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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.