Page 5a

This half page took about 3.5 hours with breaks to schedule clients, wash clothes, and cook. I'm still having technical difficulties which are aggravating to the max. For some reason I'm obsessed with speed; if I were to slow down and enjoy the process my output might improve. Why speed? I'm staring at 500+ half pages (many alien pages are not even written or sketched yet) of rough drafts that need to be printed as empty text/panel pages, inked by hand with pencils, light table, and fine tip fountain pen (fun but labor intensive as I'm still fleshing out each character [costume, physiognomy, age, skin color, size], scanned, colored (fun and highly labor intensive as I continue to flail around in the deep end of this digital pool), shaded (not fun as I haven't a clue at what I'm doing both technologically or light/shade and value-wise), merged, and posted. If I increase my speed to 3 hours per half page (an ambitious estimate at this point) that's 1500 hours. If I work 25 hours a week that's 60 weeks. Even though I've been hacking away at this graphic novel for 15 months (with a 3 month hiatus), can I sustain interest for another year+? Speigelman took 11 years to draw MAUS but he was young when he started. I'm racing against my biological clock which, once the alarm goes off, I'll be infirm, decrepit, and unable to conceive--IE., manipulate pens, mouse, touch pads, scanners, etc. Also, there's a weird symbiotic relationship between my wife's deteriorating health and my obsession with mental challenges. Distracting myself with 101 tasks of creating a graphic novel is therapeutic, or so I like to believe.

Time Travel

While spending many tedious hours this morning manipulating my mouse creating spiffier text boxes with a new and improved font (Draft 3), my mind wanders. What would my 18 year old self think if he were transported from 1970 to 2012 to observe the (nearly) 60 year old self he became? I imagine that younger me being an invisible ghost watching with dumbfounded awe at the old guy he became. I am so unlike what the young me imagined I'd be. Here's what I imagine the young me would write in his journal.

I ended up living alone? Yikes! What year is this? Where am I? Who the heck is this old guy? Where's his family? Is he not married? He has no dog? I loved my dogs growing up. And no guitar? No Beatles in the background? Why is he listening to Miles Davis? I hated Miles Davis in high school.


He stares at a flat box on his lap that glows. What the heck is that blue thing in his hand? Did the young me turn into a sorcerer? How can he do such magic? He rubs that blue thing on the couch cushion, clicking and clicking, and pictures on that lap thing change! Holy crap, what is happening?


Why isn't he working? It's 9:00 AM on a Friday and he sits in this living room hour after hour moving that blue thing around. Is his rich? How does he pay his bills? Where are Mom and Dad? The back yard is all green--trees, leaves, lawn, bushes. It looks like Washington State but I can't be sure. I never got to Australia like I hoped? Nuts!


I can see that he's working on a comic book. Well that looks familiar....some things never change. I used to sit in my room in silence and draw for hours and hours when I was 18, too. 


I see I grew facial hair. Where was that beard when I needed it? I would have killed to be able to grow a beard in high school. But the pot belly, gray hair, crows feet, and glasses make me look like the dorky adults that intimidated me as a teen. I'm actually astonished that I made it to 100 or however old that ancient me is. 


What's with that stack of books about Ecclesiastes doing on the coffee table? Did I become a religious fanatic? And why is he drinking coffee? I hated coffee as a teenager. 


Where are my buddies Jeff, Paul, John? I still can't figure out why nobody's around. Is he in some kind of jail? House arrest? Maybe the world ended like in Twilight Zone and he's the last guy on earth. I see a TV in the living room. Why isn't it on? I loved TV when I was in high school. I wonder if Gilligan ever got off the island. 

God, Disease, and Glibness

When I was a Calvinist pastor (23 years) I could glibly site all the Bible passages that made God responsible for sickness: Exodus 4:11, Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Deuteronomy 32:39, There is no God besides me. I put to death and I bring to life, I have wounded and I will heal, and no one can deliver out of my hand. Ecclesiastes 7:14, When times are bad, consider: God has made the one as well as the other. Not to mention a hundred other proof texts for the sovereignty of God concerning plagues, disease, calamity, destruction, trials, tribulation, and all manner of abysmal conditions.

Now that my wife is terminally ill I'm not so glib. Times are bad. Unlike Job's wife I'm not inclined to curse God and die. Atheism would certainly solve the theodicy problem but theism is in my DNA, not to mention creating a host of new problems (namely, the problem of good, beauty, and meaning). For existential reasons I choose faith despite this apparent reason not to believe.

But neither am I, in true evangelical fashion, able to say with glib confidence that her Alzheimer's is to teach character, bring glory to God, the result of sin, or the consequence of the fall of Adam. I'm a child of Adam and I don't have this disease. There is a category of illness in the Bible called, "sickness unto death" but that still doesn't answer the "Why her?" question. I try not to dwell on this too much; I have trained myself rather to ask the, "What do I do next?" question.

Yet I can't avoid asking the why questions. I'm pounded every day with a clash between a God I want to love/trust and visits to see Vicki. I'm not enamored of the One who put my young wife in a nursing home. (If you want to know what I see there, read Ecclesiastes 12:1-7. Or wait about a year until my illustrated version comes out).

Which brings me to the impetus for spending five months (with more to come) creating a graphic novel based on the book of Ecclesiastes. Qoheleth touches something deep within me. Despite his glowing endorsement as a wise man of God by the editor in chapter 12:9-14, I doubt that his brand of doubt would garner him any ministry positions in a modern evangelical church. Certitude (glibness?) seems to be a litmus test for orthodoxy. Yet here's a Bible writer wracked with anxiety due to the clash between his theology and the evil he saw all around him.

I can understand why Ecclesiastes isn't popular. It's gloomy! And I also see why when Ecclesiastes does get air time Qoheleth's tensions are sanitized by glib dismissal, relegating his words to the trash bin of secular humanism, and thus easily ignored.

