Zine Fest was… well, gosh. It made me sad, I guess. Conventions usually make me very happy and excited, but this one felt like a letdown, emotionally. I’m still going through the first year of conventions I’m doing by myself after always doing them with the ex, the one who got me started in self-publishing and really pushed me to draw comics and get them out there. He was always sort of shy and a table-hider at conventions, but he was a great partner to bounce ideas off of, and always ready with praise or encouragement when I needed it. I expect the first year I’ll keep thinking of what it was like last year, when he was there. Once I get past APE the memories won’t be so pungent, I guess.
Yeah. Zine Fest made me sad. It made me look at the numbers of men around me who are drawing and/or reading comics that exploit women. Comics that perpetuate the male gaze. (I had a great convo with someone about this at the Fest, and I was trying to think of the right words, and it confused me for a moment when she identified the problem as “the masculine gays.”) It made me look at my comics and think that the best ones I’ve made are ones that were written by someone else. Not true, I know (although Sea Lion and OCB will forever be classics), but it is true that writing does not come easy to me and I am never sure that I’m getting my ideas across. The drawing part comes so much more naturally. Most of the time I just want to skip ahead and start drawing already.
Toward the end of Sunday a gal was reading Florridian at my table and laughing. Then she pointed to the last two pages of the “agnes ranch” story and told me exactly what they represent. I grinned like a fool and said yes, yes yes yes yes, exactly!! I told her there is more coming (there is). It was the best moment I had at this convention, except possibly when I randomly met the woman who defended me after I lost my job last year.
That was almost a fucking year ago. Wow.
I thought when that happened it was going to wreck me, and instead it made me a million times stronger.
Same as the breakup.
Wow. Life’s a funny bitch, isn’t she?
T-minus two days until I leave for San Diego.
T-minus one month until I live in San Francisco. My apartment is a mess again, but it officially no longer matters, because I’m MOVING, geez.