Planet Purgatory: a comic strip

Lazy Ass Writers

This cartoon was inspired by a thread I was following in a writer's group on Facebook. Apparently if you follow this one dude's method of writing, you should be able to crank out several books a year. His secret? Discipline. And anyone not putting out at least two books a year is lazy.

Of course that's all bullshit. Everyone works at a different pace. Personally, I can't write every day. Not because I'm lazy, it's just that I'd end up getting too far ahead of my ideas. Stories need time to percolate and thicken into something real. Otherwise you're just making things up as you go along, and you can't build anything of value that way.

I always wonder what makes people decide to stand up and tell people, 'THIS IS HOW YOU SHOULD DO THINGS'. I find it everywhere, but it seems especially prevalent in the world of online publishing. It's one thing to be asked, 'How did you do it?'  But to stand on a table and announce, 'This is how I do it, and you should too,' that's a whole 'nother level of arrogance.

I would like to finish things here by stating I still don't know what the hell I'm doing as far as being an indie writer goes. I'm a little more savvy than I was, say, four months ago, but I still haven't earned enough to buy a bag of chips.

It's All a Matter of Perspective

Writers Are Weird

Muses as Rats. Or Rats as Muses?

I like rats. Never used to. Where I used to lived in BC, we used to have a problem with rats getting into the garage. I never figured out how they did it. I blocked every hole, every crack I could find, yet as soon as the temperature dropped, there they were, shredding my recyclables.

I'd never see them, of course. The little bastards were masters at remaining hidden, the only clues being their little jellybean shits and mysterious piles of confetti.

I hated them. I'd lay out rat poison, gleefully rubbing my hand together at the thought of their little rodent bodies desiccating from the inside out. Mummified rat carcasses. Oh, how I loved it when I found those things.

But then my daughters discovered hamsters. The people at the pet stores kept saying if you want a nice little pet, get a rat. They're robust, intelligent, and they like to play no matter if it's night or day. Naturally we ignored them. (What the hell do they know? They work in a pet store.)

Hamsters, it turns out, are boring. They're also grumpy and dumb. I don't know how many times I've seen my daughters hamsters walk off the side of the bed because they didn't have enough sense to stop.

As time passed, I became intrigued at the idea of having a rat as a pet. I didn't tell anyone; I was the one who daydreamed about smashing them with a shovel, after all. But I slowly warmed to them, going out of my way to observe them in their little cages at the pet store. The little fellas played together, unlike hamsters who have to be kept apart lest they bite each other's faces.

Finally I decided I'd get one. Or should I say three. (my daughters had to have one, too. Parents will understand) So now I have three pet rats hanging out with me in the office. They're affectionate little guys. They love attention, and amazingly enough, don't pee on you when you're handling them. And they adore each other. They have a little hammock hanging from the top of their cage, and all three sleep in it...together. You wouldn't think there was enough room, but somehow they make it work. Darn rodents.

The only thing I'm not keen on is their tails. But I am getting used to them. Slowly.

Merry Christmas...

My Vaudevillian Roots

I haven't figured out who the asshole is between these two. Usually I think it's Larry, but then sometimes Rudy comes along to shake things up.

Why I Hate Parties

I think there's supposed to be something romantic about being an indie author. You know, the artist so devoted to his craft that things like people actually reading your work don't enter the equation.

That's not me.

I want the world to see what I do, and I want the world to love it.

Another Thank-You for the Review Cartoon

I'm currently at 11 reviews. And they're all good. I'm feeling pretty pumped.

It's probably not healthy keeping score like that. If I was more disciplined I would check once every few months. But I have OCD. Checking is what I do.

Another Thank-you Cartoon

I'm enjoying making these cartoons. There's something almost meditative about the process.

Remember, folks: review one of my books and I will make a cartoon about you.

On a side note, I stepped in dog poo today. I'm not pleased.

A bad review (cartoon style)

Little cartoon of mine. (I'm working on my thin-skinnedness.)

I've never been good at dealing with criticism. Even if it's of the constructive kind. It's immaturity, I think

It was suggested to me to do something badly on purpose. Then I would have no choice but to deal with the inevitable criticism.

Makes me sweaty just thinking about it.

Robots and Androids

Little cartoon of mine making light of an android's plight. (Of course, they're all nuclear powered these days)

Why did I choose to write Charlie Robot? It's not as though I'm enamored with mechanical things. In fact, I find them puzzling, maybe even a little intimidating. That one little broken piece could somehow ruin an entire machine is mind boggling. I see that with cars all the time: a tiny part breaks, and what used to be a powerful vehicle capable of speeds well over 140 kilometers an hour is left standing useless in the driveway.

Computers, too. They might as well run on magic, that's how much sense they make to me. But they're made up of all these little pieces, all working in concert to create this thing capable of making games, editing photographs and writing blog posts. It's one, long magical chain, and if one of those links breaks, I'm left screaming fuck you staring at an empty screen.

I suppose the same can be said about the human body. After all, what is a body other than a series of machines? But there's a difference, a body can heal itself. Machines can't. Or at least, not yet. 

But getting back to my original question, why did I choose to write about a robot? Maybe it's fear. Not of robots in particular, but of finding myself stuck inside a machine. There's something comforting knowing you exist within a natural cycle. You're born, you grow old and you die. A machine on the other hand...

