When I first started drawing a comic, I can remember one of my friends asking “Why would you draw that? Plenty of other people draw comics, too.” and I answered, “But I, personally, have never drawn a comic.”
I used to believe that it really didn’t matter what everyone else did or wanted or thought, it was all about me. I wish I could remember what believing that was like. I still say to myself “There is no other Story like Saffron’s story,” and I truly believe that, but I wonder if someone could tell it better than I could.
I never have time to tell it much anymore. When I get home from a job that I hate, I’m usually exhausted. I think to myself, I gotta draw the comic, but I don’t wanna. Shouldn’t I want to draw it? I want it drawn by me, but I don’t wanna draw it, if that makes sense.
I don’t know. Comics is what I want to do with my life. It’s how I want to make a living in this world, but I just never seem to have the time anymore, or energy, or…enthusiasm. Natch Evil seems like work, now, and it’s not supposed to. It’s supposed to be my baby.
Ironically, Natch Evil was meant to be a training ground for me to hone my craft of comic making. I honestly never thought I’d encounter a lesson like this. Guess I still got a little figuring out to do.
Peace Ouch, guys.