Tag: Graphic Novels

  • Why I Finally Admitted I’m a Writer

    Why I Finally Admitted I’m a Writer

    articleFor the past seven years I’ve been writing a graphic novel.  I only admitted this to a non-family member for the first time two years ago.  I admitted it to close colleagues eight months ago, and then only because I had to give some reason for quitting my job.  I was forced to tell my boss the embarrassing truth; I wanted to focus on becoming a writer.  Specifically, I’m trying to sell a graphic novel.

    Admitting this at work was awkward because none of my 40+ year-old colleagues here in Brazil had any idea what that was.  “You’re quitting because you want to write comic books?  Like Superman?”

    “No, a graphic novel is a medium that can tell any story.  They’re actually becoming more mainstream.  A graphic memoir by a lesbian cartoonist about growing up with her closeted father who ran a funeral home was nominated for a National Book Critics award.”  This explanation didn’t clarify anything for them.

    As I suspected, once you tell people you are a writer and take the time to explain what it is you’re writing, they are going to ask about it.  Every time they see you.  This is why I never wanted to say anything.  This is why I hoped to keep it secret until I could direct all inquisitors to their local bookstore where they would find my already published and acclaimed debut on the shelf.

    I never called myself a writer because in my mind, a writer who has never published is a failed writer.  I have a deeply rooted fear of failure, and so far all I have to show for my writing is 57 rejections.

    I have only myself to blame.  I chose to write a graphic novel, which is a growing but hardly massive market in the U.S.  If I had written a romance or Young Adult, I’d be able to query a new agent a day for years.  I set my story in Brazil with a poor, Afro-Brazilian protagonist.  When I started writing, I had never read a graphic novel and had to google “format for a comic manuscript”.  I’ve also never had a creative writing class in my life.  And I can’t draw.  At all.  Not even a straight line with a ruler.

    Thinking about it, 57 rejections aren’t so much surprising as inevitable.

    When my husband and I conceived the story over dinner seven years ago, I was recently arrived in Brazil, with no job, and a lot of time on my hands.  I outlined the story in detail, taught myself how to write a comic, and wrote the first 25 pages.  I knew a story set in Rio de Janeiro should be illustrated.  The visual contrast of the luxury and poverty of the city needed a visual element, but 25 pages into the story, my research was revealing extreme odds against ever getting published.  Not being an illustrator, having no experience in comics or any area of publishing, and living in Brazil unable to attend conferences or network led me to save the project on a hard drive and forget it.

    That was in 2008.  I came back to it in 2013.  I quietly finished a first draft and sent out a ton of bad queries for an unpolished manuscript and got back 55 polite “No, thank yous.”  Naturally, I then decided to quit my job and pursue writing full-time.

    Why? What made me finish the manuscript?  What made me finally decide to not only pursue writing full-time but also publicly admit it?  I became a mom.

    My parenting philosophy is to model the behavior I want from my daughter.  I want her to drink water at meals, so I drink water.  I don’t want her to resort to physical violence, so I never use it on her.  I want her to consider fruit a dessert, so I wait until she goes to bed to eat my ice cream.

    More than anything I want my daughter to find her dream and follow it, so I damn well better follow mine.

    I can’t tell her success takes hard work and dedication if I gave up after only 25 pages.  I can’t tell her that failure is ok and a learning opportunity, if I abandon writing after 55 rejections on a first attempt at a first novel.  I can’t tell her passion is a wonderful thing, if I’m too embarrassed to openly admit my own.

    Today I have a polished and edited graphic novel manuscript, a critiqued query letter, 2 fresh rejections, and a strategy to pursue publication.  I have a picture book manuscript recently sent off for critique.  I have a detailed outline and the first 10,000 words of a young adult trilogy.  I have this blog.

    And when I do finally publish my first book, it will be dedicated to my daughter.  Because if it weren’t for being a mom, I would never have become a writer.

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  • A First Test as a Writer

    A First Test as a Writer

    Keep the espresso coming!
    Keep the espresso coming!

