First...Herriman and McCay...

Diamond Comic Distributors is the biggest mover of graphic novels, comic books, genre magazines, trading cards, etc. in the world. If you see such products in any store anywhere, chances are good that Diamond put them there. Every month, Diamond publishes its "Previews" catalog of work due to be released in a few months; shops place their orders and Diamond ships 'em out.

After reading yesterday's blog, comic strip historian D.D. Degg was kind enough to send me this scan of an advertisement Abrams placed in this month's "Previews." As I've done for the catalog pages I posted yesterday, I linked this image to a larger version on my www.momscancer.com website. To see it bigger, just click on it.

I saw an earlier draft of this but not the published version, so many thanks, D.D. There are two Best Parts to this ad:

Best Part #1: The Tagline. "First...Herriman and McCay.... Now....Piraro and Fies." I laughed and laughed when I read that. George Herriman created the classic "Krazy Kat" comic strip, the first place scholars look when they argue whether comics can be Art. Winsor McCay created "Little Nemo" and "Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend," two all-time great comic strips from the early 20th century. I've already written about my admiration for Mr. McCay in my entry about "Gertie the Dinosaur" on September 27. In any list of history's best cartoonists, Herriman and McCay are near the top. Dan Piraro is a fine contemporary cartoonist who does the comic strip "Bizarro." I've never met Piraro and can't speak for him, but I'm certain that at least I have no business being in that sentence.

When I saw the draft I called editor Charlie and sang him the "One of These Things is Not Like the Others" song from "Sesame Street." He understood my bemusement and explained that the point wasn't to compare Piraro and me to the Greats, but to remind buyers and readers that Abrams had published books about Herriman and McCay...and now books by Piraro and Fies. Abrams wants you to know they understand the medium. They've got comics cred. In that light, the line made sense. Then he told me the even more mortifying and embarrassing ad that Abrams considered before Charlie shot it down in favor of this one, and I considered myself lucky.

Best Part #2: Seeing my drawing of Mom at the top of the page. Somehow that struck me so strongly. Mom would have gotten a huge kick out of that.

Catalog Shopping

Editor Charlie just sent me the spring catalog for Abrams Image, the new imprint I'm helping Abrams Books launch. This is the catalog that goes out to all the buyers for bookstores informing them of the wonderful new publications they simply must order today to satisfy their demanding, discerning customers in March. And leading off the slim gold-covered catalog is a two-page spread of:

I know that text is too small to read. However, you might be able to make out the yellow rectangle at the upper right of the bottom page--the one that reads "100,000-copy first printing." Holy moley, that's a lot of books. It's also a tangible expression of Abrams' commitment to Mom's Cancer. I'm a bit nonplussed by their faith, but appreciate it.

UPDATE: I've now made both images links to larger versions on my www.momscancer.com website. Just click on either image to see them bigger.

Greetings

I've enjoyed making my own Christmas cards for a long time (I don't actually remember ever buying any). Since my twin girls were born, each year's card has featured a cartoon of them and whatever pets we happened to have at the time. The girls are 17 years old now. Strung on a ribbon across the wall, 17 cards provide a sentimental timeline of our family's history. Here's this year's:

The cards also offer a nice overview of the past two decades of affordable reprographics technology. My earliest cards were done by commercial printers, sometimes in one color and sometimes in two (e.g., black and red), with color separations done by hand. Results were entirely out of my control and could be uneven; I might wait two or three weeks to get my job back from the printer only to find that he'd cut them all crooked or mixed up the colors--too late to correct and reprint.

Later, they invented color photocopying. Quality was pretty shaky at first. Color fidelity was a big gamble and I could only use thin glossy paper. A year or two later the color reproduction was better and I could photocopy onto cardstock. But I still had to be very careful to draw and color with an eye toward an unpredictable outcome.

Enter the 21st century. Desktop publishing. Photoshop. Inkjet printers. Wow. At last I'm in control of all the variables, start to finish. If the colors on the screen don't match those that come out of the printer (and they seldom do), a little trial and error gets them close enough. I can play with image size and placement, and even customize greetings if I want to. I can print exactly as many as I need, and if I run out I can print more.

