Posted on by michaelwconrad

…told in 3 parts

This is the first time I have mustered the gumption to sit down and write in the past week, and my spirit has been really damaged by it. I am not typically comfortable writing at home, I have, and I will, but as it currently stands I have no real privacy when I do so. I don’t know why this is a struggle, as cafes and the library don’t offer much there either.

A big part of it is knowing that I’m scared. Most of the writing I do is for the comic book industry, which is very much wounded by the fact that we have to find a new way of getting our stories out there. I felt like I was getting somewhere, and now every publisher is pulling back to see what happens. When this happens the least necessary projects get shelved, and no one is looking for new projects. I feel like I am disappearing.

I know there is a lot that I can be doing right now, but it’s hard to get going, I was operating under the guise of things becoming easier and now it’s going to be awhile before… whatever sense of normalcy can return.

I feel sad venting about this because I know it sounds silly, given that lives hang in the balance, and people are at risk of illness, and the economic strain of lack of work- but this is my blog so allow me to indulge in sharing my piece.

I. The Virus of Self Doubt

The biggest fear I have is giving up, but I’m also a person who has chased really hard goals my whole life and I can’t help but imagine if my life would feel better if I would just submit. I have long seen this as among my greatest strengths, but I have quit before, so it wouldn’t be entirely out of character either. Sometimes giving in/up is the best play.

I’ve always said that if I was stricken with a horrible affliction that I would press on, knowing that something is better than nothing, and that happiness and wellbeing are on a sliding scale. Now that I am older and I have seen folks struggle with terminal illness, I know there is some real grace in allowing the end to be on your own terms and not to draw out painful inevitabilities. Quality of life is something we take for granted when we are well, and when you see someone stripped of that it puts it in a whole new light and makes it very clear that it’s easy to make such statements from a place of health.

I don’t think my dreams are terminal at this point, but they are certainly in intensive care. The fact that I’m writing this (or anything at all) is a testament to my will and desire to proceed. I’m trying not to feel like someone who gave it a good shot, and trying to focus on the fact that the game is still afoot, the ball is in the air, and that the distance from whatever I seek is not becoming any greater. I am still in charge of my creative life and how I use my time, I just have to adjust my expectations.

I suspect that I’m not alone in these fears, I suspect there are many just like me. I’m sure others are better adjusted, or struggling more, but the fact remains, this is how I see it. I don’t pity myself, it just makes me sad to see that the wall I have struggled so hard against can heal. This evil virus has crept into all of our lives in one way or another, in mine it comes as mortar. It mends the holes, it reinforces the cracks, and I can only stare on from a distance and hope I can rally enough insanity to continue to drive myself into it, heart first.

II. The Comedy of Existence

Our refrigerator shit the bed on day 1. We were supposed to stock up on supplies and cloister ourselves away, but without the magic box we had been living on rice and potatoes for too long. Our landlord kinda failed to do anything about it, so finally Becky and I decided that we needed to risk exposure and get some fucking vegetables. So, we grabbed bags and walked the 2 miles to the nearest grocery store (our cars both died, that’s another story). The walk there was fine as expected, but Austin decided to take a turn for the tropical, so conditions were less than comfortable. Becky and I spoke on the way about some of my fears and she did a fine job of not trying to console me. She knows sometimes it’s best just to let me blow it out without trying to offer any comforting talk, my powers of negativity are strong and I can always find the hole in such niceties when I’m blue. 

Once we reached the store we found that the line to enter was about a quarter mile long, a Black Friday line of folks mandated to stand 6 feet from each other. I was happy to comply, but some septuagenarian behind me saw fit to stand closely as he normally would while he scoffed at such things on the phone. 

“Can you believe it, they want us to stand 6 feet apart!” He said, loudly, I swear I could feel his breath on my neck.

Finally someone tending the line advised that the man provide 6 feet, to which the man responded laughingly and counted out 6 feet from me exactly, his starting point coming in the form of him pushing his backside directly into me like an NBA player. Even after his comedic act he continued to encroach on me until the tender reminded him to provide space. The man laughed, a snicker really, and started to protest when I lost my cool.

“This is for people’s safety dude, give us some fuckin’ space!” 

At this point I was ready for war. The man said no more and provided the space suggested without protest. While all of this was going on another older person rolled by in a powerchair loudly saying something about how ridiculous this whole thing was. He apparently would like a packed store, rather than staggering admittance, potentially exposing us all to a more dangerous situation than we were already in.

As I type this a friend just texted to tell me about a church group down from her house ignoring the “shelter in place” order. They are gathered in the parking lot of a local hospital holding hands, praying for the disease to go away.

III. Life Uh- Finds A Way

Who do we blame? A virus is an incomplete thing, very strange really, it needs to complete its biology. We surely can’t blame the virus for that, it is its way. One day, if we insist on holding hands and singing Kumbaya they may inherit the Earth.

