Who got absorbed into the maw of academia? That's right! Moi!

If you recall, I have spoken several times in this 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.

I totally vanished* during December and January so here's a very large, very big, very gigantic update on my life, my career, my wanderings, and pre-2023 thoughts.

A small little romp on creative rest.

About finding the true end of a graphic novel.

Okay so it has been a while.

Since the All the Things That Mean Nothing post, I witnessed some more toxification at the peripheries of the digital spaces I am bound to, further shaking everyone else's faith in the constancy of platforms. (For context, I'm talking about the schrodinger blockification of Kickstarter, the fence-dancing of Patreon, and the farcical PR meltdown of Gumroad) More and more I'm thinking, boy, how far into the nuclear fallout of Web 2.0 will I tolerate until I say, eff it and bunker underground?

Well, this is Year 3 of the pandemic. My prediction was right. Internally I'm feeling like a skeleton dusty and dessicated from years of waiting to be rescued from the cave I fell into.

I've been in this webcomics game for... close to 10 years now (if you don't count the 3 years of prep). The second I graduated from secondary school, I jumped right in to launching my first webcomic. Things and mindsets and empires have come and gone since then, including my idea of what success and validation means.