Twenty years ago, I could not have imagined having this capability sitting on my desk. Remembering the time, effort, and expense I used to dedicate to achieving a tremendously inferior result, I never take it for granted.

The Pontificating Pedagogue

The art class talk went fine, I think, although I'll have to await a final review from my girls. In addition to touching on a few of the points I mentioned here December 1, I raised some ideas tailored to art students looking ahead to university studies and careers in the field. I'm pretty sure these things are true:

--"Write (or draw) what you know" is good advice, except too many people don't know anything interesting. You've got to be curious and observant about the world. The best artist in my high school fizzled out immediately after graduation because, although he was technically proficient, he had no other interests and nothing to say. The last time I saw him he was airbrushing t-shirt art at the county fair. Technique by itself is empty and insufficient.

--Work the Seams. By which I mean, create a niche by being a little different. Apply your own quirky interests and specialization to whatever you do. Don't just be an artist; be an artist with a passion for astronomy or medieval literature or bottle caps. Find a place where two or more interesting things come together and bring as much of that collision to the table as you can. Someday, something you do will connect with someone.

I hope I wasn't quite as preachy as that makes me sound. I don't think I was. Mostly I talked about the process of creating Mom's Cancer and publishing the book, and saved the sermon for the end. The class seemed interested and asked questions until we ran out of time. I enjoyed it.

One Thing Leads to Another

I've been asked to talk to my girls' high school art class next week. Some of these kids are very talented advanced placement students already preparing portfolios for future academic and professional careers. I've spoken to high school classes before, usually on the topic of "how I lucked into a career combining two things I love best: science and writing." Now that I've got a published graphic novel in hand, I suppose I can extend that list to include "art," yet I have a nagging fear that some of these kids are already way ahead of me.

I was thinking about what I might discuss when my eyes settled on this laminated card pinned to my bulletin board, my first official press pass:

What a goober.

This was where my professional writing career began, fresh out of college at a small daily newspaper in central California. I got the job of part-time night-shift sports writer based on paltry clips of an opinion column I wrote for my college paper plus, I suspect, my ability to type fast--a skill not as common 20 years ago as it is today. I must have been the only applicant, because anyone else with respiration would've been better qualified. I nevertheless got a foot in the door and covered a season of high school basketball before a full-time (daytime!) position opened on the city beat and I was on my way.

One day the editor bellowed out into the newsroom: did anyone want to fly to Fresno for the weekend to cover the opening of a new power plant? Since no one else spoke up and I was trying to build a reputation as the go-to science guy, I took the assignment. It turned out to be a good story about a hydroelectric turbine complex dug deep inside a mountain between two lakes. The place looked like the cavern lair of a James Bond villain. I had fun, wrote the feature, and forgot about it.

Helms Pumped Storage Hydro Plant. I was there.

Twelve or thirteen years later, after a decade away from journalism, I applied for a position with a firm that wrote scientific, technical, and marketing material for people in the energy industry. I passed their writing test and showed up for the interview with one relevant clip: the power plant story. I got the job. And thanks to that job, just a couple of years later I was ready to break out on my own.

I derive three lessons from that story for the young'uns. First, take on tasks nobody else wants because someday, somehow, in a way you can't imagine, one of them will pay off. Second, one thing leads to another in unpredictable ways that only make sense in hindsight. A column in a college newspaper leads to part-time sports writing leads to full-time reporting leads to freelance magazine writing leads to something that begins to look like a career. Be ready for unexpected opportunities.

Third, if you want to be a writer, write. Anything. I learned the most about writing by covering a season of high school basketball. Two or three games are easy; by the tenth or twentieth you're working mightily to keep it interesting for both your readers and yourself. Because, let's face it, every high school ball game (or city council meeting or planning commission hearing) is pretty much like any other. I figured my job was to pay attention and figure out what made this game, meeting or hearing special, and then explain that. That made me a pro. (My personal definition of "professional" is "doing a good job even when you don't feel like it." Or, as Charles Schulz said, "writer's block is for amateurs.") I suspect that applies to art as well.