But the guy wasn't a secular humanist. He was a sage puzzled by the problem of evil. Ecclesiastes University is my attempt to come to grips with this very personal issue.

Progress Update and Boomer Reflections

After a difficult week slogging through EU5 (Eccl. 3:1-15), I finished touching up the gen-y-affirming script, carefully positioned and outlined each word balloon, and attached appropriate characters to all the word balloons. 

Sample page from EU5 (page 74)

Then this weekend I finished EU6 (Eccl. 3:16-22) with script and characters. I'm happy with the results, confident that another edit or two will make a good script even better. 

Sample page from EU6 (page 96)

I've printed EU 7 (Eccl. 4:1-12) and EU 8 (Eccl. 4:13-16) with placed and outlined word balloons awaiting dialog editing and assigning speakers to each word balloon (my delightful project this week). 


What slowed me down last week was the realization that the dialog I'd created was straight from my boomer brain and too antiquated for my intended audience (20 somethings). Thankfully, I've got a character (working name: Aging Hippie) who will be my voice concerning all things 60s related. 


Interestingly, I watched The Way this weekend. The main character, Martin Sheen, is a man in his 60s who traveled to Spain and he met a woman in her 20s (?) who was angry and said to Sheen,

"Hey Boomer! You know, as in Baby Boomer? You have all of the signs of that desperate generation taking its last breath trying to screw the rest of us over one last time. The only thing missing from you, Boomer, is one of those stupid looking pony tails and collection of James Taylor songs on your ipod."

He said, "I love James Taylor, and I don't have an ipod."

I was somewhat taken aback by this jab. Either I'm naive, or blessed with friendly acquaintances in their 20s. I'm not used to being the butt of another's animosity. With no recollection of any attempt on my part to screw anyone over I feel I've been unjustly criticized. (Maybe I'm being too sensitive; after all, she didn't say it to me).


On my next edit I plan on expunging all gen-y, off-putting comments from my ancient brain. To replace them perfectly I'd need to interview current university students but do not plan on doing so. This project is growing in size and I'm going to sacrifice perfect dialog in favor of completion. A graphic novel with less than perfect dialog is better than no graphic novel at all. 


First draft: 68 or 69 large pages with hand written dialog.
Second draft: Publisher pages with six panels and typed dialog.
Third draft: Publisher pages with polished dialog and Scotch taped characters (EU6 brought me to page 97).

Ecclesiastes 3, Again

I woke up with a bolt of insight on why my efforts to illustrate Ecclesiastes 3 wasn't working: the images are too boomer-ish.

My intended audience--university undergrads in 2012--hold boomers in high disdain. My rough drafts just ooze "old man." Do university students today have any recollection of Pete Seeger's Turn, Turn, Turn? Do they have any affinity with aging hippies, the Rolling Stones, WW2 photos, or Emmett Kelly (ancient even by my standards)? Bottom line: millennials and gen-y folk do not think I am groovy.

My creativity is pressed to the max. How do I get into the heads of early 20-somethings?

And if I could, do I want to lock this graphic novel into their 2012 time and space?

Look at these photos from the latest issue of Newsweek. Which of these tribes is my audience? And how do I translate my vision of Mr. Q's vision in their language?

I've been assuming university students today are like I was 35 years ago...interested in philosophy, the Big Questions, existentialism, and melancholia.

I'm having a creative crisis right now....so here's the plan: I'm going to carry this chart around and fill it in with ideas that I hope will be more relevant to my intended audience.

One final question: is my writer's block due to the complex nature of my immediate task (imaging Eccl. 3 for a tribe different than my own)? OR, am I just brain weary, uninspired, and experiencing synaptic fatigue? I'm keeping this blog in order to grapple with such questions.

Adjunct Grist for the Mill

It's very hard for me NOT to start drawing yet. The delicious anticipation of seeing how pictures will enhance, change, and challenge the dialog is what eggs me on. It's like building a brick wall but making the bricks first. The shape of the wall will be determined by the number and shape of the bricks I create. But these bricks are living in that the dialog informs the character AND the character will inform the dialog. But as I said, I'm making myself write a first draft of the dialog before character development.

I do have rough ideas of who the students will be. There will be philosophy majors of course (since Mr. Q teaches in the philosophy dept). But there will also be pre law, marketing, English, and science majors. I also get to throw in players, materialists, Tea Partiers, aging hippies, hedonists, home school students, and computer gaming geeks. Mr. Q will have a TA, useful to me as the one to elaborate on Mr. Q's more confusing utterances.

Earnest Hemingway will make a cameo appearance (quoting his book The Sun Also Rises, taken from a line of Ecclesiastes). I think I'll refrain from putting in Timon from the Lion King saying, "It's a circle of life sort of thing," since animals in the class room is a bit too far fetched.

Yesterday I took a one day art class just for the fun of it and the 20 year old kid teaching it (a fabulous artist, by the way) was covered in tattoos and wore a hooligan hat. Here he is sans tattoos drawing on a Cintiq tablet and interactive pen.

The class, all 20 somethings, wore beanies, hoodies, and tight jeans. Since I'm an old guy unaccustomed to schmoozing with students 1/3 my age (I'm almost 60), I jotted phrases the teacher used which I hope to put into the mouths of the students in my graphic novel. The list included these gems:

Crappy
Do you want to know my truth?
I'm gunna be raw, honest, real
I'm like Simon Cowell, brutal and honest
Go crazy
Knock yourself out
His stuff is insane
There's good pizza and bad pizza
The music of the Black Keys is awesome
I sell tee shirts
It's really cool
I know, it's retarded
Good on you

Not sure how many of these I'll use but they'll come in handy, I'm sure.