Pinkerton News and Views (gag).

It’s been about a month or so that I’ve been back at the helm of drawing Pinkerton on a regular basis.  Aside from writing and drawing, I’ve been spending a lot of time in Pinkerton just sort’ve taking it all in.  I think I’ve gone back an re-read the archives at least twice.  It’s hard to approach your own work with a subjective eye.  It’s even harder to criticize your efforts.

…unless you’re me.  I’m great at it.

I’ve notice that I’ve slacked off on the “National Park Ambiance” (for lack of better words).  I got so wrapped up in the individual characters that I forgot the biggest one of all:  The Setting.

Pinkerton is one of those strips where I can use the landscape and the setting to add an extra punch.  There are so many available options there that I’ve been literally ignoring for so long.  Every once in a while, I hit the nail on the head.  Like this strip for example (click for full size):

Or this one:

For the most part, I’ve been neglecting the forest feel and all that it has to offer.  Keep your eyes peeled in coming strip.  You’ll notice that nature will slowly take a more-prominent role in the feel of the strip.  Not to tease anyone, but the general synopsis of Pinkerton will begin to morph as time goes on too.  More on that to come, campers.  Stay close.

Harvesting Punchlines

I’ve been partaking in a LOT of personal scrutinization since starting back up again.  First, let me say that I think every artist should take some time away from their characters on a regular basis.  They’re like family members.  If you don’t get away from them once in a while, you never realize they’ve grown.

Lately, I find myself working for the punchline (if that makes any sense).  Let me try to explain… In the past, specially when I first started drawing Pinkerton, I would have a punchline loaded as I went into most of the strips.  Which is very convenient, don’t get me wrong.  But I’ve also found that the pre-loaded punchlines also felt a lot more predictable and tired.  Like being patronized.  No offense to you punchline loaders, I don’t have clarivoyance to know if you’re strips were pre-punched.  It’s PERSONAL scrutiny, remember?

Anyway, I find I do more thinking about how a certain character would react to the conversation rather than simply saying “which character is gonna say this line?”  So when I actually AM able to end a strip with a humorous punchline, it’s one of those “holy shit” moments where I think I might actually know what I’m talking about.

…Even if I sound like a complete ass for attempt to blog it.

The Lung Oyster Saga

I’ve been on the tail end of a chest cold that, at it’s height, was rather nasty.  It still has a slight grip on me but I feel like I’m finally kicking it in it’s crack.  Apparently not entirely though…

My cough is usually worse in the mornings.  Probably has something to do with being horizontal for 5 or more hours.  All the phlegm gets lazy and lungified.  Anyway, I decided to stop for a caffeinated beverage on my way to work this morning.  The Sheetz that I frequent is hopping at this hour with a load of commuters.  As I mentioned, I have all-but kick this cold’s ass.  It’s effects were limited to an occasional single barking throat-clearing cough.  Sometimes I feel them coming.  Sometimes I don’t.

I pulled into the Sheetz parking lot and rolled into a spot next to a newer-model Lexus.  Black.  Shiny.  Normally I don’t notice these details this early in the morning.  However, as I stepped from my vehicle, one of those racking coughs erupted from me.  More like a German Shepherd’s bark than anything.  It was a good one, echoing across the gas pumps.  I felt it in my toes.

Now… as anyone who has experienced a chest cold will tell you, these coughs have a tendency (more often than not) to produce what I like to term “lung oysters.”  In most cases you can contain these goblins without too much public interaction.

This time, not so much.

If you recall, I’m getting out of my car that is parked next to a pretty black Lexus.  As this pesky cough hammered through my chest, I watch in horrific slow motion as a quarter-sized green lung monkey soared across the great divide between me and the Lexus’s passenger window.

Imaging my disgust, are we?  Good!

My disgust is NOTHING compared to the early 50′s-ish lady sitting in the passenger seat.  Lord, she looked quite taken aback.  She had this confused look of WTF.  It was like …well, she looked like someone just hacked a snot-ball onto her Lexus window.

I stood there frozen. I could feel my face turning red.  Tiny beads of sweat popped out on my forehead.    Both of us staring at the jellyfish I just hocked onto her glass.  Immobilized for what seemed like an hour.  This was one of those fight or flight moments.  I could sprint away and dive into one of the store dumpsters.  Hide there until the Lexus departed.  I could get back in my car and bash my head against the steering wheel until I mercifully blacked out.  I could even do the pompous “what are ya gonna do?” shoulder shrug and proceed into the store.

On this particular morning I was feeling guilty and helpful:  A terrible combination.

I reached out, thinking maybe I could grab my snotty little friend.  Like I could hold out my hand, make a clucking sound, and it would jump into my palm like a shiny little Lassie.  I don’t know WHAT the hell I was thinking because all I proceeded to do was smear the glob into a filmy, slimy mess on this poor lady’s window.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed as I continued to smear in a nervous, jerky gesture.  ”I’mmmmm soorrrrr-eeeeeeeee.”

I could no longer see her face through the lungy haze, but I could sure hear her.  Gasping.  Swearing.  Yelling “why!”

Finally, I realized I was in over my head (yeah, it took that long).  I held up a hand to gesture “hang on…one minute” and I ran into the store.  My goal:  Grab a few napkins and repair the damage my cold had caused.

When I returned, both hands stuffed with Sheetz napkins, the Lexus was speeding out of the parking lot.  All I could mutter was “but…”

If you were the passenger of a black Lexus this morning and you were accosted by a mucus slinging bald dude, PLEASE know that I’m terribly sorry.

Terribly.

Sorry.

