Early last week, after facing down deadline after deadline since late April, I finally found myself with no paying work demanding immediate attention.
Unusually for me, I didn't immediately start to panic. (I couldn't even if I'd felt like it; I was too pooped to pop.) I have at least 5 books lined up to letter through the end of the year, so barring hiccups, this year will stay in the black.
The good news is that I probably won't get materials for my next volume until late August. The bad news is that volume is due the first of September--which is also when my dad has to move. I've told the editor that I need three weeks to do 220 pages (cleaning, lettering, FX replacement and art touch up), in particular since this title is new to me; I'm unfamiliar with the art and style. His response was, "We'll need it sooner than that, but I don't know when I can get the script to you." Meaning: We're behind, so you'll have to make up the lost time on your end. This is depressingly typical, especially in manga publishing. The person at the end of the production food chain is generally expected to perform miracles of accuracy, speed and quality no one else seems capable of, all for steadily decreasing page rates.
So why do I keep doing it? Habit, mainly. I've been working in comic book production since the late eighties, with sde ventures into other graphics-related work, and I've developed skills and speed and a good reputation, and that has allowed me to make a decent living doing work that at worst is aggravating, not life-threatening. Some people might even think it was interesting, and it can be at times.
Still, as page rates continue to fall, the amount of services demanded increases, and deadlines get shorter and shorter, I wonder how much longer I can keep doing this. No matter how much the economy stinks, it's insulting to be expected to provide professional work at the same rates paid to amateurs. It makes me cranky.
But changing careers is scary, and I'm not a fearless entrepreneur; I'm an easily worried person who wants a simple life and will not change until I absolutely have to. I know I have other talents that could be profitable if I only apply myself. But I am the laziest hard-working person you will ever meet. I will do whatever it takes to meet a deadline and get the job done right for a client, and all the bills get paid on time. For everything else however, I am the queen of Put-it-off-til-Later.
I hide in work, because it's a convenient excuse to not have to do anything else. Like paint or draw, for example. I am a big fat scaredy-cat.
You know how putting something off never makes it go away, it just gets bigger? How, if you fall out of touch with a friend and months and then years go by, it gets harder and harder to pick up a pencil or open a new email and write, because you feel like you have to make up for lost time and catch up on everything that has happened since you last spoke?
That's me and art. When I was younger I drew without thinking; it came naturally, like breathing and reading. As I grew older, went to school and started working, I stopped drawing. It petered off slowly at first, then when I added freelancing to my day job to make more money, I pretty much stopped altogether. I still had the desire, but it was subsumed by distraction and lack of confidence. And as I grew older I saw people my age creating stunning, wonderful art work. I felt like I had missed my opportunity by giving up--but there was no way to catch up, so why try? Scaredy-cat strikes again.
It is too late for me to catch up to my contemporaries and their younger cohorts who didn't run away from their desires, who put the effort, work and pain it takes to Get Good into their craft. But surely, if I can meet a deadline for a paying client, and take myself off to the Y to exercise three time a week, I can put that same work ethic into making art on a regular basis, even if it's bad.
Maybe especially if it's bad. If I can get all the bad stuff out, there might be good stuff waiting underneath.
I bought a starter set of oil paints a month ago; 7 colors. My first oil paints in about 6 years, and I'm starting small. Painting on 8 x 10" paper and little 3 x 3" canvasses. It's fun, when I can trick myself into doing it. The results of some of that noodling illustrate this post, along with some older drawings that I have been playing with in Photoshop, adding color and using its many features for purposes other than making duck beaks 30M100Y.
(And to anyone who read though this navel-gazing meander, thank you for your indulgence. I appreciate your patience.)
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