This panel is one of the closest links between Edgar's character and mine. Usually, the idea of something sounds great--be it a party or a concert or lunch--but I would rather not do it. So you'd think that I'd be happy not to be invited places, but that's not the case. I want to feel included, I just don't want to actually do the legwork inclusion entails. Like talking to people. Go figure.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Edgar is me
This panel is one of the closest links between Edgar's character and mine. Usually, the idea of something sounds great--be it a party or a concert or lunch--but I would rather not do it. So you'd think that I'd be happy not to be invited places, but that's not the case. I want to feel included, I just don't want to actually do the legwork inclusion entails. Like talking to people. Go figure.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Edgar is suspiciously suspicious
Poor Edgar can't let anything be what it is, can't accept an offer in good faith. What a putz.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
When existential angst strikes, go shopping
A recurring them in Blood Culture is the ways in which we attempt to fill our aching need for satisfaction and fulfillment. And the most common way to make ourselves feel better is to go shopping. Buying things both distracts us from our problems and provides a short-lived rush of satisfaction. I have something new! I couldn't be happier!Here, Edgar went out to find out who he was, what he stood for, what his life meant in the grand cosmic play that is life, and he decided to buy a pair of running sneakers instead. Now doesn't he look happier?
Friday, September 19, 2008
Two That Didn't Work
There was time, when Blood Culture was a wet newborn struggling to stand, that Gerry and I were convinced that absolutely any idea would work. The Blood Culture premise was so strong, we reasoned, that it would elevate to comic genius even the most mundane situation.Turns out we were wrong about that. And Edgar eating a fish stick is the best example of our overconfidence.
Here's another idea that failed:
Edgar eating a fish fails because the line isn't funny; Edgar's reluctance to marry fails because nothing funny is happening. If Edgar's girlfriend were engaged in some activity that told us why he is reluctant to marry her, then it might be funny. Instead, she's just standing there giving him "that" look.Lessons learned. I hope.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Grandpa Blood Culture
Here's the philosophical question of the day: how do you know that your memories are an accurate record of what you have experienced? Are your childhood memories your own, or do they reflect the stories others have told you about yourself? Are some of your memories completely fabricated from the cloth of fantasy?That's precisely what Edgar is up against here. He thinks he remembers his grandfather on his own terms, but his memory of the old man is only through the mementos of others.
Monday, September 15, 2008
He Ain't Heavy
This was one of the first ideas I wrote, maybe a day or two after Gerry agreed to draw Blood Culture. Walking toward the PATH station after work, I was struck by the homogeny of the suited men around me. Granted, not the most original observation ever, but an observation nonetheless.
What I love about this panel is what you don't see. Because Edgar and his brother look identical, the first instinct is to brush the panel off as a simple joke about appearances. Why would Edgar want to be more like someone who seems to be just like him?
The reader must fill in the context, the sibling rivalry, the lives they lead outside the panel. How do these two characters act when we can't see them? How is his brother's life better than Edgar's? How can it be, considering they are red blood cells?
This panel is also the template for leaving nameless all characters other than Edgar. It's a running joke that stresses Edgar's incredible self-absorption.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The Origin of Edgar, Pt. VI
David Sanders agreed to draw Blood Culture just after the first tower was struck on September 11, 2001. I was overjoyed--Blood Culture was back on track, riches were just around the corner, I would finally get some new panels to shop around. Sure, a catastrophe has just occurred, but it was an accident. That a plane hadn't crashed into the tallest structure in New York before was a minor miracle. It was accident, and it had happened to someone else, as we believe accidents always do. At least that's what everyone thought. Until the second plane hit.
That's when we realized that it was no accident. It was an attack. Someone was at war with us, and that meant it was happening to us all.
Even though my office was on New York's east side at 33rd and First, far from the World Trade Center, we were all nervous. Would another plane drop from the sky? Would it crash into us? Were there bombs placed throughout the city? Were we going to die? What the hell was going on?
I called my wife, but the lines were overloaded and all I got was a busy signal. My mom was babysitting my daughter, so I called home. I got a bust signal. I called my brother. Busy signal. I tried over and over to reach people, but all I got was a busy signal. Everyone in the ofice was frightened, so we did what people do in a crisis: we sought out each other. We gathered together to watch the news, taking comfort in the fact that at least we were still here, that we weren't there, in the burning towers, and then feeling guilty for the thought. We sat together in disbelief when the first tower fell. Together we were dumbfounded when the second one fell.
Very few people had left the office before the towers fell, but once they did everyone just wanted to go home, to see family. A coworker wanted to see his wife, who worked a few blocks away, and he was nervous about walking alone--again, the comfort of others--so I volunteered to walk with him. The streets were packed with the traumatized and the angry. Some were crying, some were planning a way out of the city, some were plotting revenge against those responsible. Everyone looked dazed.
I walked back to the office, alone, because there was no other place to go. I couldn't go home; all public transportation into and out of the city had been canceled. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that the trains were running again, so I met up with my wife, my brother, and my sister-in-law for the long paranoid walk to Penn Station. There were no cars on the streets--something no one had ever seen before or has seen since--just mobs of people looking for a way to get out. I made it home in time to see my daughter off to bed.