By the way, in my three years as a reporter and close to ten years as a freelance writer/journalist/editor, I've never once had to show a press pass to anyone. Too bad.

Congratulations! It's a Book!

A few days ago I had one of the coolest experiences of my life: opening a package containing five advance copies of my book. Real books. Mine.

The first print run is done. Most of it is on a slow boat somewhere in the Pacific, but the printer flew a batch to Abrams to distribute to reviewers, major book buyers, heads of state and captains of industry, etc. And Abrams sent five to me. I'll get more later--although not as many as you might think. I understand that one problem authors face is everyone assumes they've got free books to pass out like candy. Not so. Luckily, I do get a pretty good discount.

I immediately mailed two of the five books to my sisters, which explains my delay in posting here--sometimes Kid Sis and Nurse Sis actually read this thing, and I wanted the books to be a surprise. They arrived yesterday. Surprise accomplished. I only wish I could have done the same for Mom.

After all the months of work, after actually living through the events depicted in Mom's Cancer, you may be able to imagine what it meant to finally hold this book in my hands. To feel the cloth binding. To smell the pages. Reading has always been a tactile experience for me anyway--there's something about the the physical sensation of reading a book that plugs directly into my brain--and when it's my own work... Wow.

I've inspected it cover to cover and am entirely thrilled with the result. Abrams is a classy publisher, most renowned for their quality art books, and I think they did a first-class job on mine. My thanks to Charlie, Isa, Brady, Mark, and all the editorial, production, and design people at Abrams who had a hand in this. I hope (and think) they can be proud of it.

Regarding Postcards: Several people wrote to ask for my promotional postcards (see November 22 below) and I've fulfilled all the requests I received. The offer still stands: anyone who wants a postcard as a memento or several to distribute is welcome to e-mail me and let me know how many, where to send them, signed or unsigned, whatever. Some of the cards I just mailed out will be going to cancer centers and clinics throughout North America, for which I'm extremely grateful. Others will just become tattered bookmarks and that's good, too. I've got plenty left.

Want a Postcard?

Let me tell you about this postcard:


Last July, shortly before Comic-Con International, editor Charlie thought it'd be a great idea to print up some promotional postcards for Mom's Cancer. Especially if I happened to win the Eisner Award, it would be nice to have something to pass out and perhaps sign. Even if I didn't win, I could distribute them at the freebie table and raise some awareness. As I recall, we were still designing the cover at that time; Abrams' art director quickly produced a semi-finished version, I approved the art and copy the same day, and they were off to the printer as a top-priority rush job.

So 500 postcards were supposed to be delivered to my hotel in San Diego the first day of the convention. Day One: no cards. Day Two: no cards. Day Three: no cards. Repeated phone calls to my hotel's Guest Packaging Department confirmed that they had nothing anywhere that looked like it might be a 500-postcard-capacity box addressed to anyone whose name was even vaguely similar to mine (with a name like "Fies" you adapt to misspellings). Editor Charlie was mystified, the printer said he shipped them; still, no cards. I won the Eisner, Comic-Con ended, my family and I went home...still no cards. A day or two later I got a call from the hotel: "Oh, yeah, they've been sitting here for a week. You should have called our Guest Packaging Department." Grrrrrr....

So since July I've been tripping over a box of 500 postcards sitting next to my desk, not quite sure what to do with them. A few of Kid Sis's correspondents asked for some to distribute among their friends and workplaces. When we get closer to the release date I think I'll mail some to selected booksellers. But the more I think about it, the more I realize the best use for these cards is probably to get them into the hands of people who want them.

So here's the deal: If you want a postcard, e-mail me your address and I'll send you one (I vow to never use your address for evil). If you want a bunch (within reason), tell me how many. I'll sign none, one, or all of them, whatever you want. Your end of the deal is if I send you a bunch you have to promise not to hoard them. Spread them around, help people find out about the book. That's what they're for. I'll be very grateful.

