And as I typed that last sentence I heard my husband asking (as he often does), “What’s this either/or shit?”
Second page of a shorter comic I’m making, based on a stream-of-consciousness thing I wrote in a park with my writing group in August 2017.
This morning I found out that someone I didn’t know had died. I didn’t know him but I’d followed him online for years, ever since he randomly started reading and commenting on my livejournal because he liked my list of interests. I watched him fall in love, get married, welcome two daughters into the world, get divorced. He stopped following me when I left livejournal, but I still kept tabs on him. LJ, flickr, instagram…
I don’t know how he died, and it bothers me.
Amar, what happened? The world is less colorful without you in it.
Shortly after I found out he was gone, I drove my husband to the hospital for one of those routine tests they love to give people over 50. I told him that if I died suddenly, I wanted him to post here and on Facebook to let people know what happened.
Larissa was eaten by a grue. Larissa was in a horrible car accident. Larissa fell down the stairs and broke her skull. Larissa succumbed to the Poltroonian Oyster Flu.
I waited around the hospital all morning, and I drew. I started a little side project to work on when I feel stuck, or when I am waiting. It’s based on something I wrote first thing on a Monday morning in August 2017. This first page is a little busier than I like, but it made the time fly. And I like the way it sinks through layers of fiction into the there-and-then of my actual life: a house, a meadow, insomnia, the moon.
(Mooncop, by Tom Gauld)
The book has a name now, and its own website.
It is a deep rabbit hole. It is a friend longer than a city block.
I get stuck a lot. It doesn’t seem to matter. I write my way through it. Sometimes I make little comics from the writing. They are not part of the book, but they do seem to be part of the process. Here are a couple of fragments:
Damn, I loved drawing all those bubbles.