Like many people, I questioned the direction of my life after 9/11, and the direction I wanted to go in was toward Blood Culture. With David onboard Blood Culture had a real shot this time. I choose a line from my long list of ideas and emailed it to David. I had a picture in my mind of what the panel should look like. What he sent back the next week amazed me. It was exactly the image I imagined. Here it is, Blood Culture #40, four years in the making. (Click on it to make it larger.)
The terrorist attacks were on my mind when I picked this line. This panel is a comment on the supreme confidence not only is there a God, and if you unwisely choose to worship the wrong one you will be punished. Edgar avoids offending that fate by following the most popular religions simultaneously. He wants salvation without having to make a definite choice, afraid that the by choosing he might anger that wrathful specter. At least this way, he's worshiping each god in turn, currying a nit of favor from each.
Everything about the panel was perfect, from the slight angle of the wall behind Edgar to the tiny details David added, like the callout box pointing to Mecca. David was the best choice, even if he was the only one.
Seven years later, David is still surprising me with his work. He incorporates his own sense of humor into every panel, bringing out the best in each joke. Amazingly, seven years later, we are no closer to seeing Blood Culture published. In February of this year, I shut down the Web site and forwarded the traffic to Comics Sherpa, a hosting site run by Universal Press Syndicate. The monthly fee to host on Comics Sherpa is the same as the cost of hosting the Web site, but the traffic to the Comics Sherpa site is on average 15 times that of the Web site. It's worth it just to expose Blood Culture to a larger audience.
After 11 years, I still love Blood Culture and believe that it is one of the best comic strips ever produced. I won't give up on Edgar. Ever.
Right now, though, we're on hiatus. I'll be posting some comics a few times a week, sometimes explaining the idea behind the joke or what observation led to the idea. You can let me know if the panel hit its mark.
That's when we realized that it was no accident. It was an attack. Someone was at war with us, and that meant it was happening to us all.
Even though my office was on New York's east side at 33rd and First, far from the World Trade Center, we were all nervous. Would another plane drop from the sky? Would it crash into us? Were there bombs placed throughout the city? Were we going to die? What the hell was going on?
I called my wife, but the lines were overloaded and all I got was a busy signal. My mom was babysitting my daughter, so I called home. I got a bust signal. I called my brother. Busy signal. I tried over and over to reach people, but all I got was a busy signal. Everyone in the ofice was frightened, so we did what people do in a crisis: we sought out each other. We gathered together to watch the news, taking comfort in the fact that at least we were still here, that we weren't there, in the burning towers, and then feeling guilty for the thought. We sat together in disbelief when the first tower fell. Together we were dumbfounded when the second one fell.
Very few people had left the office before the towers fell, but once they did everyone just wanted to go home, to see family. A coworker wanted to see his wife, who worked a few blocks away, and he was nervous about walking alone--again, the comfort of others--so I volunteered to walk with him. The streets were packed with the traumatized and the angry. Some were crying, some were planning a way out of the city, some were plotting revenge against those responsible. Everyone looked dazed.
I walked back to the office, alone, because there was no other place to go. I couldn't go home; all public transportation into and out of the city had been canceled. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that the trains were running again, so I met up with my wife, my brother, and my sister-in-law for the long paranoid walk to Penn Station. There were no cars on the streets--something no one had ever seen before or has seen since--just mobs of people looking for a way to get out. I made it home in time to see my daughter off to bed.
Like many people, I questioned the direction of my life after 9/11, and the direction I wanted to go in was toward Blood Culture. With David onboard Blood Culture had a real shot this time. I choose a line from my long list of ideas and emailed it to David. I had a picture in my mind of what the panel should look like. What he sent back the next week amazed me. It was exactly the image I imagined. Here it is, Blood Culture #40, four years in the making. (Click on it to make it larger.)
The terrorist attacks were on my mind when I picked this line. This panel is a comment on the supreme confidence not only is there a God, and if you unwisely choose to worship the wrong one you will be punished. Edgar avoids offending that fate by following the most popular religions simultaneously. He wants salvation without having to make a definite choice, afraid that the by choosing he might anger that wrathful specter. At least this way, he's worshiping each god in turn, currying a nit of favor from each.
Everything about the panel was perfect, from the slight angle of the wall behind Edgar to the tiny details David added, like the callout box pointing to Mecca. David was the best choice, even if he was the only one.
Seven years later, David is still surprising me with his work. He incorporates his own sense of humor into every panel, bringing out the best in each joke. Amazingly, seven years later, we are no closer to seeing Blood Culture published. In February of this year, I shut down the Web site and forwarded the traffic to Comics Sherpa, a hosting site run by Universal Press Syndicate. The monthly fee to host on Comics Sherpa is the same as the cost of hosting the Web site, but the traffic to the Comics Sherpa site is on average 15 times that of the Web site. It's worth it just to expose Blood Culture to a larger audience.