More Sadness for My Family

I spent the past few days in Reno, Nevada, where my Uncle Cal passed away yesterday. His wife and children, some of his grandchildren, and Nurse Sis and I were able to be there for him and he knew it, which I hope was helpful and comforting to him. Uncle Cal was Mom's big brother and only sibling, and his death so soon after hers is quite a blow.

Out of respect for his family, I don't feel free (or inclined) to share many details about his passing, which had both horrific and transcendant moments. I was constantly conscious of the fact that all decisions were up to my Aunt Norma and their children; I figured my role was to listen, support, and advise when asked, and to try to make sure that, whatever happened, they'd have no regrets. With Mom's experience so fresh in our minds, I think Nurse Sis and I were able to help our family navigate some rough waters. Only time will tell if we succeeded.

Uncle Cal at Mom's birthday party in Mom's Cancer.

Uncle Cal was a huge influence on me. He and my aunt took in Mom when she was a young single mother with two brats in tow and made a warm home for us. Until I was 10, he was the father figure in my life. His two sons, both younger than me, went on to become pretty good baseball players; I joked that he was so good at teaching them because he made all his mistakes first on me. He was a great man who will be greatly missed.

How I Cartoon

All quiet on the literary front. As far as I know, printers in Asia are churning away, chunkity-chunking out copies of Mom's Cancer while I sleep peacefully through the night half a world away. I look forward to getting one in my hands. Meanwhile...

On my main site (www.momscancer.com) I used to have a "How To" page describing how I drew Mom's Cancer. I took it down after a while--don't remember why, maybe it occurred to me that no one cared. But what is a blog if not a repository for material about which no one but its author might care?

My method is very "old-school" cartooning, with a bit of computerization thrown in at the end. Increasing numbers of cartoonists work entirely on computer and love the results. I haven't yet found a technology that gives me the same versatility and control I enjoy with a brush. Plus, for me, the act of putting pencil and ink on paper is the most satisfying part. Why would I want to give it up? In some circles, this makes me a dinosaur.

I begin with a script and a blank sheet of 9-by-12-inch 2-ply vellum bristol board. Following a rough thumbnail sketch on scratch paper, I rule in borders and lettering guides in light pencil, then rough in the captions and word balloons:

The words go first because it's critical that they have enough room and the eye follows them around the page as intended. Then I pencil the art. It's still pretty loose at this point:

I rule borders and other straight lines using a fountain pen, and letter with waterproof black India ink using Speedball nibs B-6 and B-5 (for bold).

Art is also inked with black India ink using a variety of small sable or synthetic brushes. Fine details and lines (like those on Mom's shirt or the pattern on her hat) are done with a crow-quill nib.

After erasing pencil lines with a kneaded eraser, I scan the art into Photoshop to add shading and any color needed. I also do a fair amount of editing at this stage...fixing mistakes, erasing blemishes, and sometimes rewriting entire bits of dialogue by cutting and pasting words or even individual letters. A few years ago, this would've been done with X-Acto knives, rubber cement and White Out. Computers are much better.

When I had the time to sit down and work non-stop, I could finish two or three pages per day. However, I very rarely got such time and did the best I could, when I could. The hardest part? Laying down Line One on Day One, knowing that I had more than 100 pages and many months to go. Anne Lamott tells a story about her 10-year-old brother struggling to complete a huge report on birds the night before it was due. Overwhelmed and immobilized, he asked his father how he could possibly get it done. Dad answered, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird." That's how I did Mom's Cancer: bird by bird.

Where I Will Be

We're starting to put together some plans for promoting Mom's Cancer early next year, including a multi-city book tour at some point. Right now I have just two firm dates:

New York Comic-Con, February 24-26, 2006, New York City. This will be my book's big coming-out party. Abrams is hosting a booth at which I'll spend some time signing, and we'll also take the opportunity to meet some booksellers and media people.

Comic-Con International, July 20-23, 2006, San Diego, Calif. These are the nice people who gave me an Eisner Award last July. I've been invited to take part in a spotlight panel and I'm sure I'll sign some books.

