One of my favorite questions I’ve seen asked on social media is “What advice do you have for someone starting out?” or “What’s the one piece of advice you wish you’d know when you were starting out?”
It’s simple. You will never feel ready.
I wasted years waiting until I felt like I was good enough to draw comics. I worked in the roleplaying game industry for about a decade, and the whole time, I thought I was warming up to draw comics. But you know what I never did during that warm-up period?
I didn’t draw a single comic page.
The whole time, I kept thinking that when I was “ready,” I’d start on comic samples. But I never felt ready. My level of craft improved, for sure. But I never had that epiphany where the heavens parted, I was bathed in sunlight, and a cherub appeared to me and welcomed me into comics.
How it really worked out was that one day I realized that I wasn’t waiting until I was ready, I was afraid of failing. I was afraid that instead of bursting out, fully-formed, with amazing, world-altering stuff, I’d create a mediocre page—or a terrible one.
But I also realized that nothing was going to happen until I started making comics, regardless of if I felt ready. So I started drawing samples. And they weren’t great.. But the more I did it, the better they got.
You’d think that this simple revelation would have clicked for me across multiple aspects of making comics, right? It didn’t. It took me another few years before I started writing. Same feelings and worry. Same “What is I fail?” BS.
So don’t wait until you feel ready. Give yourself permission to fail, permission to create garbage, permission to learn on the job. Diving into the process will help you develop your skills.
I’ll leave you with a quote from poet Samuel Beckett: “Try again, fail again. Fail better.”
I’ve included some work from this period (1997–1999): a couple of RPG illos (for Traveller and Shadowrun) and one of my first comic sample pages (a generic romance sample page). Be gentle when checking this stuff out!
That’s a wrap, folks! The Catch successfully funded on Kickstarter today, with 265 backers and totaling out at 113%! Thank you very much to everyone who supported the book!
I have a Patreon page. I use it to show some behind-the-scenes and process material on comics and commissions I’m working on, as well as proposals I’ve done for comics that have and haven’t been published.
There are also some rewards that, over time, earn you free artwork.
How do you write a post an upcoming Kickstarter while the world is facing uncertainty like I’ve never seen?
I have no idea, so I’ll just be candid.
I launched a Kickstarter campaign today. It’s for the second issue of The Catch. We Kickstarted the first issue a year ago, and we’re back for more.
Truth be told, our creative team been planning this campaign for the last 4–6 months, so we’re going to continue ahead with it. I apologize if it comes at an awkward time.
The Catch follows Lucy Chase, a skip tracer specializing in costumed criminals who jump bail. It’s kind of Elmore Leonard meets Gotham Central, if you will. We had a great response to the Kickstarter campaign for issue 1 last year, so we’re excited to bring you issue 2. And, if you’re new to the book, we have catch-up (no pun intended) combos with issues 1 and 2—as well as some other fun swag.
I’m writing it (as well as lettering and providing a variant cover). It’s drawn by co-creator Ismael Canales, who I worked on the first issue with (as well as Athena Voltaire and the Sorcerer Pope). We’re joined by colorist Mireia Girbau.
I’d always planned to write about why the band Rush is so important to me. With the passing of Neil Peart, this is as good a time as any—and probably past due.
A lifetime ago, I took up an instrument—bass—and played in a bunch of bands. As a musician…let’s just say that I make a pretty good comic book creator and leave it at that.
But it was during those teenage years that I discovered the music of Rush. In addition to the virtuoso musicianship, there was something in the lyrics that hit home. I know many people reference the sci-fi and fantasy stuff, but beyond that, the lyrics reflected a love of language in the way words bounce off one another, teaming with unexpected contrast and alliteration. It really clicked with me. It still does.
The band never stayed in one place, creatively. One would think that after the massive success of 1980’s Moving Pictures, they could have lingered in that same sonic space. And who could blame them? Countless other bands have done so, carving out a particular audio territory in an effort to relive, recapture, or revitalize a past glory.
But that wasn’t Rush. Their music was a reflection of what they were listening to, exploring, and being inspired by. As a young creative, that perspective became a guiding light for me, and it holds true to this day.
Something else that resonated with me was all of the behind the music stuff—not salacious tabloid fodder, but stories of individuals intent on improving their craft, of producing their art their way, and maintaining friendships while creating art together for four decades.
