It’s just after 10pm. I’ve had a damn long day and I’m ready to pass out. The Wife’s watching tennis, which isn’t helping my struggle for consciousness. All I want to do is go to bed, but I’ve got 20 tabs open in Firefox, all of them aimed at artists’ galleries on DeviantArt.
I need an artist.
I lost count of how many pages I surfed through to find these 20, but I’ve been at it for a few hours now. If I’m lucky, a few of them will be worth contacting, and one of them will be willing to work for the terms I’ll be able to offer.
If I’m lucky.
I used to say writing for comics was easier than prose because I can bang out script a lot faster, and editing is faster still. Taken as a whole, however, the job of writing for comics is a pain. If I want to sell a novella, it speaks for itself. If I want to sell a comic, the first question people ask is “Who’s the artist?” Even if I’m sold on an artist, I have to turn around and sell the artist to the publisher, too.
Then I get to hope the artist doesn’t flake out the following week.
But damn it, I love the medium, and it’s a thrill seeing the right artist bring my creations to life is beyond thrilling.
Sleep is for the weak.