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My problem with diary comics, I think, may be that I read them in the same way I do other comics, and then end up feeling guilty when I judge the central character — i.e., the person creating the actual comics — for decisions they’ve made or things they say. It’s not even as if they know that I’m thinking such things, but nevertheless, I find myself feeling bad for being so unsympathetic to such talented people.

From Graeme McMillan’s excellent column at Robot 6, The Middle Ground #124 (just compile them into a book already; jeez), “The Problem With Reality”.

I think about this quite a bit, considering my current project, and whether it makes me look like a totally selfish and pompous jerk writing about myself. Part of me says, “It’s all about celebration of not just me but about how comic books can positively affect someone’s life.” But isn’t that most comics-related material these days? It’s all a celebration. Part of me tells me that I have something new to say; something different; something more…illiterate? It’s not just a testament to how much joy we can have with comics, but it’s also a bit of a reckoning for me about how they’ve affected me, because I want to truly understand my love and my obsession with them. Part of it comes from a place of wanting to come clean about aspects of my life, being honest about them. Is that in itself unlikeable? I feel like yes and that’s why I should abandon the entire exercise. Though that’s a shitty pr reason to abandon a piece of writing. You shouldn’t do it if you think people won’t like you for it. 

The other side of me thinks about what I preach. Earlier today, a student left a comment in her journal saying that I must really love my job and that I remind her of her eleventh grade English teacher who says, along with me, that in order to write about something effectively you have to care about it. This student said I’m really good at teaching writing, because I inspire her and that I’m not like a lot of teachers she’s had. The other thing that spoke to her was that I am constantly pushing the idea that in order to write and talk about something you must also do it in practice. To be honest with you, I spent a good hour nearly bawling at this comment, because it really blew me away. 

What do you all think? Should I abandon the project or not? 

Daybook
616 Dave
the worst writer ever
graeme mcmillan
PAGE FORTY-THREE. PANEL ONE: The reader’s perspective comes in with me hanging to a sailboat’s mast, my knuckles white with fear. My red-haired friend PETER is piloting the rudder and the sail. I’m terrified of sailing, absolutely horrified at that age, (11), and the expression on my face shows it. ME: PEEEETTTTEEEEE, QUIT IT!  PETER: HAHAHAHA! PANEL TWO: Now we cut away to a widescreen panel with the boat as the focus. Pete is still manning the functions of this Sunflower, and I’m still hanging onto the MAST as he pilots the SAILBOAT to ride abeam to starboard (or so that the right side of the boat) is tipping so that the port (left) points to the clear blue sky. I’m dangling from the mast and the momentum has me sliding slowly off the starboard bow, my feet touching the water. I’m in hysterics because all that I’m thinking about is if this thing tips the entirety of the front will fall right on top of me when I hit the water first, probably causing a head injury and definitely getting beaver fever from the water I will swallow in a panic. ME: AHHHHHHHHHHH! PANEL THREE: In Connecticut, my mom and I are walking the street behind two blond-haired blue-eyed sixth graders in their pretty pink polka dot dresses who are flaunting their mini-Stepford-ness. They are in the front of the panel with looks on their faces completely impressed with themselves and their general importance. The look on my face is an eyebrow raised, clearly disturbed by what they’re saying. CAPTION: CONNECTICUT ALWAYS MADE ME FEEL LIKE A NERDY LONER WHO DID NOT CARE ABOUT THE THINGS OTHERS DID. GIRL 1: SO MY BIG SIS GOT A HORSE FOR HER SWEET 16. PANEL FOUR: Back in Lake Placid, my friends and I are walking along the lake, tennis rackets slung over shoulders or dangling in bags. ME: YOU SHOULD SEE OUR HOUSE. IT’S SO BIG WE NEED INTERCOMS TO TALK! [This scene is meant to illustrate how my personality conflicted with the two locations I was living in (Weston, CT and Lake Placid, NY from 1992-1999) and generally confused what was socially acceptable between the two places. It stemmed from a desperate need to  belong in two places but the transition did not always work, because I lacked the social skills to truly adapt to the two completely different societies, or really one was clearly not for me and as I tried to adapt to CT, it bled into my Lake Placid life that was more my speed].

PAGE FORTY-THREE.

PANEL ONE: The reader’s perspective comes in with me hanging to a sailboat’s mast, my knuckles white with fear. My red-haired friend PETER is piloting the rudder and the sail. I’m terrified of sailing, absolutely horrified at that age, (11), and the expression on my face shows it.

ME: PEEEETTTTEEEEE, QUIT IT! 

PETER: HAHAHAHA!

PANEL TWO: Now we cut away to a widescreen panel with the boat as the focus. Pete is still manning the functions of this Sunflower, and I’m still hanging onto the MAST as he pilots the SAILBOAT to ride abeam to starboard (or so that the right side of the boat) is tipping so that the port (left) points to the clear blue sky. I’m dangling from the mast and the momentum has me sliding slowly off the starboard bow, my feet touching the water. I’m in hysterics because all that I’m thinking about is if this thing tips the entirety of the front will fall right on top of me when I hit the water first, probably causing a head injury and definitely getting beaver fever from the water I will swallow in a panic.

