Hey Brandon. I'm going out on a limb & asking for ~~creative~~ advice. I'm in the middle of making my first comic that'll be bigger than a few pages long. The plan was to self-publish as a 16p thing. I've just finished inking EVERYTHING and at this point I hate it. I think it sucks and so lettering it is becoming a struggle, morale-wise. So I guess my Q is: do you ever scrap anything half way or do you always make a point to finish what you start? Thx
hmm I’ve certainly left things unfinished. I think it’s ok to take it for what it was and move on to something you’d be more excited to work on. Maybe with the idea that you could return to it if you wanted to in the future.
I feel like so much of making comics, or any art is forgiving yourself and finding new ways to make the work fun.
That feel where you wanna work on your project all night but you have to go to sleep because work.
ERRY DAMN DAY
"A hysteric […] perceives the lack in the Other, its impotence, inconsistency, fake, but he is not ready to […] complete the Other, fill in its lack - this refusal […]sustains the hysteric’s eternal complaint that the Other will somehow manipulate and exploit him, use him, deprive him of his most precious possession."
"Being both soft and strong is a combination very few have mastered."
"He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves."
How can you say that comics is leading the way in diversity, when since my book, Prince of Cats came out- has there been one black artist/writer who has put out anything from marvel, DC, image… Dark horse? (Sanford greene?) And what about black women? The March, Harlem Hellfighters written by…
"One of the greatest tragedies in life is to lose your own sense of self and accept the version of you that is expected by everyone else."
When you grow up as a girl, the world tells you the things that you are supposed to be: emotional, loving, beautiful, wanted. And then when you are those things, the world tells you they are inferior: illogical, weak, vain, empty. The world teaches you that the way you exist in it is disgusting — you watch boys cringe backward in your dorm room when you talk about your period, blue water pretending to be blood in a maxi pad commercial. It is little things, and it is constant. In a food court in a mall, after you go to the gynecologist for the first time, you and your friend talk about how much it hurts, and over her shoulder you watch two boys your age turn to look at you and wrinkle their noses: the reality of your life is impolite to talk about. The world says that you don’t have a right to the space you occupy, any place with men in it is not yours, you and your body exist only as far as what men want to do with it. At fifteen, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met somehow believe you should bend your body to their will. At almost thirty, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met still somehow believe you should bend your body to their will. They are children. They are children."