#I am studying...again

[reimenaashelyee]

This is maybe not so important to announce but it's going to affect my online activity/webcomic updates, so here it is:

I am going back to school and pursuing a Masters in Arts Management until 2025

If you recall, I have spoken several times in my blog about my past life in academia, the quarter-life crisis that resulted from it (not the full story), and the occasional spasm of desiring institutional recognition.

I am willingly! voluntarily! going back through the gates of the ivory tower.

For the past few years now, I’ve been slowly crabwalking towards an administrative, organisational, educational/resource-providing, leadership-type role in my areas of work (comics, writing, illustration, commercial art).

I hinted about somewhat being sick of the physical and emotional investment of comics-making trapping me to the same four-walls. The 2-ish years of hard commitment that each graphic novel demands is something that I don’t mind doing, especially for a story I truly believe in. However, I cannot keep doing this consecutively. For two years, I keep having visions of myself in my late-fifties asking me, now, if this is all worth it: to devote all this time to make comics that people like, but to not have a life lived? I am thinking of those mangaka who spend all their time breathing eating knowing only comics, and then suddenly, dying with not much to show except their impressive body of work. Did they see enough of the world? Did they eat enough good food? Have they discovered all their non-comics passions? I certainly don’t want my ghost to ask the same questions when she sees my body.

In a way I’ve sort of outgrown that shine of comics as a full-time job: ironically, in my success at producing audience/market-friendly work in exchange for financial support, I do not have time at all to pursue experimental, personal play and art that truly speaks to me. I’m also facing the reality that, as much as I enjoy working in traditional publishing, I am running out of ideas. I only have 2 to 3 more stories left in me for young adult/middle grade graphic novels. After that? I don’t know…

(Unless the new graphic novel imprints are suddenly hungry for adult work. Because, boy, do I have ten billion ideas.)

Anyway, the situation is that the majority of the graphic novel space in traditional publishing is still cashing in on the boom for middle-grade/young adult stories, with no long-sighted consideration for catering to those readers who will eventually, definitely grow up into adults. Meanwhile, I am running out of kids stories and am desperate to make bloody, complicated work (the kind of stuff I was already making pre-success and am still making), and to disentangle the actual act of creating from income-making. Not in the sense that I don’t want money at all from my comics; just that I don’t want comics to be my primary source of income anymore. And personally… I just want more time to live and be offline.

So this is the emotional aspect that’s been motivating my crabwalking. Still, if that was not a factor, this was always going to be the natural progression of my career anyway.

Like, considering that I began my career as co-founder of a regional comics network and my life-long practice of creating resources, it’s not that surprising. Even when I formally officialised my career in 2018 as a Traditionally Published, Professional Comics Creator in the Mid-list, I was also engaging in the administrative with my dayjob at Hiveworks, in addition to the aforementioned regional comics network UNNAMED, and now, the Cartoonist Cooperative. I continually make resources and facilitate them. The dayjob is expanding to include even larger responsibilities (it’s not really company-related, just a consulting thing we’re doing with a giant entity).

Clearly, the horizontal pivoting has gotten to the point where that aspect is becoming the majority of my practice, into something that I actually want to form the bulk of my career and the foundation of my 30s era. It’s happening at the same time as my desire to withdraw from the cycle of commercial production to focus on what I call studio/residency work aka sketching and making my webcomics.

So yeah, I’ve decided to formalise the other half of what I am already doing, since in this universe one can’t get a job in corporate/NGO/NPO art administration without a degree – despite years of experience and evidence of extremely specialised skills that don’t exist in a university course but are valuable on the ground (do they teach comics crowdfunding and webcomics marketing/production in tertiary?). And I do intend to go somewhat corporate, even if it’s as someone who runs a literary festival or artist residency. Because I actually find pleasure in doing all that admin juggling. I like helping artists pursue their practice. It engages a side of my brain that is understimulated since I stopped academia.

I went to the Orientation session on Thursday. It had been exactly 8 years since I last did an Orientation for school; I am no longer a wide-eyed doe so the entire time I was barrelling through the throngs of baby undergraduates and sitting through the talks with laser-focused practicality (putting aside the nice-sounding speeches for the actual hard facts of where stuff is and who to contact; though the speeches were quite thoughtful).

Anyway,

anyway…

This is a long-winded post to break the Jinx and say I am officially pursuing my Masters in Arts Management. Two years of this. Who knows what may happen?

Hopefully I will come out with better experiences this round, since this would be the first time that I chose a course not out of anxiety for the unknown, but because I very much know what I want based on experience actually working in industry.

[turtletoria]

i wanted to try drawing older Mabel and Dipper !

[qualityrain]

[deathricedrawn]

i'm ready to try

[damian-lil-babybat]

They're judging their sibling's life decisions, and they are not impressed.

(And to think Jason and Dami have pit-madness in their system)

[icestorming]

I love that they have so many hearts on their bodies <3<3<3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

oh hey! i was reading a fic the other day where Wangji was once misspelled as Wangu. which leads me to: MDZS Pingu-style??? noot noot!

Do you think love can bloom on the sea ice?

[notimeforlaugh]

so....

I did it

[munster0us]

Ugh why is he so pretty

[guiltbugs-tomtord-artclub]

Doodle dump before bed

A ddbb if you will

[rystiel]

changed it a bit so if u saw this before no u didn’t

[ilynpilled]

“jaime did it mostly for self preservation” “he did it bc he was ordered to kill his father” are not only blatantly incorrect and borderline illiterate reads of what is in the text but idk why people find it unfathomable that someone like jaime would want to prevent thousands of people from violently burning alive. like it is not actually a difficult moral equation which is why it is at the center of jaime’s arc and his relationship to his society because he realizes that the ethical constructs of westeros seem to be in opposition to this very obvious moral choice as seen by how the situation could even escalate to the point that it does through the enablement of the tyrant by the respected institution of the kingsguard and the uncritical upholding of the honor system over an actual coherent moral code. same with the scorn he receives for killing what everybody acknowledges as an objectively horrid tyrant who harmed innocents and violated law that knights are also sworn to protect and uphold and actually contradict by not acting against.

[worblewobble]

after all it's not easy, banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall

[woolying]

"You can't go back, no matter how hard you try."

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from this snippet! Content notes: police interrogation, homophobia)

“You don’t look gay.” The detective gives Steve a very obvious once-over. Steve tries to look gayer as subtly as he can. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to let my boyfriend know you don’t think I look gay enough to fuck him.”

The detective’s face twists slightly, like he’s smelled something bad. “No need to be like that. I’m just saying, I bet a good-looking guy like you could get a girlfriend pretty easy.”

“You’re not my type,” says Steve. He smiles with his teeth, even though his heart is going fast and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. 

The detective’s hands tense, and Steve wonders if he’s about to get hit, but they relax again and the detective sits back.

“Just doing my job,” says the detective. “Because, funny enough, we asked around with all your little friends, and it seems like you used to be a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“Things change,” says Steve. 

“In fact…seems like none of your friends ever even saw you talk to Munson before. Moved in different circles and everything. I remember what high school was like.”

The detective leans close. 

“So why would the captain of the swim team, a nice normal boy from a good family with a string of pretty girlfriends, ever—ever—stick his neck out like this for some murdering scum like Munson? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, here.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” says Steve. His mouth is dry. His pulse is thundering in his ears. “He didn’t kill anyone. He was with me the whole time. He’s—he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Hm,” says the detective. 

It takes a while for them to stop interrogating him. They keep asking him the same questions over and over, trying to trip him up. He asks for water and doesn’t get it. In the back of his mind, a hysterical little voice is shrieking Scoops Ahoy! I work for Scoops Ahoy!, but he manages to keep it locked down. Doesn’t let himself get baited, just keeps repeating that Eddie was with him the whole time and neither of them know anything. 

It takes a while, but it’s over eventually.

When he leaves the station, Eddie’s standing outside with Hopper and Joyce Byers, wearing a shirt and jeans that definitely belonged to Jonathan at some point. Eddie’s got his hands tucked into his armpits, looking antsy and tense, but he’s free and standing on his own two feet. It’s a pretty big upgrade from when Steve last saw him about a week or two ago. 

It’s almost too easy to go straight over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug like they’ve had their arms around each other a million times. 

“Oof. Easy there, tiger,” laughs Eddie. “I’m, uh, still a little fragile.”

“Sorry,” says Steve, and loosens his hold. He doesn’t let go all the way.

“Come on, boys,” says Joyce. “I’m taking you two home. Steve, Eddie’s been staying with us, but we’re a little short on spare beds and it’s not great for his recovery. We’re moving him to your place until we can figure out something better, okay?” 

———

Joyce drops them off and helps carry in a few garbage bags full of Eddie’s stuff. There’s not that much.

And then the door closes behind her, and Steve’s alone with Eddie for the first time since—actually, maybe ever. 

“So,” says Eddie. “What…the fuck, Harrington.”

“Is that an actual question?” Steve says. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the stiffness out. “I mean, didn’t Hopper and Mrs. Byers explain everything to you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I still think this is probably the worst idea of all time, but they told me—anyway, what I meant just now was a much more personalized and individual what the fuck. As in, why the fuck would you agree to any of this? You know you’re never gonna get another girl in this town to look at you now.”

“Dumping me already? Ice cold, man.”

Eddie groans and actually throws his hands in the air in frustration. Steve hadn’t known people did that in real life. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie wheels around and grabs two of the garbage bags. “I can’t do this right now, I need to take a fucking nap. We will be discussing this later.”

“Still don’t know what there is to discuss,” says Steve, but he picks up the last garbage bag and leads the way to the spare room. 

Eddie pitches forwards onto the bed, arms outstretched and face mashed into the pillow. “Fuck yes, I am going to marry this goddamn mattress. Hit the lights when you leave,” he says, slightly muffled. 

For a second, Steve finds himself stepping forward with a hand outstretched to—do something. He’s not sure what. Touch Eddie’s hair, or something dumb like that. His face warms. He’s really glad Eddie isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see how he’s kind of just standing there with a hand out for no reason. 

He turns around, flicking the light switch on his way out, and doesn’t look back.