The imaginary crowd is agitated. Once more their prophet of buffoonery has left them directionless for several days, for which he is sincerely and completely unapologetic. Outrage and agitation abound for even in my previous post was there nary a mention of my loyal and entirely nonexistent crowd. Rectification must be made and reparation must be paid.
Hark! The chair it appears over the course of five minutes. The noise from Doctor Who (you know the one) splits the air. A collective sigh of relief, or is that of rage and violence ready to be prepared. It makes no matter. For today I have words to spout.
Over the course of my long and illustrious career, I have come to the shocking and sobering conclusion that I cannot draw. Well, draw anything other than stick figures that is (and particularly crude ones at that).
There, another secret of mine out in the open. Aired like so much dirty and disgusting laundry.
The heckler (that bane of my existence!) steps out and has the temerity to laugh at me. Me! She points at the lovingly crafted image I created for this website (a self-portrait no less) and doubles over laughing. Words cannot even hiss from her imaginary mouth as mirth flows from her in vast dribbles of hilarity.
I hastily try to draw attention back to me with a stirring rendition of our national anthem. It has the desired effect if only because the imaginary crowd look for the awkward and screeching squawking.
Now we return to the subject at hand. I cannot draw. Seriously I can’t. I am physically or mentally incapable of doing so. I can paint, but only a bit.
Why am I rambling on about drawing and my utter lack of skill?
Well there isn’t a simple answer. Basically I’ve been reading a lot of graphic novels lately. I’m trying to figure out the why’s and how’s of their inner workings. The drawing of them is clearly beyond me, but the writing, well that’s another matter.
I’m not usually a fan of comic books or even superheroes, but since I’ve embarked on this expedition of graphic novel investigation, I’ve been sucked in. From the ultra-violent and…graphic, to funny indie ones they have an undeniable charm. They’re hard to put down and quick to read.
In terms of narrative structure, from what little I can tell or discern. It appears writing a graphic novel would be more similar to writing a script for a movie rather than conventional fiction writing.
I’m not sure if that is some vast revelation or I’m late to the party, but I will claim it anyway and stick to my guns. Its time to roll up my sleeves and get stuck into the squishy bits. Words and letters will go flying in sprays and gobbets as my fingers tap across the keyboard or with one of them new-fangled, fancy quill thingamajigs scratching across a pad of paper.
I’m not at complete liberty to discuss this project but keep your peepers peeled and a weather eye on the horizon for something new and exciting.
As always thanks for following along.