Recently a friend started a cartoon/comics course. She's enjoying it and was showing me what she was doing.
As we talked, I remembered that R once asked to me to write a story for him to illustrate. Years ago. I'd completely forgotten. I wrote the story in a couple of hours and there's not much to it. At that point I hadn't read any graphic novels yet. I assumed it would mostly be about the drawings.
R always has a few projects on the go and I didn't know he was working on the drawings until he showed them to me a year or so later. He'd painted approx 120 frames.
Unfortunately--though perhaps understandably for a writer--my reaction when he showed me was not to see the paintings, but that he'd included the messy first draft of the story I'd given him. I'd thought he was using it as a guide, not putting it in the cartoons. I said he needed to let me revise the wording. He said it was too late. I was in a state of writerly pique that he hadn't respected my work ethic. We argued.Fifteen years passed and I was having a beer with my friend who was showing me the project she was working on for her course. When I came home, I asked R if he remembered that story he'd illustrated. He wasn't sure he still had it. He found it on Weebly where it's been hiding since 2007.
Now, when I look at it, I see the drawings. They're a record of a neighbourhood where we used to live in the late 90s--that doesn't look like that anymore. The cobbler who used sit on a kitchen chair on the sidewalk. The tatoo parlour.
If you're interested meet Scribe: https://bobaube.weebly.com/index.html
Merci, D, for reminding me!
Oh, I like this. I want to read the book. His talent knows no bounds. You're a good duo.
ReplyDeleteThank you! I'll pass along the appreciation.
DeleteThis is fantastic!
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