    Recently, I decided to become a writer.  I’ve actually been diligently writing a novel for a couple years, but a few months ago I quit my job teaching and left myself with no other answer to the question “What do you do?” So now people actually know.

    Today I’m facing my first great test as a “writer”.

    The only piece of advice every writer in history seems to agree on is that a writer writes everyday. So I have been. But today, I’m alone in my apartment, lacking inspiration, with access to Netflix.  And it’s raining.

    I don’t think Shakespeare would have been so prolific if he’d been able to binge watch old seasons of Mad Men, Walking Dead, Downton Abbey, or almost any other show worth watching.  (Except West Wing! Seriously, Netflix, where the hell is West Wing?)  James Joyce would probably have been more straightforward if he’d been sucked into the Twitterverse daily while building his author’s platform.  Without a doubt Twain would have spent his afternoons watching the Daily Show.

    And the rain! What is it about grey skies and a light drizzle?  I’ve had three espressos, but it feels like I’ve been hit by a tranquilizer.  Why can’t sleep be this persistent after my daughter has gone to bed and my teeth are brushed?  I could just go take a nap. I’m completely alone.  No one would know, and my bed is so conveniently located in the same apartment where I keep my computer.

    No. I will remain doggedly at my desk. Why? Because I’m a writer.  More specifically, I’m a 32 year-old writer who hasn’t ever published anything, and that makes for some awkward conversations.  Oh, I’ve read lots of  inspirational, bucking-up articles to new writers. “If you’re writing, you’re a writer.”  Own it.  Be proud.  Hashtag amwriting.  Whatever. Let’s be honest.  Telling people you’re “working on a graphic novel” is only impressive if you’re sitting in a high school cafeteria and still legally required to be there. To the rest of the world, you’re just unemployed and probably going to have to explain what graphic novel is.

    My situation is complicated by the fact my husband is a genius with a PhD and two full-time jobs.  To be clear, my husband is incredibly supportive and respectful of new career.  It’s not his fault he’s so damn impressive.  Well, it kind of is his fault he’s a workaholic, but he’s not the one who makes things awkward for me.  It’s other people.  Non-writers.  I had this conversation the other day.

    Not-a-writer: “What have you been up to?”

    Me:  “Well, I’ve spent the last two days on this synopsis and I have FINALLY, FINALLY gotten it down to a single page.”

    Not-a-writer: “How about [the hubby]?”

    Me:  “Well, this year he’s applying to the Ministry of Education to get approval for his master’s program.  He’s been organizing all the lines of research, hiring professors, and specifically recruiting professors with PhDs to publish in those areas. He published three or four articles last year and has two or three pending approval.”

    Not-a-writer: “Well, if he needs someone to sum it all up in a single page, I know a gal he can call.” chuckle

    Ouch. And that is a mild dose of the unintended condescension given to the yet unpublished.

    So I won’t be napping because it’s Monday afternoon and I’m at work.  I’m writing.  And drinking more coffee.  And giving my emails a final check before getting back down…hey, there’s a new episode of Mad Men!

  • I enjoy comics, therefore I am a geek.  I think.

    I enjoy comics, therefore I am a geek. I think.

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    I admit it. I had X-men comics as a kid.

    A couple weeks ago as I was skimming the Internet, I  saw the latest Avengers: Age of Ultron trailer.  I saw it five times in a row.  When I discovered in the comment stream that the movie opens on April 23 here in Brazil, a full week earlier than in the US, I squealed for joy.

    Last Friday, I was browsing books on Amazon and it recommended the fourth compilation of the Saga series.  I hadn’t even realized it was out!  I gave thanks to the omniscient Amazon gods and ordered it immediately.

    This week I’m putting the final touches on the second draft of my 216 page graphic novel.

    I can no longer hide from the truth.  I am a geek.