We could blame the Chinese right? Our leader, a leader elected by your fucking neighbors, those same people who don’t get what all the hubbub is, they certainly would love to blame the Chinese. They’ve never been to China, and they don’t wanna go, they don’t wanna see the humanity in the Chinese because to do so might mean some real tough thoughts. Like the thoughts about how we as Americans exploit them routinely. Like how (for many of them) their children’s dreams are limited. Like how we are wildly privileged and for some of us our concerns are about not being able to get money for writing comic books… boo fucking hoo… these are tough things to think about. I’m tempted to do some research and share some statistics here, but honestly I’ve got all the sadness I need right now. It isn’t a Chinese Virus, it’s something that humans can get, full stop.

I have no science to back this up, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is a combination of factors.

–Overpopulation

–The Meat Industry

Overpopulation is a no brainer… more humans travelling all over, we carry shit home, home is in cities, it goes quick. The meat industry thing goes to my belief that all the gallons and gallons of antibiotics we pump into livestock has created a virus with the capacity to live, against the odds. Like I say, I have no real science here, just a random but insanely accurate stab in the dark.

For years we have heard about antibiotics being over prescribed etc. but the real monster is out there in “fields” with the cattle, chicken, pigs, etc that are being raised for slaughter. This may be where the virus found its power, its strength to live on, like I say this is a guess.

Doomsday killed Superman on November 18, 1992. Here is just a touch of Doomsdays origin~ maybe it’ll sound a bit familiar…

Originally known as “The Ultimate”, Doomsday was born in prehistoric times on Krypton, long before the humanoid Kryptonian race gained dominance over the planet about 250,000 years ago. It was at that time a violent, hellish world, where only the absolute strongest of creatures could survive.[4][5] In a cruel experiment involving evolution, intended to create the perfect living being, the alien scientist Bertron released a humanoid infant (born in vitro in a lab) onto the surface of the planet, where he was promptly killed by the harsh environment. The baby’s remains were collected and used to clone a stronger version. This process was repeated over and over for decades as a form of accelerated natural evolution. The agony of these repeated deaths was recorded in his genes, driving the creature to hate all life.

Thank you Wikipedia. 

You tell me, does this sound familiar? If my guess is at all accurate we created this thing, through our own consumption, and now we have to make it right. 

We have to be more thoughtful in the future. We can’t scoff at people TRYING… the people in line trying to be safe… those might be the tree huggers (still ok), the do gooders, the save the environment types, the gender equality folks, the free healthcare folks, the people who want to be better. We need more Supermen (and absolutely more Superwomen and Superpeople) if we’re gonna beat this. We have to adjust for a time, get this thing locked away, and most importantly we have to understand that it’s still down there, locked away in the lab. It’ll break out if we are careless. We MUST make better choices or you may as well pack it in. This is not the quality of life we deserve, we need to look at the ugly truth and do the little we can every day to be able to not have to hide our eyes anymore.

Stay safe, consider those who are more at risk, and don’t play too many video games. (Been playing Witcher like crazy… See what you did to me!)

Posted on by michaelwconrad · 1 Comment

Labour Intensive

I would like to start this entry with a thank you to those who have taken the time to check out the Hey, Amateur! Kickstarter I wrote about in my first entry. We are well on our way to getting funding, but I encourage you to consider supporting me and my fellow creators in backing the project. It’s really appreciated, and I guarantee you will be pleased with what we are up to.

Over the past week my sleep has been poor, I have a major deadline looming and I’d be lying if I said part of the issue hasn’t been stress. All my life I have dreamed about writing comics for a living and here I am, doing it, and it is the hardest thing I have ever done. No, I’m not sweating in the summer sun digging trenches, or dealing with a careless public in a corporate setting, hell, I don’t even need to wear pants! The hard part is in the uncertainty.

For years I have said (often in jest) that I like to “live in the mystery” a term I stole from somewhere long forgotten. I use this phrase to describe my lack of long term planning. It isn’t a good thing by Western standards I’ll wager, worthy of scorn from those who would feel it their role to impart some unsolicited wisdom. The “mystery” remains one of the few ways I have been able to reconcile the hopelessness I know in my heart to be central to the truth. Maybe it’s a self fulfilling prophecy to live like my days are numbered, but it is a prophecy that will absolutely be proven true given enough time.

While I live in the mystery, I have never been one to allow myself to fear financially. I have always gotten up early and gone to work, stayed late, pulled OT hours, in short, I’ve done what it takes. Even on a meager salary I’ve always made sure that I can cover my bills and not have to constantly check my account. I wish to continue on this way until I drop dead at my desk, but as a freelance writer the most gripping fear is that there will be no reason to even be at that desk!

My brother Steven is a killer photographer. Like many troglodytes I have at times thought that photography was a lesser art, more reliant on the tool than the hand and eye. I have had this feeling rightly driven from my mind by watching what he does and knowing full well, that the tools aren’t the magic. We all laugh when some bum asks a great illustrator what kind of pencil they have used, like it’s a magic wand that will impart a lifetime at the drawing board to anyone willing to drop 7.99 on that soft graphite. It isn’t the tools, you know this right? The tools can be a handy excuse for procrastination, or something to foreshorten the suffering involved in a process, but it’s the head and heart of the creator that makes the magic.

