Grinding Noises

Originally published at Gibberings. You can comment here or there.

I realize, yes, that the last entry was a horrible chunk of insane blither.  If you’re interested in actually making a fully-formed answer to the question “what’s up” spring, Athena-like, from my puckered brow, then I encourage you to skim the beast for news of home.

Otherwise you may carry on as normal.

Near the end I said something about acquiring an assistant.  What I really need is a manager.  Someone to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing, when, and for how much money.  Say I’m an irritable young renaissance man with too many irons in the fire, a tight budget, and boundless aspirations.  Is it possible to hire someone to organize my horrific life for me?  Am I doomed to live in filth, nesting in the wadded-up pages of unfinished comics?  What’s wrong with my brain, anyway?  Why do I insist on taking on five and six projects at a time?  Why can’t I find that other Netflix disc?!  It’s been months!

Here’s an illustration from Unhallowed Metropolis that I don’t think I’ve posted yet.  It’s a Dhampir, a half-vampire, hunter-for-hire sort of shonen character.  I groaned when I read the description Jason gave me.  The Sephiroth type gives me hives.  Looking at this image now, for the first time in months after I completed it, I can see a slew of little irritating problems that are impossible to rectify, since the thing is already being printed.  I sob with frustration.