After 11 years, I still love Blood Culture and believe that it is one of the best comic strips ever produced. I won't give up on Edgar. Ever.
Right now, though, we're on hiatus. I'll be posting some comics a few times a week, sometimes explaining the idea behind the joke or what observation led to the idea. You can let me know if the panel hit its mark.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The origin of Edgar, Pt. V
Y2K marked the third birthday of Blood Culture, the single-panel strip starring everyone's favorite corpuscular mope, and in those three years my partner and I had produced only 39 panels. Even though I knew that my artistic partner Gerry would never get around to drawing more strips, I still wrote many, many lines. I would jot down any idea, no matter how silly or ridiculous. It was--and still is--my way to clear the brambles from my thoughts, to free up some mental space for new ideas to take root. I carried a pen and paper--sometimes a scrap, sometimes a notebook--wherever I went. I didn't want to miss a single observation.
I didn't pester Gerry at all that year because I knew it was pointless, and also because I was busy with something more important than even Blood Culture: wedding plans. In September of 2000 I took my vows and headed out to San Francisco to honeymoon.
A few weeks after my honeymoon I found out that my wife was pregnant. After the initial excitement died down, we settled into our roles as expectant parents, buying things for the baby's room, thinking of names, dreaming about the future, eating ice cream.
Then in February of 2001, my dad died.
With one life just ended and another about to begin, I couldn't help but be philosophical. What did I want out of life, for myself and for those I loved? I wanted creativity, humor, and, more concretely, financial security. That's when I knew I had to give Blood Culture another try. It's the hope of all parents that their children will learn valuable lessons from their lives and I was--am--no different. I had to put every effort into making Blood Culture a success, both as an idea and commercially, to show my child that she could follow her dreams and make them come true. I wanted her to see me succeed doing what I loved to do. And I knew the only way to do that was to break up with Gerry. If Blood Culture was to survive, our collaboration had to end.
I sat on my decision for two months, fretting about the details. What would I say? How would I say it? What was I going to do with Edgar after Gerry was gone? I never answered those questions, but in April I wrote an email to Gerry anyway honestly describing my hopes and plans for Blood Culture. He agreed that Blood Culture deserved a shot at greatness and that he would never be able create new panels on a regular basis. With assurances that we'd stay in touch, we parted ways.
I didn't pester Gerry at all that year because I knew it was pointless, and also because I was busy with something more important than even Blood Culture: wedding plans. In September of 2000 I took my vows and headed out to San Francisco to honeymoon.
A few weeks after my honeymoon I found out that my wife was pregnant. After the initial excitement died down, we settled into our roles as expectant parents, buying things for the baby's room, thinking of names, dreaming about the future, eating ice cream.
Then in February of 2001, my dad died.
With one life just ended and another about to begin, I couldn't help but be philosophical. What did I want out of life, for myself and for those I loved? I wanted creativity, humor, and, more concretely, financial security. That's when I knew I had to give Blood Culture another try. It's the hope of all parents that their children will learn valuable lessons from their lives and I was--am--no different. I had to put every effort into making Blood Culture a success, both as an idea and commercially, to show my child that she could follow her dreams and make them come true. I wanted her to see me succeed doing what I loved to do. And I knew the only way to do that was to break up with Gerry. If Blood Culture was to survive, our collaboration had to end.
I sat on my decision for two months, fretting about the details. What would I say? How would I say it? What was I going to do with Edgar after Gerry was gone? I never answered those questions, but in April I wrote an email to Gerry anyway honestly describing my hopes and plans for Blood Culture. He agreed that Blood Culture deserved a shot at greatness and that he would never be able create new panels on a regular basis. With assurances that we'd stay in touch, we parted ways.
I decided to draw Blood Culture myself. I drew a couple of panels, but if you remember how the first panel turned out you'll know why I quickly abandoned the idea. I needed an artist, someone who could actually draw more than a circle within a circle and was interested specifically in comic strips. I asked around, pumping friends and friends of friends for names. No one knew of anyone who fit the bill.
I struggled for months to think of someone, and then one day it occurred to me: David Sanders could do it. David and I had worked together at the same place Gerry and I had met, and he liked the Blood Culture panels I had shown him all those years ago. David was also a fantastic artist. In his downtime he would draw astoundingly detailed scenes of ancient Rome and photographic-quality renderings of the Titanic. I used to marvel at them, much to his embarrassment. He also wrote and drew a comic strip about the adventures of a misanthropic blob called the Glunch. He was cynical and a bit angry, and he loved to draw. He was the perfect candidate.
But would he agree to draw my humble cartoon for no more reward than my appreciation? There was only one way to find out. But before I could ask him to join up with me, my daughter was born. I took the full 12 weeks afforded me by the Family and Medical Leave Act to stay home with my growing family. On my fourth day back at work, September 11, 2001, I got to my desk around 8:15 am and sent an email to David asking if he'd like to draw Blood Culture.
I heard back from him right after the first plane hit the first tower.