I've started a page on my main website where I'll post events and appearances as my schedule fills in. Right now, the list of cities involved in my multi-city tour is a mystery. As excited as I am to have my book coming out soon, this is a fairly daunting and intimidating prospect. It's all new to me (aw, poor baby). Still, I'm grateful that Abrams is so dedicated to promoting Mom's Cancer; I realize how unusual it is to receive such support. Luckily, I've got a few months to practice becoming witty and charming. I'll need it.

The Brain Trust

My editor Charlie Kochman (right) and I: the Mom's Cancer Brain Trust.

I met Charlie and his girlfriend Rachel at the airport yesterday as planned (see October 25), and we spent a couple of hours getting to know each other better over lunch. Charlie shared some great behind-the-scenes stories and I very much enjoyed talking with Rachel, especially since one of my daughters is interested in pursuing her profession. I admit I was nervous going into my first face-to-face with my editor. I mean, it's probably too late to pull the plug on the book, but you never know....

I'm going to say some nice things about Charlie now that I'm sure will come back to haunt me when we're locked in bitter lawsuits in a few years. I really had no idea that people as caring and conscientious as Charlie existed in the publishing business, and I have no idea how he's managed to survive with those qualities intact. His contributions to the book version of Mom's Cancer are significant. Not so much in content--the words and pictures are all mine (though he suggested some edits and additions I was generally happy to adopt)--but in form, approach, strategy, production quality, and a lot of other things that matter greatly, Charlie's work has far exceeded any expectations I had. If Mom's Cancer is the success we hope, much of the credit will be his. If it's not, it won't be for lack of effort; I couldn't imagine how any editor or publisher could do any better. My book was lucky to land on his desk.

A Bald Spot

A few months ago, a reader wrote to ask if Mom had ever felt competitive with the other patients undergoing chemotherapy at the same time she was. His own mother had been through the same thing and obsessively measured her progress against that of her cohorts.

That wasn't something I'd noticed during Mom's treatment and I didn't address it in Mom's Cancer, but as I thought about it I realized my correspondent was right. Most patients' chemo was done on a regular schedule so you tended to see the same people every session. Mom's peers included an annoying loudmouth that Mom prayed wouldn't sit next to her and a young Hispanic woman who always switched the television to Spanish-language soap opera. In a situation so frightening and uncertain, it was impossible not to compare and compete: Who went bald first. Who got fat or thin. Who looked better or worse. Who stopped showing up at all. "Winning" meant living.

I thought this was a great insight and considered adding a new chapter to the book about it. But since I hadn't noticed it in my own family's experience I had a hard time writing about it, making it "real," and fitting it into the flow of the story around it. I couldn't figure out how to express this abstract, internalized concept in drawings. I couldn't make it work.

Instead, I drew a new spot illustration that I thought touched on the idea, and hoped that we might use it to fill out the book's page count. It turned out that 128 pages filled up faster than I expected and the new drawing wasn't needed. So that's the story behind this never-to-be-published piece:

O Canada

Terry replied to my post of October 22 to let me know that, in addition to being available on Amazon, Mom's Cancer can now be pre-ordered on Canada's Indigo Books. Thanks very much, Terry.

Friday will be an interesting day. I've been working with my editor at Abrams, Charlie Kochman, for more than half a year now. It's been a tremendous working relationship, and on occasion a personal one, but we've never met face to face. However, the day after tomorrow Charlie and his girlfriend are flying to California to attend a wedding and I'm planning to meet them at the airport, maybe treat them to lunch. I'm looking forward to it.

I have half a suspicion that Charlie just wants to make sure I actually exist. And I had half an inkling to send one of my daughters in my place to tell him the entire project was a hoax concocted by a 17-year-old girl. But no...I like Charlie too much to let all the blood drain from his face like that.

#48,040

That was my Amazon ranking yesterday. Right between a "Touchy Feely Board Book" titled That's Not My Lion and the memoirs of "60 Minutes" correspondent Mike Wallace. In your face, Mike Wallace.

I owe it all to Thursday's commenter Anonymous, who was probably the first person on Earth to buy Mom's Cancer. Thanks, Anon!

