It has always been my hope some aspiring artist (or artists) would come across this here blog, read about Convenience and see it as a good opportunity to gain some experience in collaborating with a writer, and perhaps even as a chance to get some finished product published.
It never happened.
And yet something similar did happen. At the 2006 ComicReaders.com Christmas Party (which features the “Crappy Comic Book Exchange”), I learned one of our on-again-off-again reviewers was also an aspiring comic artist. We got to chatting over beers and greasy food and decided we could try to collaborate together. A few weeks later I showed him a few sample scripts and pointed him to my Web site (the precursor to this blog), and he was taken by the idea of Convenience.
Time passed without much progress, but a couple weeks ago this artist and I hooked up over a beer at a local establishment and made a commitment of sorts to get this ball rolling. For me, the magical age was 30. I was approaching 30 and said “Fuck, look at all this time that has passed and you’ve got a thin portfolio of published fiction. That’s a goddamn shame and a disappointment if you call yourself a writer.” I was 29 at the time, and am now just recently 31, and in the year or more since that inner chastisement and promise to do better, my portfolio of published works isn’t any thicker but I’ve been writing a whole lot more, have a completed graphic novel under my belt, won a couple small comic script writing contests, and have started a few comic collaborations. All in all, enough success to keep me confident, enough success to keep me writing.
For the aspiring artist, 31 was the magical age. And as I looked through his sketchbooks that night over a cold glass of beer, I could see his potential and recognized that a couple of his styles would work well with Convenience. (Yes, he’s one of those talented buggers that has a few different styles in his repertoire.) So, we made a pact of sorts, one of those agreements that can only occur over cold beer, a shared disgust for the the time that has passed and a hope to make better use of the time that is still available.