Diary of a Freelancer Redux

Fog of Worry Diary I want to encourage you. But give me a minute.

I'm an introvert, it turns out. I know you wouldn't think that, because I'm smirky and I'm a comic and I'm a redhead. But, turns out, I'd rather be drawing and writing than almost anything else on the planet. The three exceptions to this are:

  1. being on, or in, water
  2. traveling with my guys
  3. climbing Mayan temples
  4. eating Mexican* food

*Or, Indian food. Either one. Both magically delicious in their own amazing way!

I know, that's four!! And then, five, with the asterisk! Keep reading anyway!

I think you have to be pretty self-motivated, when you're a freelancer. And lately, I've been frustrated with what I am  or am not getting done - that's a big piece of it too. In the last few months, I lost my dear Dad (very shaky still), and we've moved to a new city (this month), and I'm still staring at many unpacked boxes (intimidating, and where's my dang Martha White Corn Meal?). It's a (let's call it) challenging time of life. And I know "the West" gets it wrong, with grief, and how fast we should process things. But that's another bloggy wog. Sooooo, anytime I get down about my work, or my life, or my mood, I just pull out a sketchbook and my iPad . . . and I keep drawing, and I keep writing.

I talk to the Great Creator (which is a lot of what is in my head and on my pages) and I ask WHY? and WHY NOT? a lot. I think  right now that God may be very bored with me, but somehow fascinated, like a now-jolly, now-angry kid watching a roly-poly on the sidewalk. And I ask God questions, and I think, hmmm. God is not answering, God is observing, or God is waiting, or God is binge-watching "Stranger Things" on Netflix, like everybody else. And I think about how small a word "God" is, for the Great Creator.  And I want miracles for everyone with Parkinson's and Cancer. Right now.

I'm so glad to have my health, and mad that others don't.

And wondering why some people think they have to be mean to others. I'm horrified by what Leslie Jones has been going through, and proud of her for standing up to it. And mad about how that redirects her great, creative energy for a bit. Stealing her time (I'm always in a bad mood if you steal my time, even without all that hate attached.)

And then I'm back to me again, feeling inadequate, still, of all things! You would think that at this age, my middle-school insecurities would be wiped away, but nope, turns out, I'm human. Dammit. I keep trying to rise above that, but well, as you see.

And then I make a list of what I've done this year.

Which includes 300 drawings for two coloring books, plus comics and cartoons for Dirty Diamonds, The All-Girl Comics Anthology, an illustration for The Cartoonist, for the National Cartoonists Society, two comics and two ads for Magic Bullet (DC Conspiracy), my own work on Haint Blue, my it's-taking-forever graphic novel about the supernatural, and submitted my Fog of Worry panel comics to more than one syndicate (waiting on that). I've written and performed stories on stage with Story District DC and Storytalks NYC (Gotham Comedy Club), and performed my standup act at Comic Strip Live in NYC.

And I feel a little better, but cancer and Parkinson's are still attacking people I know and love, and their friends and family. I'm mad about that. I keep coming back to it.

And I spend a little time praying, and hoping prayer "works."

Back to drawing.

Hang in there, everybody, we are all on a journey no one else can really see. Because if they DID see, we would be embarrassed at how often we turn to brownies for solace, even if they ARE Fiber-One brownies, and so much better for you.

Right now I'm planning the fall cons - CreativeCon Panama City, and New York ComicCon. Well, I'm not the one planning them, who has time for that? (See: "Stranger Things".)

peace, love, and other things hippies say,

 

trl

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paisley Doodle

A big doe walked through our yard, and by my studio window this morning - so pretty and graceful! I'm pretty clumsy and clunky - so I really appreciate graceful animals. Speaking of which, Olympians blow my mind. I feel like I'm watching magic. Only I like it more. (The Olympics, not magic shows. Capiche?) Anyway, the one area I can achieve some gracefulness is in drawing and art - not always, but sometimes.

Here's today's doodle. If you read my blog regularly, you already know I'm obsessed with paisleys. And zombies. I do plan to combine the two at some point.

peace, y'all

trl

Revival Meeting?

I like juxtaposition. Here's a photo of an old-timey revival meeting (very UNlike the ones I attended growing up in Tennessee!) - and a photo ad from a 1960s mag - advertising what they thought air travel should be like. LOL!! If they made her pack her toiletries in a quart bag, take her hat, sweater, belt, and shoes off, and inspected her laptop and her Aveda foot cream it would be more accurate. But, that snifter of brandy looks quite pleasant. I know a pic is worth a thousand words - but I just had a lot more fun at church than these ladies are . . . and this pic seems to be the antithesis of anything being "revived!" People of faith, hello . . . what ARE we up to? Anyway . . . compare and contrast. peace, trl

No Regrets - really?!

You know sometimes when you hear that movie quote "LOVE means never having to say you're sorry," and you think, well that's a crock o' crap?

That's how I feel when I hear people say, "No regrets," meaning, I presume that they don't regret, or allow themselves to think about regretting, ANYTHING. Which would be either, that they have delusions of perfection, or that they are totally in denial. Though, I'm sure I could use summa dat denial stuff, now and then. Like I'd like to forget about posting that Calista-Gingrich-has-woman-arrested-for-breastfeeding-in-public article, only to find out that it totally wasn't true. That is totally what I get for breaking my never-talk-about-the-candidate's-family-members-unless-it's-Todd-Palin rule. (Because, I mean, how can you NOT?)