Amazon.com

My brother-in-law just informed me that "Mom's Cancer" is now available for pre-order on Amazon.com.

Cool.

The Start of It All

I've told the story of how I decided to do "Mom's Cancer" before. I had driven Mom to a chemotherapy session early in the course of her treatment. Chemo takes a few hours and Mom typically slept through it. I'd brought along some paperwork to pass time but got bored, so I turned over a sheet of paper and drew a sketch of Mom reclining in the chair.

I thought the drawing and its few captions captured something true about the experience in a way that words alone couldn't. Chemo's not dramatic, it's tedious. Ordinary comforts like a strawberry milkshake or a CD player contrast with the extraordinary medical technology and biochemistry employed. The unusual becomes the norm, to the point that Mom could sleep through procedures that might have terrified her weeks before. I'd been thinking about finding some way to communicate Mom's cancer experience, and this drawing convinced me that cartoons might work. I went home and started writing "Mom's Cancer."

Immediately below is that first sketch, followed by the finished art. This sketch is an important scrap of paper to me; it's where "Mom's Cancer" began.

Monday

Just a brief report on the memorial celebration we held for Mom yesterday, because I don't have energy for a long one. It turned out very well, with all the right people and just the right amount of them. Friends and relatives, some flying halfway across the country on short notice. A perfect amount of food (it's hard to order when you don't know whether to expect 30 or 300 guests). People even seemed to like my PowerPoint presentation, which many of them took home on CDs I'd burned as mementos. Pretty exhausting, and it's hard to turn it off Sunday night and get back to work Monday morning.

Just one more photo of Mom, this one from her days as a model around age 19. I'm afraid I cut this career short for her--by being born. My mistake. I love Mom's modeling pictures and it took my sisters a week to figure out where she had hidden them.

I guess one good thing about a memorial is you learn new things about someone you thought you knew about as well as anyone could. Mom inspired and even saved the lives of people I didn't even know. That was great to hear.

I'm going to try to keep this blog focused on the book and off the maudlin from now on. But I'm sure I'll write more about Mom from time to time. After all, she is the book. And it is my blog.

Wonderful World of Color

I wanted to say a little more about the pictures I posted yesterday.

Each is a single poster-sized sheet of paper with 16 pages on it, with another 16 pages printed on the back. A book goes together like a complex jigsaw puzzle. It looks chaotic on these big sheets but, when the pages are cut, collated, and glued or stitched together in the right order, it all falls into place.

Those who saw "Mom's Cancer" online may remember that it's mostly black and white. I used color sparingly and deliberately to add extra meaning or punctuation to the narrative. I wanted the effect to be like the change from B&W to color in "The Wizard of Oz": a signal to the reader that something different was going on.

When "Mom's Cancer" was an online comic, I had complete freedom to use color or not as I chose. But in the physical world of ink and presses, Color = Cost. B&W printing takes one run through the press; color printing takes four. I don't know actual numbers, but conceptually color printing takes four times the ink, film, time, and labor as B&W (the only cost saving I can think of is that you only have to pay for the paper once). So from a publisher's perspective, it's evident why color is a big deal.

Look at the 16-page sheet above. Only two of the pages (at upper right) are full-color images. The rest are black and white. IF I had laid out the book so that those two pages were also B&W, this sheet could have been printed much less expensively. Now, I'm a cooperative guy, so when my editor and I first laid out our plan for this book--it's called a "book map"--we looked for ways to economize on color printing. He'd write me a note saying something like, "if we could keep the color to pages 7, 8, 17, 18, 55, 56, 111 and 112, that would be great." And I'd shuffle, slide and sort the pages as best I could, then reply something like, "well, I'd hate to give up my blue dots on page 6." And he'd sigh gently and go back to the map.

To my editor's and publisher's great credit, they never pressured me to compromise. We never found an ideal solution--my color pages were scattered and clumped all wrong, and no amount of shuffling worked without breaking up the story. So they bit the bullet and decided to print the entire book in four-color, even if 95% of a sheet was B&W. I find that amazing. There is one page in the book with a spot of color that I doubt most readers will even notice, but to me that one spot is a dramatic and thematic key to the story. If I'd had to change it to black and white I would have. But I'll always be grateful that I didn't.