Next time, part VI, and the first Blood Culture panel David drew.
I struggled for months to think of someone, and then one day it occurred to me: David Sanders could do it. David and I had worked together at the same place Gerry and I had met, and he liked the Blood Culture panels I had shown him all those years ago. David was also a fantastic artist. In his downtime he would draw astoundingly detailed scenes of ancient Rome and photographic-quality renderings of the Titanic. I used to marvel at them, much to his embarrassment. He also wrote and drew a comic strip about the adventures of a misanthropic blob called the Glunch. He was cynical and a bit angry, and he loved to draw. He was the perfect candidate.
But would he agree to draw my humble cartoon for no more reward than my appreciation? There was only one way to find out. But before I could ask him to join up with me, my daughter was born. I took the full 12 weeks afforded me by the Family and Medical Leave Act to stay home with my growing family. On my fourth day back at work, September 11, 2001, I got to my desk around 8:15 am and sent an email to David asking if he'd like to draw Blood Culture.
I heard back from him right after the first plane hit the first tower.
Next time, part VI, and the first Blood Culture panel David drew.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Origin of Edgar, Pt IV
I pinned my hopes of publishing gold on the big comic strip syndicates, sending out submission packets with the clutch of Blood Culture strips I had been able to wrestle from my partner, Gerry. The syndicates didn't bite, forcing me to admit that Blood Culture didn't have mainstream appeal. So I set my sights on the world of alternative weeklies. After all, alt weeklies run some wacky comics, including one of my favorites, Life in Hell, the strip by the Simpsons creator Matt Groening. Alt weeklies were definitely more Blood Culture's audience.
I combed the Internet for names of alt weeklies and mailed out around 40 submissions simultaneously. As great as it would be for Blood Culture to be picked up by one of these papers, it wasn't going to make us rich. There would be no syndication, only publication in individual papers across the country. But my bruised ego was hungry for approval and I would have gladly accepted any offer if it meant that someone like Blood Culture.
Over the next few weeks, rejection after rejection arrived in the SASEs I included with the submissions. I heard from only a few papers, though; most hadn't even bothered to use the SASE. It looked like I would never catch a break.
I was wrong about that.
My wife loved Blood Culture and had shown the panels to some of her coworkers when they were first drawn. One of coworkers remembered the strip and said he knew a guy named Francis who was starting a humor zine--this was still 1999 after all--called Cripple and that he was looking for cartoons. I got in touch with Francis and sent him the panels used for the syndicate submission. He loved them and wanted to run a few. I gave him permission to run as many of the panels he wanted.
Cripple ran two Blood Cultures in each of its first two issues. I was elated. Francis was the first total stranger who had read and appreciated Blood Culture based purely on the strip itself. Francis didn't know me and had no vested interest in stroking my fragile ego. Blood Culture made him laugh and so he used it. It remains one of the greatest compliments I've ever received. And another was on the way.
After the second issue of Cripple came out, another friend of a friend had heard that a new web site called Indie Planet was looking for comic strips. With my confidence restored, I sent the editor of Indie Planet some samples. He loved them. Everyone in the office loved them. And best of all, they were willing to pay $150 a panel. 150! A panel! In American dollars!
I signed on with Indie Planet in December of 1999 and immediately registered bloodculture.com. If Blood Culture became a hit on Indie Planet--and how could it not?--I wanted to be ready to capitalize on it.
In January of 2000, Blood Culture was the first of four weekly comic strips to appear on the site. It was the only one to appear twice.
After five weeks, the site went bankrupt, one of the first casualties of the bursting dot com bubble.
So there I was, in February 2000, $300 richer but with no prospects for publication and still no new comics. By this time both Gerry and I had left the company where we had worked together, and my emails hectoring him for new panels--and his replies--became less frequent. I did the only thing I could think of to keep the momentum going: I created the first version of the Blood Culture web site.
Here's something you should know about me: I hate to read instruction manuals. I prefer to just dive right into a project--whether it's putting together an Ikea bookcase of building a Web site--without all that useless preparation and forethought. One look at the many small home improvements I've attempted will tell you that. So I downloaded an old copy of Adobe PageMill and poked around a little. The result was the Web site that was active until just a month ago. (Just for kicks, you can see most of those early panels on the Blood Culture pages at Internet Archive). It was utilitarian. I posted the panels, wrote some stupid copy, included my email address. No one paid much attention to it.
As 1999 ended, I was disappointed that there hadn't been a new panel drawn in two years. I had invested more time and energy into Blood Culture than in previous artistic endeavor and I wanted it to be successful. I still believed in Gerry, though. I felt I owed him more time to draw new panels. Without him I wouldn't have had the little success I had had. Still, my patience was wearing out.
The next year would bring big changes for me and Blood Culture. In September of 2000 I got married; by early October my wife was pregnant; in February of 2001 my dad died; in April of 2001 I broke up with Gerry; and on September 11, 2001 David Sanders agreed to draw Blood Culture.