    I suppose I’ve always known on some level, although I’ve repressed it for decades.  My brother is a gamer and has actually attended a Dragoncon, so I think it might be genetic.  I definitely don’t think it was anything my parents or society did.  I grew up in an upper-middle class suburb outside of Atlanta in a congressional district that doesn’t even have a Democratic party office.  There were club sports, sleepovers, and more churches than gas stations.  I had everything necessary to be totally mainstream.  Yet, my absolute favorite cartoons growing up were X-men and Batman.  I watched reruns of Batman every day after school long after I knew I couldn’t admit it at my lunch table.

    I was very confused.  I liked X-men comics, but I also made top grades, was elected to student council, and played varsity sports.  I didn’t have trouble making friends or shopping at the Gap.  It was made clear, by people on both sides of the line, that people who liked comics and superheroes didn’t do those kinds of things.  Also, I have a vagina, so I couldn’t possibly be a comics fan.  I was assigned a side, which I’ve stuck with until now.

    And there are most definitely sides.  I’ve done my research, and the internet divides people into two distinct camps: geeks and non-geeks.

    Geeks like comic.  They also enjoy animé, very elaborate games that require an entirely new language of acronyms like MUDs, ADnD, and MMORPGs, dressing as characters from their favorite comic/movie/tv show/video game, and toys.  Lots of toys.  When not cosplaying, geeks also enjoy wearing cotton tshirts with witty quotes or logos proudly promoting their geekhood.

    Non-geeks enjoy the outdoors, Starbucks, Top Gear, and yogurt.  They frequently wear cotton tshirts with logos promoting their favorite sports team and/or player.  They believe books with pictures are for children and adults only read celebrity cookbooks, Literature (with a capitol L), or war memoirs.  When not wearing their team colors, they are wearing Old Navy or J. Crew depending on income.

    Since high school, I have been living my life as a non-geek.  I love Starbucks and my reading time has been devoted to Capitol-L authors such as Jhumpa Lahiri, Barbara Kingsolver, Margaret Atwood, and Toni Morrison.  Then some time in my mid-20s, I came across a list of the “100 greates books of the 20th century.” I don’t remember who created the list. I think it was Times or maybe a freshman English major at Berkley.  Either way, I know the list included Watchmen by Alan Moore, illustrated by Dave Gibbons.  I was intrigued.  How did this comic, masquerading as a novel, end up on a list of “Greatest Books”?  The contradiction was there in the title, Greatest BooksThis list put a comic alongside Hemingway and Alice Walker.

    I was aware of the term graphic novel but didn’t understand it until I read Watchmen.  Then for Christmas my brother gave me Y: The Last Man and 100 Bullets.  Another year, a cousin gave me American Born Chinese.  I discovered Fun Home was named the best book of 2006 by Time.  Then one day I looked at my bookshelf and discovered a row of graphic novels, what my non-geek kind still refer to as comic books.  I had a shelf full of comic books!

    What can I say?  I’m sucker for a good story.  Combine memorable and complex characters with good writing and you’ve got me, even if the story is told in illustrated panels.  American Born Chinese is one of the most elegant pieces of story telling I’ve ever read, and it’s a graphic novel for young adults.

    I guess that makes me a geek, but I’m a little worried about what coming out as geek means. Geeks seem to make being a geek such a huge part of their identity; I’m afraid about half-assing the role. Can I love the Avengers movies without understanding the difference between The Avengers, The Mighty Avengers, and Avengers Assemble?  Because I’m really busy and just don’t have the time to figure that out.  Do I have to be willing to stand in line for two hours for an autograph from a Star Trek cast member?  Because frankly there’s nothing short of life saving necessities that I would stand in line for two hours to get.  Although I admire the passion. And the patience.  I could use more of both.

    Oh, and about the costumes…they look wondrous but also super impractical.  If I’m going to walk miles around a conference hall filled with 100,000 people, I’d prefer something breathable.  Is there a character I could portray in linen pants and a pair of Toms?  No?  Well, maybe I’ll write one.  As soon as this non-geek geek gets her first graphic novel sold.  But that’s a post for next week.