Last Gasp for 2010

Welp, it's New Year's Eve. I've got a Party tonight, and I'm hosting a party in two days. My house is a wreck. I'm in my PJs. I'm heading to Evansville in an hour or two to make reductions and score whatever comics might have come in. I've read a few "Best Comics of the Year" List, so I'm gonna try some new stuff, maybe. I need to diversify a little. Read some new stuff. I'm getting too insulated.

I'm in a very weird place in my life right now. I worked really hard this last year. Really hard. I produced a lot of comics. Some were good, some were excellent. But what came of it? A little bit of pride, I suppose. A body of work to display at conventions. Most importantly, I've got a bunch of ideas out of my head. That's nice. A lot of people don't get this, but if I don't placate my Muse, she'll... I can handle all of the crap that comes with being me. What I can't handle is not creating. Nothing will destroy me faster than being creatively stagnant.

But at the same time. Where the hell am I going? I'm not even a blip on the radar. No one's talking about me. I work the same Cons year after year, and I get those one or two people that have read my stuff and dig it and buy some more and that is awesome and it keeps me going and if you're one of those people and you're reading this run on sentence, I'd like to take a second to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'd have called it good by now if it weren't for you folks, few though you are. And it's not about the Money (although breaking even would be swell) or the Fame (although it wouldn't hurt my feelings, especially pretty ladies) or the Critical Acclaim (although showing up on a Best of the Year List couldn't hurt sales...). It's about making the comics I want to make, the way I want to make them. But when you've got a head like mine, I swirling vortex of nonstop creative ideas, there's only so much you can do. So what do I do? What do I focus on? Do I stick with the current plan, with the semi-monthly books and the web comic and all of that, or do I shelve that stuff and produce something (like an original graphic novel) that might get me noticed. Get me on the radar. Or do I accept that at the end of the day I don't care about some stupid radar, and what drives me is seeing the Clown and Penguin's journey through to the end. Obscurity or Potential Payday? Should be a no-brainer. Should be.

And then there's the work. I work something like 60 to 80 hours a week. I hemorrhage money like it's going out of style. This year is a blur. I've got, like, three or four good memories from the whole year. A couple of nice little road trips. A few good times with friends. A few Wrestling shows. Some good Conventions. I'm 32 years old, and I've been on 2 dates in my life. That's a bummer. I've never left the country. I haven't even been to most of the other States in America. I've only been on a few plane rides. I really isolated myself this year. I didn't go out much. My friends are married, or they've got careers. Or kids. Or both. Or all three. Me? I consider comics my career, but how can you call something a career that doesn't pay the bills? No wife. No girlfriend. No kids.

Or am I just being a fucking pussy? Hell, man, more money more problems. Romance? Pft. The odds of finding some chick that doesn't drive you nuts and screws you over is one in a billion. Kids? My Ma's a teacher. I know how kids are getting stupider and fatter and more rebellious with every passing generation. Even if I had a good kid, that kid would probably end up like I did, tortured until he was an outcast weirdo that can't cope with normal life. Maybe I've just got this one shot to create something really cool. A comic that's many comics. A story about two guys finding their way through the universe. A wild, raucous road trip through the endless horizon of the infinite full of punching and explosions and sex and tacos and bad jokes and Heaven and Hell and all points in-between. Maybe all of this talk about money and fame and loneliness and recognition is just my fear talking. Maybe I'm afraid to do the one thing I really want to do. The only thing I ever wanted to do. I do have a habit of shooting myself in the foot right when I'm on the edge of something good.

Maybe the lesson I really should have learned from School and Church was that, maybe what's out there isn't really worth my time. When Preachers stab you in the back (repeatedly), something has gone dreadfully wrong with humanity. And School? I have spent my entire Adult Life trying to figure out why they hated me. Why they felt the need to drag me down. It was their fault. It was my fault. It was no one's fault. It was the System's fault. We're all animals. Blahblahblah. Who even cares anymore, right? The past is the past. And, yeah, people are fucked up. Always have been. Always will be. Hell, ancient people used to feed their kids to dogs, and the Chinese drown their girl babies, and people in America go off and leave their newborns in the apartment for three days while they're off scoring drugs and the neighbors complain about the smell and the cops show up and there's a dead, bloated baby sitting on the counter. Nothing will kill a man's faith better than Church (Hell, if the Atheists were smart, they would ENCOURAGE people to go to church. That'd kill religion faster than a bunch of rhetoric about Religion being responsible for war or some other bullshit). But it's not all bad. There's cherry pie and warm conversation and yoga class and sharing a good joke with friends. There's holding your baby nephew in your arms. There's the drive from my house to St. Louis in my new car with the "Magical Mystery Tour" in the CD Player. There's hanging out with the gang watching some new HBO show and trading snarky comments. There's HFSAC 7.

And there's my mind. It's bad and it's good too. There's the paranoia and neurosis and the second guessing. There's my stupid ideas about stuff that I don't really know much about. There's the Hate. And not just for everyone that's hurt me, man, but there's this endless well of hate I've got for myself. Every stupid mistake I've ever made echoes through my head, day in and day out. And all of that stuff is bad. No doubt. But there's the good, too. The good memories, the handful of good things I've done. Some things click for me easier than they do for most people. I can make cognitive leaps that most people can't. It makes me look like I'm smart even though I'm not. And my imagination. It's what gets me through, always has, always will. I see things most people don't. And I don't mean in a crazy, delusional, hallucinogenic way. I've got an entire Universe in my brain. That's kinda exciting.

I don't have any answers anymore. I think that was the point of this rambling nonsense. Maybe I'm trying to come to some conclusion. Figure out where I'm going. It's a New Year tomorrow. It's as good a time as any to try something new. So now what? Stay the course? Make more comics? Make less comics? Give up on comics? Start drinking? Search out my soulmate? Go Buddhist? Sell all my possessions and walk the Earth having adventures?

I dunno.

I do know I've got some cool ideas for some new comix...

See you next year.