March 24th, 2013


Fifth and final page of my class project. Done! Would have liked it to be less wordy, more showy, but just ran out of time.


On spambots…


I forgot to mention that I’ve disabled commenting of any kind. Unless you get in touch with me to create a user/contributor account, the discussion side of the site no longer exists. I was getting a bazillion fake users signing up, and figured that wasn’t a good thing, so I shut the whole operation down.


Exciting News! (Copied from felixmarcus)

So, hey.  Long time, no see.  How are things?

Enough small-talk! I’ve got something to announce:

As part of my upper-year course on Greek and Roman Epic, I get to create a graphic novel based on the Aeneid.  Well, part of the Aeneid.  Actually, just two pages of the Aeneid.  The thing is, I like drawing, and I like adapting epic literature for use in my comics, so I’m preparing to go a little crazy with this project.  My plan is simple: I’ve got twelve weeks of class, and there are twelve books in the Aeneid.  I hope to boil each book down to about three comic pages, making this more-or-less a thirty-six-pager.  A few books might be longer, a few will be shorter.

Needless to say, this is a huge task for me.  The last time I produced 36 pages in a year was back when I first launched Spartachick, and even that was a bit iffy at times.  The goal here is to develop a simple style that can be sketched, inked, and coloured with little aggravation on my part.  There will not be a lot of depth, shading will be minimal, and the laws of perspective will, no doubt, be shattered.

What do I hope to achieve?  The project is worth 50% of my final grade, which provides some impetus.  Honestly, though, I see this as my last real chance to get back into the game. I miss drawing, and let myself down when I gave up.  I need this. I need to feel that my work matters in some way (even if it’s just for some class project). My hope is that this project will force me to streamline and solidify my workflow. Drawing used to be natural for me; setting aside time, sketching ON PAPER, writing, planning, imagining.

Anyway, I’m barely making sense to myself right now, so I’ll just end it here.

Bye for now,


I miss drawing. (Copied from felixmarcus)

In other news, you now have to subscribe to the website to post comments! There’s no fee, obviously, but I had to do something to kill the spambots dead.  Hopefully I don’t get ten thousand new subscribers who want to sell me cheap watches, meds, jackets, and knockoff jerseys (Go Maklin!).  It’s inconvenient, I know, but there are only, like, two of you who actually visit this damned ghost-town anyway.



I’m not letting this continue.  I’m not letting myself quit.  I like drawing, I like writing, and dammit, I like the characters in this comic.  It’s July, and I want to draw.  I’m not sleeping until a new page is up.


UPDATE: I forgot how much work this is.  Also, my body still thinks it has to wake up at 7am.  I’m going to sleep, for the good of the comic. I did, however, manage to get the sketching, backgrounds, and a few other things done.  Probably about 50% complete, with reasonably good art. 

UPDATE: DONE!  Now to lie dormant for another four months. Oy.

What happened?

[Disclaimer: There’s quite a bit of self-pity and navel-gazing below. Understand that I’m only sharing this to help move past my current slump. It’s getting ridiculous, and personally, I’m sick of it.]

Why were the first few months of my life in Kingston so great? I was busier in the fall of 2006 than I’d ever been up to that point, and indeed, than I’ve ever been since. I participated in hockey and judo, I took a full slate of difficult courses, and I made time for friends I’ve long since drifted away from. In spite of all this, my artistic productivity was at its height. I still had my down days – down weeks, even – but I always managed to make up for the time I took off.

It’s six years later, and I’m lucky if I can force myself out of bed come morning. My assignments sit unattended to, my books remain unread, my guitar is horrifically out of tune, and my tablet has a layer of dust on it that would make Mr. Clean shriek. In my second and third years, I’d make the excuse that I just had too many interests and goings-on to allow myself to be too involved in any one area. In my fourth and fifth years, I decided that describing myself as “easily distracted” would provide the best defence against the busy-bodies who seemingly surrounded me.

Now, I don’t know what to think. I’ve tried setting rigid work schedules, but, like bad diets, they always break down. I’ve tried implementing a reward system, depriving myself of the fun things I usually love until my work’s completed. No luck; my eyes soon drift from the text- or sketch-book’s pages, and I sit for hours, staring listlessly at my wall. I go for walks, I work out, I switch my diet, I eliminate distractions; the results are always poor. I feel like I’m running out of things to try.

I feel there might be some value in looking back to what made me (feel) successful earlier on in life. I was ambitious, and approached everything like I had a point to prove. People who know me might laugh at such a suggestion, but it’s true. I started drawing because I wanted to be like my favourite web-comic artists. I bought my guitar because I wanted to be a rock-star. When I played hockey, I honestly thought I could make the varsity team if I put in a bit more effort. Until they got out-of-control, my first-year courses made me feel – with genuine enthusiasm – that I could indeed be a physicist, mathematician, archaeologist, film director, or even the goddamned prime minister.

I wasn’t an idiot; I knew that I couldn’t possibly meet all of the above-listed expectations, but I wasn’t about to give up on any of them until the doors of opportunity were closed with definite authority. The years moved on, many of my perceived “doors” were closed, and a hailstorm of setbacks dented my enthusiasm. By the time I crossed the stage to receive my diploma, I had effectively lost all interest in, well, everything. I was finished with setting myself up for perpetual frustration and disappointment.

I used to have fun trying to impress people, and I liked the idea of being a late-blooming underdog. Now, I just wish I could focus on something, anything, long enough to make an appreciable move forward.

But that’s enough moaning from me for one evening. I know I’ve got an easy life, and I know I’ll land on my feet – I always do.