I know I said mechanical things are only as strong as their weakest link, but on the flip side, a well-made machine has the potential to run for a very, very long time. That scares me. I mean, what if you woke up one morning and discovered that body of yours you assumed was made of flesh and blood was, in fact, artificial? And providing everything worked the way it was intended, you could live upward of ten thousand years?

I don't know. Maybe some people would like that. I, on the other hand, wouldn't know what to do with myself. Birthdays would become irrelevant, maybe even annoying.

(Could you imagine? Those drop-down boxes on websites asking what year you were born in would become never-ending exercises in downward scrolling. "I'm three-thousand-years old, dammit! Of course I'm old enough to watch this video!")

And unless your friends were androids too, your social life would be a never ending procession of funerals.

And then there would be the ultimate in horridness: being trapped in a chimney for a thousand years.

As you can see, the possibilities for misery are endless...

Of course, there are other reasons to write about androids, but those, I think, I'll leave for another time.
 

Poor Archie the Android has been stuck inside this chimney since April of 1976, but embarrassment has kept him from calling for help.

Another Review Cartoon

My Hunt for Reviews.

I've come up with a cunning plan. In return for reviewing any of my books on Amazon, I will immortalize that person in the form of a cartoon. It's sad, I know, but I need reviews. They're like food. Or maybe drugs are a better comparison. Whatever the case, if you leave me a review, I will make fun of you. I promise.

Reviews (How I Need 'em)

One of the most important things for an indie author, any author, really, are reviews. People, it seems, don't want to risk their hard earned dollar on some unknown weirdo with access to Microsoft Word. They look for reviews. But the thing is, you're not going to get any if no one is reading your book. I think they call that a vicious circle. Or is it a pain in the ass?

Whatever it is, it's maddening.

But there is a silver lining in having no reviews: my feelings don't get hurt. I suffer from thin skin. I'm working on it. I know I'll get nowhere as an author if I can't weather insults from anonymous souls on the internet. (speaking of which, wouldn't it be weird if one way spirits can communicate with the physical world is by leaving reviews on Goodreads?)

So I made this cartoon. It's pretty sparse. Just ink on some paper. I didn't even bother erasing the pencil underneath. It served two purposes. One, giving voice to the frustration of having nearly no reviews, and two, combating that most evil of traits, perfectionism.

What can I say? The drawing's rough. The perfectionist in me wants to take it down and rework it until it's all crisp and lovely. The thing is, that requires time, and if I'm going to be able to continue writing and still show off the odd cartoon, I've decided I've got to loosen up, and if that means having pencil lines showing, oh well.

But I want to get back to the book reviews, or more specifically, the lack of them. I'm hoping one day I can look back at this time and smile. "Oh, you silly Benny," I'll say, "you're going to get loads of them. Not all of them will be nice, but don't worry, those people, we burned down their houses.  :)"

Selling Myself

I'm pretty awful when it comes to self-promotion. I'm always worried I'll cross that line, turning off potential customers. So I do the opposite: none at all. And guess what happens? Nothing. As in, no sales. No downloads. Nada.

So I've decided to be a little more aggressive in my approach. Nothing too brash, but I've decided I can put my cartooning skills to some use. I mean, something's gotta work, right?

Forgotten Treasures

I was flipping through one of my sketchbooks and came across this little gem. I'd completely forgotten I'd made it. I drew it soon after moving to Ottawa. We were into the whole geocaching thing. That's faded, though. Mostly because the geocaching app I use is crap. That and I'm lazy.

I've updated it (the app) but it still doesn't work very well. Often it will send us walking in circles, the only treasure being an old Walmart bag. Wait a sec, maybe that was the geocache...

Looking at this cartoon has got me thinking we should take it up again.

Noodles. Oh, Those Lovely Noodles

First cartoon I've done in a while. Did it using my Intuos drawing tablet and an unholy mix of Photoshop and Sketchbook Pro. Not quite the same as drawing with pen and paper, but I'm getting the hang of it.  :)

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Little Ralphie Ning

I used to like Little Ralphie.  He's one of those genuinely nice guys: someone who'll always say 'hi', even if it means crossing the road.  When he discovered I was writing a book, he took a real interest in how it was progressing, asking to read the various drafts and posing all sorts of questions about the back story.  It made me feel good.

So when Ralphie asked me whether I thought he should try writing a novel too, I told him, 'absolutely'.  Every second Tuesday he would e-mail me what he'd written, and I would respond with 'awesome!', along with a quick note on how he could make something better.  Never once did I think it would actually go anywhere. After all, I was the writer with the quirky imagination.  He was just a kid with a stupid story about vampire mermaids.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered he'd snagged himself an agent.  Now he was the one offering me encouragement while I sat at home wondering if this whole writing thing was a waste of time.  And if that wasn't bad enough I just discovered his book is due to be published this Spring.

Outside I pretend to be happy for Little Ralphie's success, but inside I hate him.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Philip Tumba

Philip Tumba is a member of the Bulgoni Tribe.

Bulgonis are famous for starting life as senior citizens, aging backwards until approximately the age of forty-one, and then spending the rest of their lives aging like everyone else.

Meaning Philip Tumba is either three years old or eighty-five.

(I'm too embarrassed to ask.)