The artist I was going to work with to bring "Losing Yourself" to publication will be finishing his involvement with the project after only twelve pages. My short stories continue to be denied publication, my novel series concept only gets more intimidating, and I haven't touched the screenplay project in weeks. One could easily consider this a list of failures, but I don't for a couple of reasons.
For one thing, this is twelve more pages than I had to begin with, and I can do just about anything I want with them. I own the copyright. Which means I can throw the word balloons together and at least have something I can show someone and say, "THIS is what I've been going on about." That is so much more concrete an experience than simply delivering a pitch, and it shows that I have really tried.
For another, this is not a definite ending. We've broke this relationship cleanly and all friendly-like, so should we find ourselves in a more compatible position later we can pick right back up. That is a more professional and more humane way to stop than some of the absolute horror stories one hears in the comic and graphic novel industry; tears, a sailor's dictionary, and months of defamation aren't standard, but they're also not uncommon, and I'm happy to have avoided them.
And here's something I just thought of today: when someone asks me what I'm up to, I have a lot more to say than "well, nothing much." Some people may think I'm insane for trying, others may not have meant to hear anything other than something about the weather, a couple might even think of someone that can help, but no one thinks that I'm being lazy. Except maybe the people that think I'm lying, but then those aren't the people I'm trying to impress. The act of attempting is, if all else fails, a marvelous conversation piece.
Tonight, socializing with fellow comic book nerds. Tomorrow, Windy City Con. And then, Louisville!
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