Posts Tagged about series

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About November 2023

May10
by on May 10, 2024 at 8:45 am

A series of four, four panel comics, all rendered in magenta and green. They are described with their title: 11/4/24: ON A COLD GLASS In the first panel, a cold glass of beer sits on a bartop, condensation dripping down the side of the glass. The narration begins, "I'm not religious but I think there is something holy about this." In the second panel, we zoom out to see Emily sitting at the bartop, eyes closed and smiling, other folks around her chatting around the bar. The narration continues: "Permission to simply sit and exist, the low rumble of bar chatter, a cold glass in my hand." In the third panel, Emily chats with a friend as the narration continues: "The moments after will be full of laughter, friends, honest conversations and wild jokes." In the fourth panel, Emily walks outside, light beeming from her and the Chicago skyline behind. The narration concludes: "Each fraction of this night a pearl of light I want to carry with me for as long as I can." 11/14/24: ON WINTER BLUES In the first panel, Emily stands in the break room of her office, looking over the city skyline and sighing with exhaustion. The narration begins, "The high is 60 degrees today and yet winter has wrapped around me with the iron grip of talons." In the second panel, she walks down the stairs of the office stairwell, fiddling with her phone. The narration continues, "But I'm equipped now, and I've done this before." In the third panel, we zoom in on her phone as she selects an audio file from her browser. The narration continues, "So I pull a rip cord (one of many.)" In the fourth panel, Emily walks outside, enveloped in the sound of the audio coming through her earbuds. She holds the bubble as if it's a physical object. The narration concludes, "And I let myself remember I'm not alone." 11/19/24: ON TWO A.M. In the first panel, a row of stars shines through the night sky, framed by the silhouette of a tree. The narration begins, "It's almost two a.m." In the second panel, we zoom in on Emily, a wisp of breath coming out her mouth as she stairs up at the sky. The narration continues, "And Orion is so bright." In the third panel, we zoom out to see Emily standing, looking up, backed by buildings with smoke plumes coming out of them. The narration continues, "The same stars I looked to on so many lonely nights." In the fourth panel, the three stars span the entire frame. The narration concludes, "Now lighting my way home after an evening with dear friends." 11/22/24: ON AN OLD JACKET In the first panel, Emily sits in the driver seat of her car, looking tired off into the distance. The narration begins, "Coming back feels like trying to wear an old jacket that doesn't quite fit anymore." In the second panel, three versions of Emily stand in profile, each in a different color palette, indicating time passing. The narration continues, "The person I was is always under the person I am now." In the third panel, Emily stands with her back to the camera, looking out over the highway from a rest stop parking lot. The narration continues, "And one day she too will be buried under the person I become." In the fourth panel, we see the road ahead and the dashboard of Emily's car, with her phone mounted on it for directions, showing I-80 East. The narration concludes, "But for now there is just the old jacket and the nagging guilty feeling that I don't call this place home enough anymore." 11/30/24: ON PREPARED In the first panel, Emily puts the cap on a tube of eyeliner. The narration begins, "I should be used to the public aspect of art by now, shouldn't I?" In the second panel, Emily stands fiddling with her scarf. The narration continues, "The idea of our work being seen by so many people, offering their opinions, some likely unkind and with no intent on softening the blow." In the third panel, Emily, now all bundled up, walks down the street. The narration continues, "That scrutiny scares me more than this regular exercise in public vulnerability. I don't know if my armor is strong enough." In the fourth panel, Emily pulls out the chair at a bartop. The narration concludes, "But maybe, surrounded by my friends, it doesn't need to be."

I realized this week that I’ve fallen criminally behind on sharing journal comics here, so in the off weeks, I’ll be catching up on them! Here are the journal comics from November of last year.

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About February 2024

Jun20
by on June 20, 2025 at 12:52 pm

ON LATE A four panel comic rendered in magenta and green. In the first panel, Emily curls up under her bed duvet, plushies surrounding her, and her thumping heart audible. The narration begins: “despite my best efforts, winter seeps in.” In the second panel, Emily retreats further under the covers as her thumping heart grows louder. The narration continues: “asking the quiet of night if I can truly handle this.” In the third panel, we shift to a scene of Emily attempting to keep her head above water against a huge wave. Her thudding heart echoes in the background and the narration continues: “if I can manage the change barreling down on me, an unstoppable force versus an incredible moveable object.” In the fourth panel, Emily jolts up in her bed, gasping, her heart quieter again. The narration concludes: “or what will be left of me in its wake.” -- ON HALF DEAD A four panel comic, rendered in green and pink. In the first panel, Emily sits on a couch, work laptop on her lap as she looks at her phone, beeping with a message: “hey [blank] tested positive for COVID.” Emily reacts out loud “oh fuckin’ Christ.” The narration begins: “how has it been despite the ongoing pandemic.” In the second panel, Emily sits at a table, head in her hands as she looks at her phone, despondent. The narration continues: “despite the continued genocide of Palestinians, and the murder of trans kids, and—“ In the third panel, Emily takes a walk next to the river, looking stressed. She’s dressed lightly, only in a hoodie as a coat. The narration continues: “despite the dread of a 60 degree day in February, despite the wrongness that has sunk deep into your bones, despite, despite, despite—“ In the fourth panel, Emily sits on the couch again, back to the camera, slouched over as she talks on the phone. The narration concludes: “what are you holding on to—despite it all?”

More About comics for you. Hate how prescient the 2/25 one still feels despite it being over a year since I wrote it. Take care of yourselves, and see you next week.

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