I combed the Internet for names of alt weeklies and mailed out around 40 submissions simultaneously. As great as it would be for Blood Culture to be picked up by one of these papers, it wasn't going to make us rich. There would be no syndication, only publication in individual papers across the country. But my bruised ego was hungry for approval and I would have gladly accepted any offer if it meant that someone like Blood Culture.
Over the next few weeks, rejection after rejection arrived in the SASEs I included with the submissions. I heard from only a few papers, though; most hadn't even bothered to use the SASE. It looked like I would never catch a break.
I was wrong about that.
My wife loved Blood Culture and had shown the panels to some of her coworkers when they were first drawn. One of coworkers remembered the strip and said he knew a guy named Francis who was starting a humor zine--this was still 1999 after all--called Cripple and that he was looking for cartoons. I got in touch with Francis and sent him the panels used for the syndicate submission. He loved them and wanted to run a few. I gave him permission to run as many of the panels he wanted.
Cripple ran two Blood Cultures in each of its first two issues. I was elated. Francis was the first total stranger who had read and appreciated Blood Culture based purely on the strip itself. Francis didn't know me and had no vested interest in stroking my fragile ego. Blood Culture made him laugh and so he used it. It remains one of the greatest compliments I've ever received. And another was on the way.
After the second issue of Cripple came out, another friend of a friend had heard that a new web site called Indie Planet was looking for comic strips. With my confidence restored, I sent the editor of Indie Planet some samples. He loved them. Everyone in the office loved them. And best of all, they were willing to pay $150 a panel. 150! A panel! In American dollars!
I signed on with Indie Planet in December of 1999 and immediately registered bloodculture.com. If Blood Culture became a hit on Indie Planet--and how could it not?--I wanted to be ready to capitalize on it.
In January of 2000, Blood Culture was the first of four weekly comic strips to appear on the site. It was the only one to appear twice.
After five weeks, the site went bankrupt, one of the first casualties of the bursting dot com bubble.
So there I was, in February 2000, $300 richer but with no prospects for publication and still no new comics. By this time both Gerry and I had left the company where we had worked together, and my emails hectoring him for new panels--and his replies--became less frequent. I did the only thing I could think of to keep the momentum going: I created the first version of the Blood Culture web site.
Here's something you should know about me: I hate to read instruction manuals. I prefer to just dive right into a project--whether it's putting together an Ikea bookcase of building a Web site--without all that useless preparation and forethought. One look at the many small home improvements I've attempted will tell you that. So I downloaded an old copy of Adobe PageMill and poked around a little. The result was the Web site that was active until just a month ago. (Just for kicks, you can see most of those early panels on the Blood Culture pages at Internet Archive). It was utilitarian. I posted the panels, wrote some stupid copy, included my email address. No one paid much attention to it.
As 1999 ended, I was disappointed that there hadn't been a new panel drawn in two years. I had invested more time and energy into Blood Culture than in previous artistic endeavor and I wanted it to be successful. I still believed in Gerry, though. I felt I owed him more time to draw new panels. Without him I wouldn't have had the little success I had had. Still, my patience was wearing out.
The next year would bring big changes for me and Blood Culture. In September of 2000 I got married; by early October my wife was pregnant; in February of 2001 my dad died; in April of 2001 I broke up with Gerry; and on September 11, 2001 David Sanders agreed to draw Blood Culture.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Origin of Edgar, Pt. III
With 39 hilarious panels of Blood Culture drawn by my new partner Gerry, I was already writing my resignation letter to my boss. In my head, I was a working cartoonist, with my comic strip running in 2000 newspapers across the world. I had it made. In my head.
To meet my future I reduced on a photocopier 36 of the panels to the standard comic strip size found in most newspapers and physically cut and pasted them onto sheets of paper, which I then photocopied for a cleaner look. I dashed off a quick cover letter (it began snarkily: "To whomever opens the mail") and mailed the first packet in September of 1997.
How convinced was I that Blood Culture was one of the funniest and most original comic strips in history and that relative fame and fortune (we're talking comic strips here) were mine for the asking? I sent out only one submission. I was certain that I would enjoy the same great fortune as Far Side creator Gary Larson, who was picked up by the first syndicate that reviewed his work (see the preface to The PreHistory of the Far Side for the whole story). As I mailed the submission packet I knew my dreams would come true as soon as someone read the panels.
Two things I didn't factor in. One, that someone might not like Blood Culture (I still have a difficult time admitting this); and two, that it takes two to three months to get a response to a submission. Needless to say that that first submission failed to impress the syndicate's editors and it was November before I found out.
Usually rejection gets me down. I have always had the tendency to slink back to my burrow after being rejected, cursing my rejector and playing the wounded animal. I had always been a wuss about things like that. But not this time, not with my baby, my Blood Culture.
Undaunted, I sent out another packet right away. A few months later I received another rejection. So I sent out another packet. A rejection. Another packet. Another rejection. I submitted to five syndicates in all. Had I not been so confident that Blood Culture was freaking awesome I might have sent out simultaneous submissions and gotten all the rejections back before Christmas of 1997. Instead I discovered Blood Culture's complete lack of marketability in December of 1998, when the last syndicate turned me down. More than a year gone.
