When readers say you wrote "a nice one," they mean that under that gruff exterior is a gruff interior with a little speck of hope and sweetness hiding in the corner. Keep it up!
(Also, in the scanner strip, you're missing an eye--er "I" in the second panel. Which you might want to fix before adding it to the Adult Children Collection, coming soon to a bookstore near me.)
Thank you! Since I don't have an editor, I depend on readers for proofreading. And thank you for the positive energy that I so desperately need towards a book.
I'm not ever getting involved with this strip like I'm part of an Adult Children family. I enjoy seeing your readers post those amiable, chatting in quick passing, reactions. I barely belong to the human experience. But Adult Children is real, and real clever. If I laffed, which I rarely do physically, (I do laff mentally in abstraction, I would laff through both nostrils and you would see the evidence, maybe feel it. It's actually unsettling to see you write, and then hit it outta the park so often. And your essays are superb. When you bring them both out in essay self-exam, to le, you're elevating your voice into a league with another class of comics artists. You remind me of someone getting closer to kinda up there in the years and you can't hide how you write like you've been doing this since you've been 14 or something, almost prepubescent in innocence, but not anymore. You can't say all this unfiltered truth and then take it back. I mean this in the Good Way. You're constant readers seem to take it well. My time's up here for '25 and I still have the year's membership for contemplation.
You are hereby encouraged to provide commentary as much as you want! There is no word limit. Or emoji limit. Or even punctuation limit. You could respond with as little as a comma.
For the low price of an ampersand, you can enjoy this site.
Gar! I am very lucky that you are a continued presence in my life. I'm not good at responding to such high praise, other than to say that there are no announcers to tell me if I'm hitting something out of the park. I just know that I am incapable of of knowing what will resonate with people. I have to just make what I like. If I try to make what I think other people will like, it will suck and suck badly.
I started making comics when I was ten and sent my first batch of comics to syndicates when I was 13, which was very cute, but I don't seem to have any other skills. I'm stuck with this form of expression.
The real winner was James Thurber. My god, he was great. He got to cartoon AND write. He went blind, of course, but it was fun while it lasted.
To explain the “outta the ballpark remark”: Sometimes your strip Hits the Nail on the Head. Your essay on taking weeks to work toward a known idea explain some of those occurances. Not all of them. Here is why I give a lot of credit to your work ethic plus your innate talents. Sometimes, a few panels into your strip, I wonder, will he make something out of this one today? Then, phantom punch, swat, it’s outta there (mixed sports metaphor, I know) When I use Outta or Gonna or something colloquial like that, Sorta, I’m signalling that I know I have just used stodgey language in a lighthearted medium and I’m deflating that. I am asking that no one blames this fine artist of Adult Children when I weigh in on and weigh down the scene he’s created.
I didn't see this. You kind of described the writing process, there. When things go well, I get to go over and over it to keep myself on track. The language is almost musical. Ba dum, ba dum dum. Doesn't work. Dum dum, dum ba dum. Kind of works. Ba dum, ba dum, dum dum. There we go. Hard to describe. It involves paying attention to the language and making a point, no matter how lame. Decades ago, I heard people compare writing comic strips to short poems, and I thought that was a little too highfalutin, but I get it now. Sometimes I don't get where I'm going until the fifth rewrite. Other times, I figure it out six months after it didn't work. Then I get to do it again because nobody remembers the comic that didn't work.
When readers say you wrote "a nice one," they mean that under that gruff exterior is a gruff interior with a little speck of hope and sweetness hiding in the corner. Keep it up!
(Also, in the scanner strip, you're missing an eye--er "I" in the second panel. Which you might want to fix before adding it to the Adult Children Collection, coming soon to a bookstore near me.)
Thank you! Since I don't have an editor, I depend on readers for proofreading. And thank you for the positive energy that I so desperately need towards a book.
i just love reading your thought process behind the comics, it's always fascinating to me. 😁😎
I sincerely appreciate that.
I'm not ever getting involved with this strip like I'm part of an Adult Children family. I enjoy seeing your readers post those amiable, chatting in quick passing, reactions. I barely belong to the human experience. But Adult Children is real, and real clever. If I laffed, which I rarely do physically, (I do laff mentally in abstraction, I would laff through both nostrils and you would see the evidence, maybe feel it. It's actually unsettling to see you write, and then hit it outta the park so often. And your essays are superb. When you bring them both out in essay self-exam, to le, you're elevating your voice into a league with another class of comics artists. You remind me of someone getting closer to kinda up there in the years and you can't hide how you write like you've been doing this since you've been 14 or something, almost prepubescent in innocence, but not anymore. You can't say all this unfiltered truth and then take it back. I mean this in the Good Way. You're constant readers seem to take it well. My time's up here for '25 and I still have the year's membership for contemplation.
You are hereby encouraged to provide commentary as much as you want! There is no word limit. Or emoji limit. Or even punctuation limit. You could respond with as little as a comma.
For the low price of an ampersand, you can enjoy this site.
Gar! I am very lucky that you are a continued presence in my life. I'm not good at responding to such high praise, other than to say that there are no announcers to tell me if I'm hitting something out of the park. I just know that I am incapable of of knowing what will resonate with people. I have to just make what I like. If I try to make what I think other people will like, it will suck and suck badly.
I started making comics when I was ten and sent my first batch of comics to syndicates when I was 13, which was very cute, but I don't seem to have any other skills. I'm stuck with this form of expression.
The real winner was James Thurber. My god, he was great. He got to cartoon AND write. He went blind, of course, but it was fun while it lasted.
To explain the “outta the ballpark remark”: Sometimes your strip Hits the Nail on the Head. Your essay on taking weeks to work toward a known idea explain some of those occurances. Not all of them. Here is why I give a lot of credit to your work ethic plus your innate talents. Sometimes, a few panels into your strip, I wonder, will he make something out of this one today? Then, phantom punch, swat, it’s outta there (mixed sports metaphor, I know) When I use Outta or Gonna or something colloquial like that, Sorta, I’m signalling that I know I have just used stodgey language in a lighthearted medium and I’m deflating that. I am asking that no one blames this fine artist of Adult Children when I weigh in on and weigh down the scene he’s created.
I didn't see this. You kind of described the writing process, there. When things go well, I get to go over and over it to keep myself on track. The language is almost musical. Ba dum, ba dum dum. Doesn't work. Dum dum, dum ba dum. Kind of works. Ba dum, ba dum, dum dum. There we go. Hard to describe. It involves paying attention to the language and making a point, no matter how lame. Decades ago, I heard people compare writing comic strips to short poems, and I thought that was a little too highfalutin, but I get it now. Sometimes I don't get where I'm going until the fifth rewrite. Other times, I figure it out six months after it didn't work. Then I get to do it again because nobody remembers the comic that didn't work.