Anyway, not to be sidetracked by my temporary dopiness, (hey, that IS a word!), THIS post is about regretting not having said or done certain things. When you lose a friend or family member, and you wonder what you could have done or said that would have made everything better . . . made things easier for that person in their last days, communicated how you felt and how much you truly loved them  and were glad they were in your lives. I think the best we can do in this life is to make sure we are more OPEN than CLOSED.

It causes a lot of embarrassment, of course. Exposing yourself in certain ways can cost you.

But I remember when I decided to leave my job as an artist/writer at Hallmark - it was tough. I got to write and paint all day, and had lots of cool friends! But, I knew if I didn't leave to learn the craft of comedy, I would always look back and be sorry. I never wanted to get to my death-bed and be worrying about myself in that way.

I probably won't die by something like parachuting out of a plane, it will be something stupid like "She fell off her platform shoes into a tub of water while holding a plugged-in radio," or "She drank her turpentine instead of her Diet Coke while painting her last masterpiece," which, btw, is something I've actually done. Yes, I once drank a sip of turpentine by accident instead of my Diet Coke. Not much, obviously . . . I'm still here. (DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.) Also, now, I keep the turpentine v. far away from my beverage while I work. Also, I've switched to acrylics, so now it's just murky water tempting me.

Anywayz, I want to be more like Oscar Wilde and say something like (slight misquote): "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."

Try to achieve great things, fail a lot, make fool of yourself, achieve some stuff, love your family and friends, (and your ENEMIES, too, if you are VERY evolved, like Jesus), and laugh a lot along the way.

Allrighty, then.

No regrets.

peace,

trl

 

p.s. - In tagging this latest post, the auto-fill jumped in when I typed "Jesus," and tried to fill in "Jerry Lewis." That was jarring.

 

Tough Row to Hoe

Comedy is a tough row to hoe. Now, I don't have actual experience rowing or picking cotton, but my parents grew up picking cotton in Mississippi. I remember countless times driving to see my grandfolks, and seeing miles and miles of cotton fields on the way. I thought they were beautiful, and I pretended they were snow, because we didn't get much of that. But, I've never had to pick cotton. The only bolls I ever picked, were ones my parents let me pick so I could see what it felt like - sorta.

So, this tiny little description of picking cotton is just from what my mom and dad have told me about it.

It's tough to hoe, and tough to pick. It tears up your fingers, because of the thorny husk on the outside of that fluffy tuft of fiber.

It's beautiful, but it tears your fingers apart to get to it.

Cotton picking is grueling, to say the least. (My mom refused to see the movie, "Places In The Heart," because, as she said, "Why would I want to see that? I lived it! I'm not going to see a movie about picking cotton." )

Comedy isn't pretty. It's definitely tougher for some than others.

But, in the end, it's showbiz.

It's never going to be "fair."

It will probably be very, very, deeply painful. And then, more awesome than you ever imagined. And then really painful again.

Are you IN, or are you OUT?

Comedy is tough for ALL of us . . . but it's very worth the blood, sweat, and tears.

Encouraging us all to hang in there, y'all.

Let's enjoy the loud laughs, roll with the gut punches of the tougher times, and celebrate the fact that we get to do what we love to do.

peace, trl

Forget Regret

This journal piece I'm posting is a meditation, and I call it a meditation, because then you will think I really really worked hard on it. But! That goes against the whole point of ART JOURNALING, which should be done pretty quickly, to reduce the self-editing factor. I know you can hardly believe I ever edit myself, but oh-yes-I-do. Okay, and if you cannot work quickly, work slowly but HONESTLY. Not yelling, just emphasizing. I'm posting a piece I did last August, when I was working hard to not regret some things. The results of choices I've made -  bemoaning my woeful business sense, wondering when I come off as insensitive, (lots of lack of sense here), wishing I were taller . . . you know the routine. (BTW, I'm 5'6", but due to my width . . .) ANYWAY!

Today I want to encourage you (and me) to focus on the future with the learning from the past and awareness of the present. (Should I sell this as a motivational poster at Staples?!! You tell me!) No, really. I have been guilty of beating myself up, why I did this, why I didn't do that, why I didn't choose one thing over the other, why I wasn't more assertive or why I didn't understand a certain situation clearly, or why I don't look like a supermodel. (Geez, back to shallow.) Plus, I have a straight answer on that one, and it has to do with my sincere, deep, and heartfelt love of collard greens cooked with ham hocks, blackeyed peas cooked with bacon, and a big corn pone served up with buttah. I hear that the bona fide supermodel Kate Moss has said, "Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels," and I think that's because she's never had my mama's cookin'. And, for my part, I choose the comfy soul food I grew up with. (Okay, but I'll exercise more this year.)

So, here's to forgetting regrets . . . I cannot say "no regrets," because in my estimation, to never have regrets at all would mean one is a very insensitive arse of a person. So, don't beat yourself up, don't be an arse; hang in there, look forward.

BTW, this is meant in no way to endorse MSNBC's new promo phrase "Lean Forward," because I think that's stupid. It just makes me think that they don't believe in actually GOING forward, just looking like they might consider it at some point. Like, hey, don't you think we won't, 'cuz we're gonna. Maybe.

"Lean Forward" also makes me think of those trick clown shoes which hook into the floor so they can lean all directions and not fall over.

A clown leaning forward.

Brrrrrr. Way to give me the heebie jeebies, MSNBC.

peace, love, and other things hippies say,

trl