That's when I had to admit that Blood Culture might not be the instant success I had hoped it would be. Through all the rejections I annoyed Gerry with requests for more panels. Weeks and weeks went by and the panels never came. Months and months went by and the panels never came. Every time I pestered Gerry he apologized for not drawing any more panels and promised to draw some more. During the time between the first rush of panels and the last rejection letter I wrote hundreds and hundreds of lines. I did the only thing I could do: write lines. But for Gerry, something had gotten in the way of his drawing Blood Culture.
His life. His life got in the way. Gerry had a wife and kids and a mortgage and car payments and yard work and hockey practice (he played on a team) and his own painting and a boatload of other responsibilities that I only now can I appreciate and respect. Then I was living with my girlfriend in a rented apartment in Hoboken that was 30 minutes from work, and the only things we cared about was where were we going to eat that night and what we were going to do on that weekend. Now I'm a husband, a father, a homeowner, and a self-appointed jack of all trades. I get it now.
Still, back then I wanted to keep the momentum going, even without new panels coming in. So in 1999 I did two things: I blanketed the independent weekly newspaper world with simultaneous Blood Culture submissions and I registered www.bloodculture.com. And I also got to see Blood Culture published both in print and online.
Next time, part IV.
To meet my future I reduced on a photocopier 36 of the panels to the standard comic strip size found in most newspapers and physically cut and pasted them onto sheets of paper, which I then photocopied for a cleaner look. I dashed off a quick cover letter (it began snarkily: "To whomever opens the mail") and mailed the first packet in September of 1997.
How convinced was I that Blood Culture was one of the funniest and most original comic strips in history and that relative fame and fortune (we're talking comic strips here) were mine for the asking? I sent out only one submission. I was certain that I would enjoy the same great fortune as Far Side creator Gary Larson, who was picked up by the first syndicate that reviewed his work (see the preface to The PreHistory of the Far Side for the whole story). As I mailed the submission packet I knew my dreams would come true as soon as someone read the panels.
Two things I didn't factor in. One, that someone might not like Blood Culture (I still have a difficult time admitting this); and two, that it takes two to three months to get a response to a submission. Needless to say that that first submission failed to impress the syndicate's editors and it was November before I found out.
Usually rejection gets me down. I have always had the tendency to slink back to my burrow after being rejected, cursing my rejector and playing the wounded animal. I had always been a wuss about things like that. But not this time, not with my baby, my Blood Culture.
Undaunted, I sent out another packet right away. A few months later I received another rejection. So I sent out another packet. A rejection. Another packet. Another rejection. I submitted to five syndicates in all. Had I not been so confident that Blood Culture was freaking awesome I might have sent out simultaneous submissions and gotten all the rejections back before Christmas of 1997. Instead I discovered Blood Culture's complete lack of marketability in December of 1998, when the last syndicate turned me down. More than a year gone.
That's when I had to admit that Blood Culture might not be the instant success I had hoped it would be. Through all the rejections I annoyed Gerry with requests for more panels. Weeks and weeks went by and the panels never came. Months and months went by and the panels never came. Every time I pestered Gerry he apologized for not drawing any more panels and promised to draw some more. During the time between the first rush of panels and the last rejection letter I wrote hundreds and hundreds of lines. I did the only thing I could do: write lines. But for Gerry, something had gotten in the way of his drawing Blood Culture.
His life. His life got in the way. Gerry had a wife and kids and a mortgage and car payments and yard work and hockey practice (he played on a team) and his own painting and a boatload of other responsibilities that I only now can I appreciate and respect. Then I was living with my girlfriend in a rented apartment in Hoboken that was 30 minutes from work, and the only things we cared about was where were we going to eat that night and what we were going to do on that weekend. Now I'm a husband, a father, a homeowner, and a self-appointed jack of all trades. I get it now.
Still, back then I wanted to keep the momentum going, even without new panels coming in. So in 1999 I did two things: I blanketed the independent weekly newspaper world with simultaneous Blood Culture submissions and I registered www.bloodculture.com. And I also got to see Blood Culture published both in print and online.
Next time, part IV.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The Origin of Edgar, Pt. II
I had just drawn the strangest thing, a red blood cell named Edgar standing on a beach. I loved the idea immediately and saw in it the realization of a childhood dream: to create a damn funny comic strip. But I possessed the artistic equivalent of two left feet. How was I going to draw this thing?
I needed some help, I knew the person to enlist. So the next day I went to work early and left the drawing on the chair of a coworker, an art director named Gerry. I had known Gerry for a couple of years and we shared the same outlook on life, best characterized as "grim." I knew he'd enjoy Edgar.
