Pour yourself a cup of coffee and put on some Jackson Browne, folks. Before I really get started, I’m going to let anyone reading this know that I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I’m a graphic novelist — and, no, I don’t mean erotic thrillers. I mean GRAPHIC NOVELIST — Stan Lee, Ed Brubaker, Brian K. Vaughn. Essentially, I write violent picture books for a living.
Writing, for me, was more of an outlet when it first started; a way to escape the hum-drum of everyday life and enter a world where anything was possible. I was finally who I wanted to be and no one could bring me down. Well, not for more than an episode or two. Writing started out as a way to cope with depression, but it morphed into so much more than that.
I was probably about a year in before I realized, “Hey! I like this. A lot!” And people started telling me I should go for it. Yeah, the normal people — family, friends, people who either care too much or not enough to tell me I suck. But it wasn’t always those people. Sometimes it’d be people I didn’t know from Adam. Friends of friends of cousins or the occasional ex-girlfriend’s grandma.
So, I started thinking about doing this for a living. Putting words to paper. Which seemed quite alright to me, because, as it turns out, I really liked hearing myself talk. Understandably, I liked making other people hear me talk, as well.
But what I didn’t know is that I sucked. I was bad. And I don’t mean the guy whose story is alright but his grammar isn’t. I wrote a “screenplay” — and I use that word lightly — with a buddy of mine when we were both in eighth grade. A few months back, I re-read that piece of crap and I almost threw up my lunch. It was called something like Project Levee and I realized that something like half of it was plagiarized from the USA Network show Burn Notice. Apparently, that was my idea of great writing at the time. Didn’t want to plagiarize Tarantino or Nolan. No! Matt Nix and his writing staff for Burn Notice was who set the line for me.
Thankfully, I got better. I hope I did, anyway. I don’t know, maybe people still baby me. Maybe they read a piece of mine and say, “Holy crud, this thing’s a big ol’ dump.” Because, you know, people talk like that, right?
This medium, the blog, is all very new to me. I guess what I’m saying is that I have no clue what this is about, no clue where this is going, and no clue what my third no clue was going to be. So bear with me, anyone who’s reading this. Probably my mom or, like, my uncle.
And if you’re reading this from at least twenty years into the future, I’d really like to know how I die. Or if food is served in capsule form.