Processing

Posted below is what 48 pages of book looks like on its way to the presses. And this is little more than a third of it. I enjoy everything about the printing process.

Memorial services Sunday. A process I expect to enjoy less.

More Photos

Just a few more pictures of Mom. I'm preparing a PowerPoint slide show to present at a memorial service this weekend and these are some of the photos I've scanned for it. PowerPoint can be a dangerous tool in the wrong hands, and I'm doing my best not to make it an interminable bore. For me, this project is a real nice way to recapture the scope of Mom's life. I'm burning several copies as keepsakes for family and close friends, and I think they'll make a fine way to remember her by.

This is one of my favorite photos from my entire life. Mom, Nurse Sis and I dressed for Easter. Incidentally, those green gloves of Mom's are the pair I borrowed when I dressed up as Robin the Boy Wonder (I also had the requisite red vest). Stylin'!

Just a nice shot of Mom.

Mom and I during her chemo. Her hair later grew back very well and she looked great. Me, not so great.

About the Book...

Somebody asked me about the book. Understandably not my highest priority right now, but I've still got responsibilities and a job to do....

"Mom's Cancer" has been put to bed and is on its way to the printer. In a coincidence I can only compare to Charles Schulz dying on the day his last "Peanuts" strip ran, Mom passed away hours before my book's final deadline. Next question: will the book address Mom's death? Yes. I had time to write a page, very much like what I posted here on October 3, and add it to the last page of the book as a kind of coda.

I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. My editor said it was my call but argued that it needed to be addressed. Other people I respect and love argued against it. After thinking it over for a couple of days--days during which I knew I wasn't thinking straight anyway--I went with my first instinct and decided I had to do it. When I created "Mom's Cancer" I resolved to be as honest as possible about the experience, and hiding the fact of Mom's death would've violated the spirit and purpose of the story. What clinched the decision for me was recalling that back when I began writing and drawing "Mom's Cancer," I didn't know whether Mom was going to live or die in days, weeks, or years. In any case, I set out to report the story. And so I have.

We'll see how that works out....

Photographs and Memories

I've been going through old photos in roughly chronological order to prepare a slide show summarizing Mom's life for what I'm calling her "memorial celebration." I thought I'd share some favorites here, and may post more as I work through the decades.

The top photo is Mom with her older brother Cal. The bottom is her junior prom in 1957. What a babe.

Mom

I’m sorry to have to write that Mom passed away the afternoon of Saturday, October 1. She died peacefully and painlessly with family and friends, including my sisters and me. She was 66.

It seems odd to say that Mom’s death came as a surprise but, until even hours before the end, we and her physicians always saw a reasonable path to recovery. In fact, I’d flown to southern California just three days earlier to help move furniture in preparation for her return home from the hospital. But her body had simply had enough.

As far as we know, Mom died free of cancer. She beat it. However, she took steroids to control brain inflammation caused by the brain tumor and its radiation treatment. Administered in high doses over a long time, they were as damaging to her body as cancer would have been. The steroids had to be reduced, renewed inflammation put pressure on unexpected parts of her brain, and the end came quickly.

Mom never regretted moving to Hollywood. Despite her struggle in recent months, I don’t think I ever saw her happier living anywhere else. She loved her new neighborhood: the brilliant bougainvillea spilling over her back fence, the giant avocado tree next door that dropped guacamole hailstones into her yard, the towering palm at the curb, the yellow curry dish from the Thai restaurant around the corner. This was where she needed to be.

The publication of “Mom’s Cancer” will go ahead. Mom always sought purpose in her life and, in recent months, her suffering. She shared in the production of “Mom’s Cancer”: the drafts, proofs, correspondence with my publisher and the public. She wrote the book’s Afterword. Nothing made Mom more proud or happy than hearing from readers who said her story had helped them or that they’d quit smoking because of her. She told me she thought she’d found her purpose after all. I didn’t disagree.

She lived and died well. I will miss making new memories with her.