I waited for hours for Gerry to call and tell me what I genius I was. The call never came. Was it possible that he didn't liked Edgar at all? It appeared so. But later in the day, I came back to my office after a meeting and found this on my chair, sketched on a piece of cardboard:
Gerry's drawing didn't exactly match my idea of what Edgar should be--the non-cell adversary, for one thing--but I was elated. Gerry had appreciated my idea enough to draw his own version; he even aped my infantile style. (That small gorilla picture near the top left? That was Gerry's mock-up of a banana brand sticker from the Simpsons, Gorilla's Choice.) Gerry was the first person to take one of my ridiculous ideas seriously, and for that I am still grateful.
I ran to his office and we spent the better part of an hour talking about Edgar and laughing at the absurd premise of the strip. We agreed on the general tone and point of view of the strip, that Edgar is a Ziggy-like sad sack who feels put upon and is powerless to correct it, is pessimistic yet wishes for a happier future, and is as self-aware as a drunken frat boy. In short, he was us.
We started writing gags immediately, and once we did the ideas came by the dozens. I was writing constantly. Every conversation I had, every interaction I witnessed, was inspiration for another panel. We traded our best lines during lunch and challenged each other to write the most ludicrous scene imaginable. Within a month we had hundreds of present-tense lines written down. During that time I came up with the name of the strip: Blood Culture.
We pared down the ever-growing list to a few gems and Gerry set out to draw them. In a few weeks he came up with thirty-nine panels, and I thought every one was perfect. Even the ones that didn't exactly work--we were still gaining our footing--were expertly drawn and I loved them. I was excited enough to put together submission packets to the big comic strip syndicates. I believed that Blood Culture was destined to appear in thousands of newspapers worldwide and that within months we'd be trading in our advertising jobs for writing and drawing Blood Culture full-time.
That was not to be. And not just because the syndicates weren't interested. It was also because it would be another four years before the fortieth Blood Culture was drawn, and by then Gerry and I had parted ways and David had come aboard.
I needed some help, I knew the person to enlist. So the next day I went to work early and left the drawing on the chair of a coworker, an art director named Gerry. I had known Gerry for a couple of years and we shared the same outlook on life, best characterized as "grim." I knew he'd enjoy Edgar.
I waited for hours for Gerry to call and tell me what I genius I was. The call never came. Was it possible that he didn't liked Edgar at all? It appeared so. But later in the day, I came back to my office after a meeting and found this on my chair, sketched on a piece of cardboard:
Gerry's drawing didn't exactly match my idea of what Edgar should be--the non-cell adversary, for one thing--but I was elated. Gerry had appreciated my idea enough to draw his own version; he even aped my infantile style. (That small gorilla picture near the top left? That was Gerry's mock-up of a banana brand sticker from the Simpsons, Gorilla's Choice.) Gerry was the first person to take one of my ridiculous ideas seriously, and for that I am still grateful.
I ran to his office and we spent the better part of an hour talking about Edgar and laughing at the absurd premise of the strip. We agreed on the general tone and point of view of the strip, that Edgar is a Ziggy-like sad sack who feels put upon and is powerless to correct it, is pessimistic yet wishes for a happier future, and is as self-aware as a drunken frat boy. In short, he was us.
We started writing gags immediately, and once we did the ideas came by the dozens. I was writing constantly. Every conversation I had, every interaction I witnessed, was inspiration for another panel. We traded our best lines during lunch and challenged each other to write the most ludicrous scene imaginable. Within a month we had hundreds of present-tense lines written down. During that time I came up with the name of the strip: Blood Culture.
We pared down the ever-growing list to a few gems and Gerry set out to draw them. In a few weeks he came up with thirty-nine panels, and I thought every one was perfect. Even the ones that didn't exactly work--we were still gaining our footing--were expertly drawn and I loved them. I was excited enough to put together submission packets to the big comic strip syndicates. I believed that Blood Culture was destined to appear in thousands of newspapers worldwide and that within months we'd be trading in our advertising jobs for writing and drawing Blood Culture full-time.
That was not to be. And not just because the syndicates weren't interested. It was also because it would be another four years before the fortieth Blood Culture was drawn, and by then Gerry and I had parted ways and David had come aboard.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Origin of Edgar, Pt. I
I've always been a doodler. In high school I doodled on the desks. In college, the margins of second-hand textbooks. At home, whatever scrap of paper is handy. I usually doodle some kind of pattern: wavy lines, shapes, dots. Sometimes I draw my face, which became the basis for my other comic strip, the Unnamed Road.
Eleven years ago, I was absently doodling a circle within a circle. I drew another circle within a circle, then another, and another. Soon I had circles within circles clumped together. I drew two lines, one above the clump and one below. Under it I wrote "blood clot."
I looked at the doodle for a while, turning it sideways and upside down. I grabbed a nearby pad and drew a large circle within a circle and added arms bent at the elbows that terminated in my approximation of Mickey Mouse gloves and legs with club feet. I tossed in a beach umbrella, a bucket, a soda can, two clouds, and a kindergarten sun. The soda can and the bucket were drawn so crudely that labeled them "soda" and "bucket and added little arrows pointing to the item so there would be no mistake what it was. I decided to label the other things in the frame, too--"the sun," "clouds," "umbrella." Then, for some reason, I labeled the circle man "Edgar." I finished off the drawing with a caption: Edgar the red blood cell goes to the beach.