ME: AHHHHHHHHHHH!

PANEL THREE: In Connecticut, my mom and I are walking the street behind two blond-haired blue-eyed sixth graders in their pretty pink polka dot dresses who are flaunting their mini-Stepford-ness. They are in the front of the panel with looks on their faces completely impressed with themselves and their general importance. The look on my face is an eyebrow raised, clearly disturbed by what they’re saying.

CAPTION: CONNECTICUT ALWAYS MADE ME FEEL LIKE A NERDY LONER WHO DID NOT CARE ABOUT THE THINGS OTHERS DID.

GIRL 1: SO MY BIG SIS GOT A HORSE FOR HER SWEET 16.

PANEL FOUR: Back in Lake Placid, my friends and I are walking along the lake, tennis rackets slung over shoulders or dangling in bags.

ME: YOU SHOULD SEE OUR HOUSE. IT’S SO BIG WE NEED INTERCOMS TO TALK!

[This scene is meant to illustrate how my personality conflicted with the two locations I was living in (Weston, CT and Lake Placid, NY from 1992-1999) and generally confused what was socially acceptable between the two places. It stemmed from a desperate need to  belong in two places but the transition did not always work, because I lacked the social skills to truly adapt to the two completely different societies, or really one was clearly not for me and as I tried to adapt to CT, it bled into my Lake Placid life that was more my speed].

lake placid ny
process recess
the worst writer ever
weston ct
comics
3
I mostly handwrite the scripts for The Worst Writer Ever.  I start with the dialogue for a page or a sequence and write out all of that so it doesn’t break in the flow of dialogue, which is something I originally got from Nick Spencer, leaving out the panel descriptions because that breaks up the rhythm of the dialogue. You know, write the panel description then the corresponding dialogue, and repeat. It may not feel like you’re losing momentum, but you are.  I originally thought about breaking out the plot before doing the dialogue in the original Marvel style of scripting but then I just thought that kind of drove the entire story, so that the characters’ dialogue and voice become vehicles for the plot, and that’s something I over-think about and don’t want. I want the characters to drive the story, to react to what’s happening, and in comics their voice is how that happens. The plot is the space for the artist to do their thing, so I do not want to encroach too much on that, and I find I’m more comfortable focusing on the character. In the notebook, after typing the dialogue for that week, I’ll start doing thumbnails for the plot and slotting the dialogue in that way. I make sure that the dialogue can fit on the page with the panels. The reason I do that is I want to make absolutely sure that I’m laying things down right for a potential artist that isn’t covered over with talking, so alot of the time I end up cutting dialogue to fit a panel’s story.  I’m keeping the panel progressions to around 5-6 panels a page, because this is very much like a Harvey Pekar strip—ordinary stuff and not a lot of action, even though I’m changing up the pages with some dynamic in comics kind of thing, so I don’t want people to read pages of seven or eight panels of ordinary stuff like me talking. I want you guys to be able to keep moving along without seeing the same thing over and over, panel after panel. It’s a book about comics and how they influenced me so it should, you know, include comics that I love that I interact with on the page.    

I mostly handwrite the scripts for The Worst Writer Ever. 

I start with the dialogue for a page or a sequence and write out all of that so it doesn’t break in the flow of dialogue, which is something I originally got from Nick Spencer, leaving out the panel descriptions because that breaks up the rhythm of the dialogue. You know, write the panel description then the corresponding dialogue, and repeat. It may not feel like you’re losing momentum, but you are. 

I originally thought about breaking out the plot before doing the dialogue in the original Marvel style of scripting but then I just thought that kind of drove the entire story, so that the characters’ dialogue and voice become vehicles for the plot, and that’s something I over-think about and don’t want. I want the characters to drive the story, to react to what’s happening, and in comics their voice is how that happens. The plot is the space for the artist to do their thing, so I do not want to encroach too much on that, and I find I’m more comfortable focusing on the character.

In the notebook, after typing the dialogue for that week, I’ll start doing thumbnails for the plot and slotting the dialogue in that way. I make sure that the dialogue can fit on the page with the panels. The reason I do that is I want to make absolutely sure that I’m laying things down right for a potential artist that isn’t covered over with talking, so alot of the time I end up cutting dialogue to fit a panel’s story. 

I’m keeping the panel progressions to around 5-6 panels a page, because this is very much like a Harvey Pekar strip—ordinary stuff and not a lot of action, even though I’m changing up the pages with some dynamic in comics kind of thing, so I don’t want people to read pages of seven or eight panels of ordinary stuff like me talking. I want you guys to be able to keep moving along without seeing the same thing over and over, panel after panel. It’s a book about comics and how they influenced me so it should, you know, include comics that I love that I interact with on the page.    

process recess
the worst writer ever
1
Our house in Connecticut, framed in my Dad’s office. That little window in the center of the house, just below and to the left of the two sky lights was my bedroom. Many eggs died a sudden death against those windows. Taken for reference for THE WORST WRITER EVER.

Our house in Connecticut, framed in my Dad’s office. That little window in the center of the house, just below and to the left of the two sky lights was my bedroom. Many eggs died a sudden death against those windows. Taken for reference for THE WORST WRITER EVER.

photography
the worst writer ever