Chapter Two: The Question
Do you have an idea for a comic taking shape in your mind, and it haunts you every waking moment?
“Can I ask you something?”
When people ask me this question, I always know what they’re going to ask me—but I can’t wait to hear it.
“Of course.”
“How do I make a comic?”
Let me get this out the way: Everyone should make a comic.
I’m lucky my parents used my nana’s mailing address to get me into a magnet arts middle school. At Utterback, I learned how to be the goofy bastard you know and love today. They let me take more electives than required classes. I’m fucking horrible at math, but I can fucking write. See? Easy.
I loved to read and write. Being in a classroom where I had to read was my favorite place only second to the library. I was that kid that went to the library for lunch to read and sit in silence. My household was anything but quiet. I was the only one that read as a child. My family constantly had to be amused by music, television shows, and films. Consequently, I have watched more 80’s rom-com and 90s action blockbusters than the average person. We would go to Blockbuster or Hollywood Video weekly to watch the latest films. My parents normally would argue bitterly over the loud music from the 200 CD player shooting music from anyone like Aerosmith, Paula Abdul, Ramón Ayala, Smokey Robinson, The Ronnetts, or countless artists to mask their screaming.
Nonetheless, I read. Comic books mostly. Reading was something I had to maintain independently. The funny thing is that my parents had no idea what I was going to go on to do because I was “smart” but I “failed all my exams.” They neither supported nor frowned on my writing as long as I didn’t go to jail.
“Why do you want to make a comic book?”
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