I get depressed from time to time…but what’s worse than the depression is the guilt that follows it–because I know that working the gig that I do, having the friends and fans that I do, having survived the stuff that I have, I have no right to feel anything but grateful.
But that’s not right at all, is it? We’ve all got a right to feel whatever we feel, regardless of how logical it is. Biologically speaking, we’re just wet, gasping bags of chemical slurry and arbitrarily firing electrical pulses. We can’t help what we feel–only what we do with those feelings.
Being one of the most self-centered human beings on the planet, I know exactly what makes me feel better–and that’s expressing myself through comics.
I’ve been having a real bitch of a time recently, honestly, when it comes to getting stuff out. I’ve reached a point in my career wherein I have to deal with editors, and licensors, and self-sabotaging primadonas who think they’re God’s gift to publishing, and it’s bumming me out something fierce.
I miss working on books that read like I wrote them. I miss comics that feel like honest-to-God comic books, and not storyboards for films. “Burn down the Disco, hang the blessed D.J. Because the music that they constantly play IT SAYS NOTHING TO ME ABOUT MY LIFE,” y’know?
I want to get back to doin’ books that are unfiltered, unfilmable, unmarketable, unsalable buckets of crazy sauce.
I don’t care about getting paid anymore. I just want to be part of the conversation again.
Artists, hit me up: