2003-04-22 4:48 p.m.
dribs and drabs

Eight days to my deadline, and I'm plodding along, a page at a time. Each little fragment of story makes me smile, and only a faith that follows me like my old dog Trumbenik through a dark house at night is keeping me on course. I don't know if this strange patchwork, this rough mosaic I'm handing to an untested artist is going to stand up and smile for me, a little robot boy, happy to be alive and wanting his first taste of popcorn.

Everyone's dying to see what I come up with.

And tonight, I'm going to get out of the house, take my laptop out in the night with me, and just escape because the pressure of sitting at home, surrounded by distractions and an unfinished space, is getting annoying.

But the script's getting more detailed. I'm getting more of what I'm seeing in my mind's eye onto the page. I have no idea whether it's helping Jeremy, but at least I'm learning to use the tools that I've got.

(Left turn: I met a woman who might be an in for writing erotica for Playboy. Nothing to do with comics, but it could pay well.)