Here’s the thing. I’m dying to draw a real story. I’ve had about a year, give or take, of gag comic strips and journal writing, and that’s been invaluable. I don’t ever plan to give it up, because journaling has been an important part of my life since I was ten (and let me tell you there is no comedy greater than reading my diary from when I was fourteen).

But I have stories in my head. Characters, settings, ideas, all kinds of things. I thought I could get them out through prose, through weekly fiction writing, but it’s not the same. After all this time learning to make comics, comics are what I see everywhere, what I want to make. For the past few days I’ve been thinking about a story about a robot who befriends a dog in a post-apocalyptic setting. A largely wordless comic, but something that resonates with a lot of emotional depth for me. I know how they meet, I know how their relationship develops, I know where they wander (a world devoid of humanity, reclaimed by nature). For three days I’ve thought of only these two characters and I love them and want to draw their story.

My nemesis, as always, is time. I work a full time job where I’m lucky I don’t get chastised for doodling weird robots into a sketchbook while I work, but the thing that a few years of learning to draw comics has taught me is that comics are a lot of work. I don’t have the spare time to bang out a short comic story in a couple weeks. Something even as simple as “Robot befriends dog” would take me months, without question.

So these characters linger, and I doodle, and I hope someday to dig in, to set aside the time, to eliminate my free time and my chores and everything else that I’m supposed to do and just…just..

just draw.