In 1994, after recording for 20 years and topping numerous “Best Drummer” polls during that span, Neil Peart sought out a new drum teacher. With jazz drummer Freddie Gruber, “[I] completely rebuilt my drumming from the ground up. I feel like I’ve started over as a beginner.” After spending 2 years with Gruber, Peart again sought out instruction in 2007, teaming with another jazz drummer, Peter Erskine. Of that education, Peart shared the following exchange:
“I said, ‘Hey, as far as I’m concerned, I’m a butcher, and you’re a surgeon.’
“Peter laughed and spread his hands dismissively, ‘You’re not a butcher.’
“I raised a hand up high, palm out, and smiled, ‘Hey—I’m a good butcher; I’d just like to get a little more surgery into it!’”
Humility and humor in pursuit of perfecting one’s craft. Isn’t that how we’d all like to proceed?
Much is made of an Ayn Rand connection, and it’s largely blown out of proportion. Rush aren’t a bunch of hardcore Objectivists, Fascists, or Right-Wingers. The truth behind it is much simpler.
The Ayn Rand stuff came during a period when Mercury, their record label, was on the verge of dropping the band…in fact, they ordered the band to produce a more commercial album—something more in the vein of their first album, or similar to the band Bad Company.
As Geddy Lee said, “Caress Of Steel had bombed. The gigs were half-empty. We named it the ‘Down The Tubes Tour’. We joked about Neil going back into the farm equipment business, and Alex and I going back to painting movie theatres. When we started on 2112. We thought this would probably be the last record we make. So we were like: fuck you, Mercury. If we’re going to go out, we’ll go out doing our crazy shit, not failing at what you want us to be.”
That record proved to be the turning point for the band.
Lee continues, “Ayn Rand had a very controversial image as an anti-socialist and extreme right-wing capitalist, but that was a side of her work that was not of interest to us.”
A pertinent quote from the Fountainhead sums up what the band took from Rand, “The question isn’t who’s going to let me, the question is who’s going to stop me.”
I’m sure that resonated with the band as young creatives, and it’s been one of my mantras ever since I heard it. (I respect Ayn Rand in this context: an artist doing what they’re motivated to do—not in reaction to critics. Her social thoughts? Not so much. Your mileage may vary.)
The same three guys, creating together for four decades. When Peart’s 19-year old daughter died in a car accident, followed by his wife succumbing to cancer within the year, the band went on an extended hiatus. There was never any thought of continuing as Rush without Peart.
When asked if Rush was a democracy, guitarist Alex Lifeson responded, “It always has been. And it wasn’t just a majority that ruled, it had to be unanimous in any decision. So if two guys wanted to do something and one didn’t, then you talked about it, you worked out the pros and cons, and at the end of it, if there was still that one that didn’t want to do it, it didn’t get done. It wasn’t worth having the bitterness over some seemingly meaningless decision.”
That sort of unity informs the way I work. I make my comics, usually in collaboration with friends. That bond and sense of kinship means the world to me.
So for that, and probably thousands of other parts of my creative mindset that this trio has contributed to, thank you. And thank you, Neil, for all you shared.
Here’s what I wrote about the strip on my Patreon (and it’s also posted on the Maximus Wrecks site, too:
I have a confession: I love every aspect of 1980s post-apocalyptic fiction. From movies to comics to music videos, it’s one of my absolute favorite genres. Classics like Escape from New York or Mad Max? Of course I love them. That’s a no-brainer. I also love weird, cheesy epics like Slipstream, Cherry 2000, and Space Hunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone.
For comics, I’m a sucker for Tim Truman’s Scout, and Doug Moench & Paul Gulacy’s Slash Maraud…and probably half a dozen other comics with that same aesthetic that I’m forgetting right now.
I’m delighted by every cornball set piece and costume design from 80s music videos. Tom Petty’s You Got Lucky? You bet. Billy Idol’s Dancing with Myself? Of course. The Police video for Synchronicity? How could I not? But also Rick Springfield’s Bop ‘Til You Drop, The Warrior by Scandal, Duran Duran’s Wild Boys,Screaming in the Night by Krokus, and a whole lot more goofiness.
So all of that is in the DNA of Maximus Wrecks.
I’ve wanted to dive back into webcomics for years, and this has been the project that I want to do it with.
Welcome to my new home on the web! I’m still getting things set up, but have a look around, and feel free to drop me a line (see all the ways to connect with me on the Contact page).