But I digress, back to my brother and I. When I went freelance my brother had some great wisdom for me. Having been a freelancer for many years himself, abandoning the safety of an hourly wage he would know. His advice was to allow myself to relax. He explained that during his years as a freelancer he was never off the clock, always hustling to find more work. He gave up video games (a passion of his) and barely watched television. He wouldn’t go out with friends because, while he had some money, he didn’t know if another job would manifest before his next billing cycle. He wasn’t really living, until he sat himself down and gave himself the very advice he sought to impart to me.

I had already found that trap by the time he got to me. I wasn’t ever allowing myself to turn off, and in many ways that is still where I’m at. To the casual observer I have plenty of idle time. I can be found reading, listening to podcasts with a glazed expression, baking bread leisurely with that same glaze, but during these times I’m churning. It’s not just the freelance way, it’s the writers way.

I was out recently with my friend Evan Narcisse, an immense talent and freelance writer (if you haven’t read Rise of the Black Panther Marvel has been goodly enough to collect it in a beautiful trade- do get it, you’ll become an instant fan of Evan’s) and we were commiserating on how while a writer can knock out enough words in a day to feel accomplished, the real work is ALWAYS going on. Everything is an education, everything is potential, part of us always unable to be completely in the moment because there’s an internal court reporter clacking away in hopes of finding the next thing. But that’s only part of it, right?

The other part is the feeling that you’re constantly bothering editors. The “hey did you get my email” message can only be reworded so many times, and a human being can only deal with so much silent rejection without it taking a major toll. Sometimes you’ll find yourself in a creative holding pattern because all of your hope and financial stability lives in a single, dusty, unanswered email that has been filed away in a digital waste bin without so much as “nice try kid” to show for it. After a few weeks it has be counted as a loss and let go of, soon you learn that if this thing is gonna work you’re going to have to count on NOTHING until a contract has been signed, and even then the future is not certain.

That’s how it goes, if you’re lucky you didn’t confide in a friend about this great potential project only to later have to explain that editors went another way, almost always freelance code for “I don’t know what the fuck happened and I’m still mortally wounded by it.” I have learned to keep my mouth shut, and for anyone who really knows me, this can be really hard. I’m not a braggart, I think I just desperately want to be excited and to share that excitement. Remember fatalistic stuff from earlier in this rambling diatribe? I’m hustling to find joy. Some of us carry a darkness that is only lit when we have found an outlet, a safe place to feel pride (had to look that word up) and give ourselves a break from that shitty voice in our head telling us we will die without having shared the very thing that may redeem us for our consumption.

Some mornings I wake up and feel like I could Kool-Aid Man my way through a wall. I’ll rise and attack the process, sometimes for no reason clear to me. Other days I get up and putter around, I go to the bad place, the place where I want to walk away. Who am I kidding, this is common, it’s the theme, the throughline of the thing. The default of every freelancer I know is the fear. We all fight it off in different ways, the ones who do best in that battle seem to have careers, the others fade away. 

Writing is less about being good at telling stories than it is about all the other stuff. Here are a couple to consider.

  • Slay the Nemean Lion- write everyday, even w/o assignment
  • Slay the Nine Headed Lernaean Hydra- know most of it will be garbage
  • Capture the Ceryneian Hind- stay up to date on what’s working in the industry
  • Capture the Erymanthian Boar- realize that other people tricks won’t work for you
  • Clean the Augean stables in a single day- edit/rewrite that shit
  • Slay the Stymphalian Birds- deal with missed opportunities/rejection
  • Capture the Cretan Bull- equally hard, deal with success on the rare day it happens
  • Steal the Mares of Diomedes- watch your babies get killed by editors and understand that they ALWAYS know better than you
  • Obtain the girdle of Hippolyta- make sure you move your body and eat right
  • Obtain the cattle of the monster Geryon- be working on the next thing before you get too comfortable with that tiny success you had
  • Steal the apples of the Hesperides- make sure you speak of yourself in a positive way, others will be sure to speak poorly of you, you don’t need to put them out of the job.
  • Capture and bring back Cerberus- know that your goal will never be obtained, the finish line is moving, always moving, just as fast or faster than you

Just a note for clarity, there are far more than 12 Labours… that’s just a couple, and it’s not intended for educational purposes as much as it is as a reminder to myself. A lot of these are going to potentially feel contradictory, or not true in all circumstances, and that’s because the rules change, always… we are gonna experience ups and downs, and during the ebb and flow of the process elements of this will be void or highlighted.

I think I’ll put a pin in it there. In many ways this has been an exercise in procrastination and that deadline is still there. Thankfully I have a deadline… I better also spend some time today working toward the next one… no video games for me today I’m afraid, gonna have to order a pizza and pull an all nighter…

Damn, it’s happening again.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

M

Below is the link to the Hey, Amateur! Kickstarter! Be a friend to the cause (and to me) and support the book! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/sxbond/hey-amateur