Work is Good and there is a lot of it.

These things are in my head at the moment.

If you get stuck on a page, even for five minutes, move on. Pick up the next page and keep drawing. Try some area of the art that is less challenging. Hair or feathering, or hatching. Leave the difficult part for the next morning when you are fresh.

Every line is progress. Don’t force yourself. Don’t beat yourself up if you have to set something aside for later. Chip away at each page in bits and pieces, and each day, the task will get small and smaller and the blank area of the page will get smaller and smaller. You don’t have to do everything at once. Just be steady.

For whatever reason, I now find having TV and movies on while I work kind of irritating. I have been working in complete silence for hours per day, and may watch one or two movies late in the evening. I guess I just have so much going on, I need the solace of silence most of the time.

Whenever you are trying to concentrate and are under a lot of pressure, that’s a guarantee that whatever project you thought was dead will rise as a zombie and drop a deadline in your lap.

I have lost almost all interest in comics blogs. I just can’t consider breast size and whoever the hell plays Captain America in a movie important anymore. Changes to copyright law and the content of the Wall Street Journal interest me.

That’s not a knock on people who have leisure time for the fun stuff. I just don’t right now (I wish I did – kinda. Too much work is better than not enough, though). Maybe someday I will be moved to care about Power Girl’s boobs, but I don’t think I ever really did care about Power Girl’s boobs.

I’ve been beating myself up for months about the slow pace on Gone to Amerikay, and then I remembered how long the book is. Long. Doing this book is the equivalent of doing pencils and inks on a bimonthly book in one year. And more. I did other assignments besides. That’s a dead, solid pace for me, and this is some fine, detailed, heavily researched work.

Beating myself up is a daily ritual. Whenever I don’t meet my own standards, I twist and writhe, and am so angry and upset with myself I can’t sleep.

Yesterday is over. Can’t do anything about yesterday. Have to let yesterday go.

I need to do 75% of a page every single day. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. On the days I don’t, you’d think I have kicked a puppy or poisoned a tree I feel such guilt and horror. Then I fear the drawing board the next day. It looks at me accusingly.

Every day is a new template. Whatever I did yesterday is not a reflection on what I will do today.

I don’t have to be perfect every day.

No one is.