged like that would be unable to turn (the size of the gears is irrelevant, assuming their teeth mesh up). Every gear turns adjacent gears in the opposite direction, alternating clockwise, counter-clockwise, etc.:

Turning the top gear clockwise (red) moves the gears next to it counter-clockwise (blue)....

Go all the way 'round the ring and, with an odd number of gears, you hit a point where two adjacent gears want to turn the same direction. Won't work. The whole thing is locked up.

Examples of true irony (as opposed to the Alanis Morissette kind) are hard to find in life and I treasure them when I do. I think the government of the United Kingdom commemorating the formidable triumph of the Industrial Age with a machine that can't possibly
work--can't even move--qualifies as ironic. At least, it's the most fun I've had for $4 lately.

Return to Hearth, Home & Paranoia

2007-08-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

For the interested regulars, my daughters have returned home safely from their month in Scotland. They brought back a few souvenirs and 1300 photos, most of which look a lot like this:

What's not to love? Happily, they received A's and full credit for their Medieval Warfare classwork. More importantly, they also seem to have picked up all the intangible benefits of youthful international travel--independence, confidence, new perspectives and friends--that my wife and I could have wished for. A tremendously successful trip on all accounts.

What's funny is that they just drove off to visit a friend seven miles away and I asked them to call me when they arrived. I'm fine when they're eight time zones from home but turn into neurotic Dad when they're under my roof. I trust them; it's just all those other drivers I worry about. And hey, it's a narrow winding road. Anything could happen.

Parenting = Always envisioning the worst-case scenario.
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After the Con

2007-07-31T08:57:00.000-07:00

Well, that went pretty much as I expected.

Comic-Con International in San Diego was a tightly packed pressure cooker of crowds, noise and fun. Compared to the past two years, my impression was that the mob was a little less unruly, perhaps because convention organizers stopped selling tickets and advertised the fact that particular days were sold out. We had no trouble getting our badges. In terms of organization and crowd control, Con organizers seem to have learned from past difficulties. Still, 120,000 people in one place is a bunch no matter how you slice 'em.

A short movie I shot on Saturday, the busiest day, panning the convention floor from the mezzanine. Booths are downstairs, several simultaneous panels are going on upstairs. It's all more than anyone could possibly absorb.

People-watching is a terrific sport at Comic-Con. We criticize TV newscasts and other media for only focusing on the outlandishly costumed, complaining that the weirdos don't represent the normal level-headed comics fans like us, but in fact we're just as bad. People in good costumes drew conferees who couldn't wait to take their pictures, and if they got together with a few friends--like the Batman-Robin-Catwoman trifecta or a gaggle of Star Wars Stormtroopers--they could stop traffic for 20 yards. Usually in the worst possible spot.

Galactic bounty hunters come in all sizes.

Klingon on a cell phone. "Can you hear me now, P'takh?"

All in all, my general thoughts on Comic-Con were well summarized by Mark Evanier, who moderated approximately 153 panels and has been attending the event since it began. In his blog Mark wrote: I sometimes think that anyone can have a great time at that convention if they'll only do a little advance planning and make the effort to find the convention they want to attend. There are a lot of conventions occurring simultaneously in that hall, ranging in intensity from the high-tech, high-pressure trade show located where the toy and videogame companies are situated, all the way down to the friendly and creative low-tech con in and around Artists' Alley. What interests you is probably in there somewhere but you have to go looking for it. It won't find you.

I found my convention.

The Eisner Awards were long, more than three hours, but the ceremony moved along most of the time. My sister Elisabeth ("Kid Sis") came and it was great to see her. I thought most of the presenters did a commendable job. Actor/comedian Brian Posehn was very funny, as were Ben Garant and Tom Lennon from "Reno: 911." Garant and Lennon noted with surprise that no Eisner Award winners had yet thanked God for their victories. That became a running gag after they left the stage, as a couple of winners thanked God sarcastically and Gene Luen Yang (American Born Chinese) appeared to do so sincerely. The evening's other running gag involved trophy presenter and co-host Jane Wiedlin, guitarist for the Go-Gos. Ms. Wiedlin is an attractive woman whose responsibilities included herding winners off the right side of the stage to have their photos taken; after a while, the winners deduced they could get a nice embrace from her if they pretended to walk off in the wrong direction. My two categories were near the end of the evening and I had the pleasure of hearing Neil Gaiman mispronounce my name twice. Then I lost and slumped back to my hotel to silently weep myself to sleep.

Paul Dini and Mark Evanier presenting Eisner Awards, with Jane Wiedlin to the left. It may be hard to see at this resolution but the award second from the right was missing its spinning globe. Unbearable suspense built through evening as everyone wondered who would win the broken trophy. As I recall, it went to comic book artist Paul Pope (I assume Comic-Con will get him a new one, although personally I'd be tempted to keep the broken one).

My book signing on Saturday didn't draw a big crowd. However, quality more than compensated for quantity. People who've read and appreciated Mom's Cancer enough to seek me out at a convention are invariably the nicest people I've met. Almost every conversation touches me in some way and reminds me why I wrote the book. The people staffing the Abrams booth told me they got similar reactions even when I wasn't there. It's hugely gratifying.

Signing books, with my editor Charlie Kochman and his girlfriend Rachel (left) and Wimpy Kid author Jeff Kinney and his wife Julie (right).

