The Launch

Chapter Twenty-Two

JC and I are on the bus a mile north of Barrie heading for our transfer in northern Ontario. Not doing much talking. I realize now I never asked JC how he broke the news to Sylvie. Did he tell her in person or wait till she left, packing his things and phoning her with the news? How did she react? How does their love manifest when the chips are down, I wonder? At least his wife didn't abandon him over a few late nights and a missed date. Whatever happened to for better or for worse? Oh, yeah. It's refusing to die, resurrecting itself in reruns which take up a lot of precious real estate on the comics pages, preventing new artists like ourselves from making a go of it. I'm sorry your husband left you, Lynn Johnston, but it's time to move on. Are you listening, Garry Trudeau? What about all you second generation cartoonists on bullshit strips like Hi and Lois and "Hagar the Self-Descriptive?" Ya heard? Peanuts re-runs? How long ago did Charles Schulz die, anyway?

Beetle Bailey can give the Sarge one more rim job and then be gone. The military was out after the first Gulf War, for god's sake. I don't know how they got past Vietnam with that lame shit. Turn the lights out when you leave, Blondie. You, too, Garfield. 1600 "I hate Monday" jokes are enough, I think. It's time for some new blood on the Comics page and if a little blood has to be spilled to get it done, I'm not squeamish. There are five more syndicates out there. We're coming for you: notice has been served.

Bill Watterson knew the score. So did Gary Larson and Berke Breathed. Those guys got it right. Every great new strip that has come along got its shot because some older, popular strip stepped aside, leaving space for the new generation. But not many have followed in their footsteps, whether it was due to the greedy syndicates keeping it going to protect their turf, or the artists themselves not knowing when to retire. It was this kind of shit that got us worked up in the first place. Stewing over the closed economic system that tries to keep a brother down. Cursing Ray over and over for his lack of response on our development concept. We were so close we could taste it, but we just couldn't break in.

It was there that the plan was formed. First over beer and misery, then scotch and seething, and finally, pure venom. After the slow burn of so many months of frustration and a certain number of drinks, we were willing to consider anything to make the thing happen. I'm sure alcohol consumption in general (and Glenfiddich's 12-year-old single malt in particular) has lead to worse plans, but this one was our worst. Now that our lives are ruined, we know this for sure. But at the time it seemed like a brilliant idea. We thought if we planned out every detail, we couldn't fail.

The idea itself came from an offhand script idea I had written down on one of the index cards we were exchanging back when we were building up our fury at Ray. I have it with me still. I pull it out of my pocket to look at it.

JC looks at the index card and snorts. "And here my troubles began."

"You're not wrong," I say, sighing.

I look at the card. Just words on paper. A few swirls of ink on a bit of dead tree. What alchemy brings the two substances together and creates the magic that leads to action, to change in one's life, to purpose and determination? It's laughable. But that same bit of pigment rubbed up against some bolts of newsprint is what all this was about. A desire to see the magic every day that puts thoughts and images into ink and paper and moves them through many hands and into many lives we'll never understand or know about. Our creation.

But creation is not enough or why wouldn't we just take a strip and hammer it up on a telephone pole and be done with it? Appreciation is not enough or why wouldn't we just print a bunch of strips and distribute them to our friends and family for their enjoyment? Or even post it on a blog or webportal and enjoy the approving comments posted by comixgeek82 and slinkyboy. The trouble was the yardstick we came to understand as the proof of having made it in this world of comics, this strange intersection of art and commerce, where the artist and the capitalist move forward together with a joint venture. We think we've got something here, world. You take a look and let us know what you think.