Here that drawing. Click on it to see it in its full glory.
The more I looked at the scene the more questions I had. Why would a red blood cell go to the beach? It's not like going to get any redder. Then: what the hell was a red blood cell doing walking around at all? What kind of life would this creature have? Was this scene inside a body or did it take place in a world peopled by red blood cells? How did he eat without a mouth? What kind of name is Edgar?
Everything that Blood Culture is today has its roots in that single drawing. The seemingly banal scene, the matter-of-fact present tense caption, the labels, even Edgar's hair. (Take a look at my drawing again. See that dark line at the crown of Edgar's head? That's his 'do.) It's all still there today, eleven years later.
I knew I had something good. But what was I going to do with it? Recognizing my artistic limitations, I knew I needed help discovering more about this character. I also knew the most likely candidate: an art director coworker named Gerry.
Next time, part II.
Eleven years ago, I was absently doodling a circle within a circle. I drew another circle within a circle, then another, and another. Soon I had circles within circles clumped together. I drew two lines, one above the clump and one below. Under it I wrote "blood clot."
I looked at the doodle for a while, turning it sideways and upside down. I grabbed a nearby pad and drew a large circle within a circle and added arms bent at the elbows that terminated in my approximation of Mickey Mouse gloves and legs with club feet. I tossed in a beach umbrella, a bucket, a soda can, two clouds, and a kindergarten sun. The soda can and the bucket were drawn so crudely that labeled them "soda" and "bucket and added little arrows pointing to the item so there would be no mistake what it was. I decided to label the other things in the frame, too--"the sun," "clouds," "umbrella." Then, for some reason, I labeled the circle man "Edgar." I finished off the drawing with a caption: Edgar the red blood cell goes to the beach.
Here that drawing. Click on it to see it in its full glory.
The more I looked at the scene the more questions I had. Why would a red blood cell go to the beach? It's not like going to get any redder. Then: what the hell was a red blood cell doing walking around at all? What kind of life would this creature have? Was this scene inside a body or did it take place in a world peopled by red blood cells? How did he eat without a mouth? What kind of name is Edgar?
Everything that Blood Culture is today has its roots in that single drawing. The seemingly banal scene, the matter-of-fact present tense caption, the labels, even Edgar's hair. (Take a look at my drawing again. See that dark line at the crown of Edgar's head? That's his 'do.) It's all still there today, eleven years later.
I knew I had something good. But what was I going to do with it? Recognizing my artistic limitations, I knew I needed help discovering more about this character. I also knew the most likely candidate: an art director coworker named Gerry.
Next time, part II.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Blood Culture Takes a Break From Touring
After seven years, more than 350 panels, and thousands of undrawn ideas, it's time for David and me to take a break from Blood Culture.
I would love to keep the old beast that is Blood Culture chugging along, adding oil only when the panic lights tell me to, but it needs a rest. We need a rest. I've lived with Edgar the Red Blood Cell for 11 years, and David for 7. In that time, Blood Culture has won the hearts of only a few people. I find it shocking, but it's true.
I say with certainty that Blood Culture is an absolutely hilarious comic strip. Hell, I think it's brilliant. Just brilliant.
And maybe that's the problem. Like a parent who sees only genius in his obviously dimwitted child, perhaps I haven't been critical enough of my creation. Blood Culture has faults, but I'm simply too close to the strip to see them. Maybe a few months away from Edgar will give me that perspective.
But Blood Culture isn’t going away entirely. This is a hiatus, not an ending. Blood Culture will still appear three times a week on Comics Sherpa and I'll be posting much older Blood Culture's that haven't been seen in almost 10 years, as well as commentary on the genesis of our favorite panels.
So until later in the week, when I'll post the first Blood Culture ever drawn, thanks for visiting, and I'll see you in the funny papers.
Not exactly, but you know what I mean.
I would love to keep the old beast that is Blood Culture chugging along, adding oil only when the panic lights tell me to, but it needs a rest. We need a rest. I've lived with Edgar the Red Blood Cell for 11 years, and David for 7. In that time, Blood Culture has won the hearts of only a few people. I find it shocking, but it's true.
I say with certainty that Blood Culture is an absolutely hilarious comic strip. Hell, I think it's brilliant. Just brilliant.
And maybe that's the problem. Like a parent who sees only genius in his obviously dimwitted child, perhaps I haven't been critical enough of my creation. Blood Culture has faults, but I'm simply too close to the strip to see them. Maybe a few months away from Edgar will give me that perspective.
But Blood Culture isn’t going away entirely. This is a hiatus, not an ending. Blood Culture will still appear three times a week on Comics Sherpa and I'll be posting much older Blood Culture's that haven't been seen in almost 10 years, as well as commentary on the genesis of our favorite panels.
So until later in the week, when I'll post the first Blood Culture ever drawn, thanks for visiting, and I'll see you in the funny papers.
Not exactly, but you know what I mean.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