In addition, I met and answered a few questions for a master's candidate at Northwestern University doing a thesis on the form and aesthetics of graphic memoirs, including mine. I saw some of his analysis and it's quite academic and literary, not at all "fanboyish," and I'm sure we'll follow up with each other later. It's a treat to talk to someone who takes the medium seriously, not to mention flattering to be considered worth studying.

Nice People
[Fair Warning: all of the people I mention below can be described as "very nice." Some even as "extraordinarily nice." This is my honest appraisal of their character; I am not naturally a pollyanna and would tell you if they were jerks--or, more likely, not mention them at all. (So if I met you at Comic-Con and don't mention you below, assume you were a jerk.)]

Editor Charlie took a small party of us to dinner Friday night before the Eisners, including my friend and bestselling author (I never get tired of writing that) Jeff Kinney. Jeff's Diary of a Wimpy Kid has spent 14 weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List for Children's Chapter Books; I believe it's currently #2. I met Jeff's wife Julie, and he and I sat at one end of the table talking shop and saying catty things about the Bestseller List's #1. As I probably said too often, if all of the success and opportunities coming Jeff's way had happened to anyone else, I'd be jealous. Knowing him, I can only be happy for him. Jeff and Julie also came to the Eisner Awards and sat through the entire ordeal even though they didn't have to. That's loyalty. Or something.

Other Abrams authors I spent a few minutes with were Brom, whom I got to know when my book was released in New York and whose new book, The Devil's Rose, is packed with his lush and disturbing paintings, and Lela Lee, creator of the Angry Little Girls series, which I understand has an enormous fanbase. Both good people.

Before the convention, I made a list of the people I wanted to find. Top of the list was Otis Frampton, creator of the "Oddly Normal" series published by Viper Comics. Otis is a great guy and we finally had a chance to talk, in contrast to last year when we said a quick Hello expecting to meet up again and never did. I met Otis's wife Leigh, whom he married in Japan over Christmas. Leigh is terrific. Like many spouses, she doesn't quite share her partner's passion for this comics universe, but plunges in fully to provide all the support she can regardless. I grok.

Me with Otis and Leigh. The critter on Leigh's head is one of Otis's characters, Oopie, which Leigh sewed days before the Con and wore for four days straight. That's love.

Second on my list were Raina Telgemeier and Dave Roman, also married (to each other) since the last time I saw them. I found Raina first and had a nice long talk with her about her work on "The Baby-Sitters Club" graphic adaptations and new projects we're both contemplating, and briefly caught up with Dave later. Dave and Raina also both did stories for the latest Flight 4 anthology. Raina didn't believe I'd actually made a list that had her name on it until I pulled it out and showed it to her; then I think she became a bit spooked. Nicest people in the world, buy their stuff so they can keep doing it.

With Raina

I had a long and very good talk with Michael Jantze, creator of the formerly syndicated comic strip "The Norm," who lives in my part of the country. He'd read Mom's Cancer and, like many readers, found ways in which it related all too well to his life. I was very pleased to discover that merely by virtue of being on his cartoonists e-mailing list I am considered a member of the Northern California division of the National Cartoonists Society ("just Northern California," he was quick to point out). I thanked him and said that as an antisocial loner I probably wouldn't be showing up to too many functions; he pointed out that I'd pretty much just defined the word "cartoonist." Just thinking about it makes me misty.

With Michael Jantze

I've met "Luann" cartoonist Greg Evans a few times before, a fact I reminded him of when I reintroduced myself to him as he manned the National Cartoonists Society booth. He's always very nice about it. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: "I actually met you at the Schulz Museum recently, and at the Eisner Awards a couple of years ago."

Mr. Evans: "Oh!"

"Yeah. In fact, I was nominated for two Eisner Awards last night but I didn't win."

"I'm sorry."

"My strategy is to keep introducing myself to you everytime I see you until you finally remember me."

"Well, now I'll remember you as 'that Loser Guy.'"

In print that looks like kind of a nasty comeback, but in person--said dryly with a sly smile on his lips--it was hilarious.

Greg Evans (in green shirt) at the NCS booth.
I swear this photo was in focus when I took it.

I saw some amazing original art and almost bought a couple of pieces in my price range. It was tempting. However, I was stopped by my "rule" that I only acquire artwork directly from artists with whom I've made some personal connection. I've decided that rule doesn't apply to deceased artists and almost picked up a Walt Kelly "Pogo," but that's a slippery and potentially expensive slope indeed. In the end I came home with nothing but some free posters I'll never post, a free t-shirt I'll never wear advertising a movie I'll never see, and four art pens that cost me $10. In point of fact, aside from a few pieces of art and a nearly three-foot-long $1200 USS Enterprise, I didn't see anything I really wanted. No regrets.

Someday, my lovely, you will be mine.

That's about it. My wife and I managed to escape the convention center and spend some time doing other things in San Diego, one of our favorite cities. We didn't rent a car and had no regrets about that, either. Between the city's trolleys and bus system, we got everywhere we wanted to go.

The next notable event on my radar is the Harvey Awards, to be presented at the Baltimore Comic-Con on September 8. Mom's Cancer is nominated in three categories. I haven't made any reservations yet, but I intend to attend. I've got an almost-new acceptance speech all ready to go.
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