 

The Comic Quest Quontinues

Hello there, Happy Readers.  Hope this Monday isn’t stomping your ass too terribly hard.  So far, my sanity remains intact.  *Looks at watch* 1:30PM!  That’s a record.

As you can judge from recent posts, my thoughts have been consumed with the webcomics business model.  I’ve been speaking with a handful of artists who I hold in high regards.  Bouncing ideas off folks.  Toying with ideas.  All that sorta fun shit.  And I actually think I’m zeroing in on a model that could bring me back to webcomics in one form or another.  Now don’t go gettin’ your panties in a bunch just yet.  Still in the infancy stage… and there’s still so much work to be done.   Additionally, I’m struggling with the decision of revamping Pinkerton or starting from scratch.  Dunno… Dunno…

On a slightly related note:  I’ve been receiving a lot of requests from folks to “review” their webcomic.  In a perfect world, that would be fun.  It would also require my untarnished honesty.  I’m not sure you people are prepared for that.  Hell, I’m not sure I’M prepared.  Personally, I think these review-requesting folks are bat-shit crazy.  I’m surprised by the requests seeing how often I bash the webcomics collective in general.  Maybe folks are just a glutton for punishment.  Might be fun to review them online and let folks respond to my diatribes directly.  What do you think?  I’d have to make the creators sign a waiver that bars them from suing me for verbal assault.  LOL!

PS:  Got some cool GoComics news coming soon.

For A Nice Raccoon Call…

I don’t often listen to terrestrial radio but I found myself stuck in it’s repetitive grasp yesterday.  I can’t remember what song it was, but the singer was relishing on about how he got a girl’s number from a bathroom wall. Apparently, he sealed the deal and they proceeded start (in Martin’s words) “a fire in the old baloney basement.”

My mind, being what it is (largely a sack full of useless gray matter) directly chimed in on the subject.  Let me ask you:  Have you or do you know ANYONE who has ever looked at a person’s number on a bathroom stall and thought “oh yeah, I’m calling…”  And I don’t mean on a lark.  I’m not talking about the “do you have Prince Albert in a can” thing.  Furthermore, have you or your sick friend been successful at closing the deal on said activity?  My skin crawls just thinking about it.  Could be the fact that I have teenage daughters.  Could be I’m a prude.  Then I started thinking some more…

Maybe I’ve just been misinformed or naive.  Maybe the bathroom stall is a great place to communicate.  One would think there would be more advantages taken.  I mean think about it:

“For a good colonoscopy, call 555-2888 (BUTT)”  Both relevant and helpful!

“For high quality lumber, call 772-9003″  Again…relative to some.

I propose we advertise EVERYTHING on bathroom stalls.  Puppies, hamburgers, orphans, etc. Lets start a movement (no pun intended).

Comic Artists: Times They Are A Changin’

This statement may or may not come as a huge surprise:  Comics are part of my DNA.

They have been ground into my fiber since as long as I can remember.  That’s no big revelation.  Hell, most of my friends have ink running through their blood.  As most of you know, I recently retired Pinkerton.  It was an excruciating decision for me.  One that I continually ponder, doubt, juggle, etc.  When I stop and consider my situation, I didn’t end Pinkerton because I had nothing left to say.  I didn’t end it because I was bored or because of a lack of passion.  The truth of the matter is that I saw the writing on the wall (for me anyway).  It was a sprawling message spray-painted in huge dripping letters… Not only for me but for all comic artists and fans.

COMICS INDUSTRY NEEDS HELP!

Right about now you’re saying, “No shit, Sherlock.”

We, comic fans and creators alike, need to find a new business model.  Here’s the dilemma… Plain and simple:  The Internet.

In the days of yore, readers were consuming their comics in their daily newspaper.  The paper cost them money, sure.  But realistically, it FELT like they were getting something for free.  A bonus.  Cripes, most of the comic readers were under the age of 16 so they weren’t dropping a dime on their local news rag.  Yet behind the scenes, our favorite artists were getting paid… some very well.  That illusion of “free” was great.  It was powerful.  It was fun.  And for a time, it was lucrative for the elite group of syndicated artists who made the cut.

Flash forward a decade or two:  Along comes Al Gore’s invention… The interwebs.  Suddenly, folks could read comics faster and more conveniently.  AND they still had that magical free feeling.  They’re not paying a dime.  Only this time there’s no editors behind the scenes paying our comic heroes to put out.  And on top of that, our hardworking artists suddenly had to be tech-savvy, marketing-savvy and, in most cases, have the time and ability to contribute whimsical blogs to go along with their comics.  Three times the work for zilcho pay.  Don’t even get me started on Twitter and Facebook.

The other problem with the internet was/is the sheer flood of comic horseshit.  The internet is a dumping ground.  There’s a lot of shmoes out there who claim to be artists/cartoonists simply because they SAY they are.  I don’t mean to offend anyone.  I’m simply calling it like I see it.  You’re ruining the world.

For years now, editors and syndicates have been literally SCRAMBLING for their livelihood.  Clawing for a foothold in an environment that is terrifying and uncertain.  I have had the pleasure of speaking with both successful, established ‘toonists as well as new professionals in the development and early-release phases of their careers.  And both of those groups share a similar sentiment.  They are scared shitless because they can’t see over the horizon.

Maybe the comics strip as we knew it is dying.  I’d hate to think that, but maybe it is.  Maybe we all need to sacrifice our creativity and artistic talent to the marketing and sales gods.  I’m hoping for a better answer than “time to change”, but maybe that writing is on the wall.

Happy Independence Day, Campers!

Just a quick little sketch for you guys on my day off.