i am thinking about getting back into comics.
you might be inclined to respond, "sure, why not? comics rule!"
yes, they do rule. but.
did i ever tell you that i, Hyena, have one of the most addictive personalities of anyone i know?
now, i haven't been in a comic book store in three years. there's a very good reason for this. you see, my name is Hyena Hell, and i'm a comic book junkie.
the problem started when i was quite young. 8 or so. i managed to kick the habit in middle school, due mostly to a series of unfortunate marvel crossovers that proved not only to be horribley written, but also quite costly.
but then i discovered Sandman, in about 8th grade. "it's ok," i thought. "it's not really a comic-type comic... i'll just read this book- just Sandman. and it will be fine. i can handle it."
nope.
by my senior year in highschool i was a fiend. worse than ever. i would spend upwards of $200 every couple weeks on comics. sometimes i would buy comics i didn't even like, just because i needed a fix and none of my books were out yet.
and then i went away to college, and found myself jobless in a strange city. i didn't know where to buy comics. i had my mom pick them up for me from my box in the shop back home and ship them. but that was expensive. finally she had enough and cut me off.
it was a terrible few months. but i made it out. and it's been three years. three fucking years. three long years. and i've driven past comic shops for these three years, and every time i feel a slight prickle at the pack of my neck and a sharp pain in my gut. it's like walking past the love of your life and pretending you're over it.
but you're not.
so fast-forward to the present, right?
now, you have to understand that drawing cartoons and making comics is what i do best. it's my calling. fuck fine art, fuck my high-up artsy-fartsy college degree. it's what i love.
you might be inclined to say, "so do what you love, you dumb bitch!"
and maybe i will.
but. my measly bartender's salary cannot support my habit, should it reappear in full-force, foaming at the mouth like the monsterous monkey on my back that it is. however, i am afraid that i have become so disillusioned with my artistic endeavors that this and only this- my wretched curse- can be my salvation. a double-edged sword, if you will, from proverbial fame.
one of those, "what nourishes me, destroys me" situations. dramatic. very dramatic.
so.
any thoughts?
you might be inclined to respond, "sure, why not? comics rule!"
yes, they do rule. but.
did i ever tell you that i, Hyena, have one of the most addictive personalities of anyone i know?
now, i haven't been in a comic book store in three years. there's a very good reason for this. you see, my name is Hyena Hell, and i'm a comic book junkie.
the problem started when i was quite young. 8 or so. i managed to kick the habit in middle school, due mostly to a series of unfortunate marvel crossovers that proved not only to be horribley written, but also quite costly.
but then i discovered Sandman, in about 8th grade. "it's ok," i thought. "it's not really a comic-type comic... i'll just read this book- just Sandman. and it will be fine. i can handle it."
nope.
by my senior year in highschool i was a fiend. worse than ever. i would spend upwards of $200 every couple weeks on comics. sometimes i would buy comics i didn't even like, just because i needed a fix and none of my books were out yet.
and then i went away to college, and found myself jobless in a strange city. i didn't know where to buy comics. i had my mom pick them up for me from my box in the shop back home and ship them. but that was expensive. finally she had enough and cut me off.
it was a terrible few months. but i made it out. and it's been three years. three fucking years. three long years. and i've driven past comic shops for these three years, and every time i feel a slight prickle at the pack of my neck and a sharp pain in my gut. it's like walking past the love of your life and pretending you're over it.
but you're not.
so fast-forward to the present, right?
now, you have to understand that drawing cartoons and making comics is what i do best. it's my calling. fuck fine art, fuck my high-up artsy-fartsy college degree. it's what i love.
you might be inclined to say, "so do what you love, you dumb bitch!"
and maybe i will.
but. my measly bartender's salary cannot support my habit, should it reappear in full-force, foaming at the mouth like the monsterous monkey on my back that it is. however, i am afraid that i have become so disillusioned with my artistic endeavors that this and only this- my wretched curse- can be my salvation. a double-edged sword, if you will, from proverbial fame.
one of those, "what nourishes me, destroys me" situations. dramatic. very dramatic.
so.
any thoughts?
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
I still have my comics, from back in middle school... packaged away, neatly, awaiting rediscovery during some move twenty years from now... and then I'll go to some futuristic comic shop, and say "Hey, I've got the first appearance of Gambit... also the first appearance of Venom" and the clerk will look at me, befuddled, because he had only dreamed of holding onto the comic that introduced us to Gabit. I will walk out of the store, much richer than when I had walked in... and an obsession long forgotten will have paid off. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll cling to them until the day I die... and then they'll be sold off in an estate sale for 5 cents a piece... which the same futuristic clerk will giddily pay all of a dollar and some change for my entire comic collection...
*ahem*... i think you know where i stand on the matter.