And This Time I Mean It

thumbcramps:

hi guys! this is a comic i made for a final in my comics in literature class. we had to do a research paper on a topic we’d discussed in class and then accompany it with a comic with a relevant subject. my paper was about hyper-sexualization of women in comic books, but i decided to broaden it out here as well as personalize it and make myself the subject and discuss something i’ve been subjected to in the convention circuit and on the internet as well as thousands of other women, as well as give a cue to thought about how the comic book industry as well as the video game industry and even just media in general (all of which are male dominated) push such ridiculous pressures onto girls and women.

also, it feels kind of silly to have to add this since i hope it’s obvious, but i am very aware that there are men that don’t subscribe to this attitude, and am incredibly grateful that these issues are brought to light to people other than the ones that are subjected to it. 

anyway haha i have literally been staring at this for 9 hours i don’t even know which direction is up anymore. thanks for reading!!!

I would add that it seems like the people who do this learned social behavior from their oppressors. Like the monkeys that get bowled over by larger monkeys and then do the same thing to smaller monkeys. And we laugh at the monkeys because we don’t see it in ourselves.

I also avoid having geeky conversations. I avoid geeky conferences. I avoid having a strong opinion about anything. I don’t wear clothing that has opinions. I don’t wear tattoos and will never. I especially avoid opinions on music, so much so that I tend to not listen to music (music geeks are crazy). I try to avoid mentioning that I’ve read the books others have read, seen the movies that others have seen, especially if my opinion of these things differ. All because people are assholes.

thefusspot:

The following is an interpretation of this character (whom I had named ‘Alanis’) written by a friend.  I found it to be a good read. :)

preaction:

thefusspot:

The first page in my new sketchbook, and the finished version of one of the last ones I posted.

If I were to do a comic I’d ideally want to do it in color, but I can’t do that and do it quickly, I don’t think.  So I’m trying to get used to Manga Studio.

I dunno.  Either way, you can see where I ditched ballpoint in favor of pencil/Copic Multiliner.  Ballpoints are pretty decent for technical concept work, but I prefer pencils for people, I guess.

If you don’t mind terribly much: A story of her. Well, more of a character description than anything, I guess.

Stephanie was a loner. It wasn’t that she despised company, nor was it that the people around her disliked her. She wasn’t the warmest person, her innocence and light had been tormented out of her by cruel classmates by the time she was 6. But, neither was she off-putting, she was helpful and courteous to everyone who knew her.

She defied the traditional awkward teenager stereotype with a quiet stoicism. She was not thin, but she was slightly taller than average, both of which won her no favors growing up. Her green eyes shined like emeralds, but her hair stayed unruly (though whether through apathy or poor fortune was unclear). Her face was plain and unremarkable, and though she was well on her way to womanhood, she never wore makeup. There were times, in her heavy winter coat, she was mistaken for a boy, but that never really bothered her.

Stephanie’s father was a scholar. They had moved to the Territories just three years ago, when Stephanie was 13, for her father’s studies. He was always “her father”, never “daddy” or even “dad.” He wasn’t distant, but he wasn’t warm. He was always caught up in thought. He had a way of drifting through the house as if in trance, stopping sometimes to stare through window and wall alike. Perhaps she got her demeanor from him.

Her mother died when she was 3, and all she had left was a faded memory and a cheap keepsake necklace. Father rarely talked about her except in the most reverent of tones. She was tall and graceful. An angel of fire. His shelter and his muse. After a while he would trail off and stare at his desk for hours, unmoving as the dead.

Stephanie lived in Toronto until they moved out here. Her life in Toronto was anything but idyllic. With her father’s work for the College, she had a lot of time to herself. Unfortunately for her, the children at school did not let her keep to herself. They called her “Hefty”, or “Steph-ty” when the teachers were like to overhear, and would torment her mercilessly.

On the few occasions when they took it too far and she fought back, sobbing and screaming to be left alone, inevitably she was fingered as the aggressor. She was tall even then, and after she failed to convince the teachers that they had all ganged up on her, she simply stopped arguing. She never stopped fighting, though, which got her into plenty enough trouble.

Thankfully, Toronto was three years behind her now. The teens at her new school were not cruel, but after the novelty of the new kid had worn off, they went their way and she went hers. She didn’t blame them, in a small school where everybody had grown up together it can be hard to accept someone new and strange as a friend. Most days she preferred being on her own anyway.

With her father mostly occupied, and with her propensity for solitude, Steph had plenty of time to explore the place they had made their new home. The Northwest Territories were known to the natives as “beautiful land”. It was rarely warm, nowhere near as warm as Toronto had been, but Fort Smith was surrounded by forests. Any spare time she could, she spent in the forests, exploring the great woods, watching the animals, looking for interesting things.

It was a sunny day in early spring when she happened upon the burrow. It had been dug into a gentle hill, so the cave sloped sharply downward. Truthfully, she fell into it, her left foot firmly planted on the ground next to opening, her right foot finding only air. She landed across the opening, bruising her shoulder in the fall.

Once she brushed herself off, rubbing her shoulder, she peered deep into the cave. The sun didn’t penetrate very far, but the longer she stared, the brighter the burrow seemed to get. Eventually, she noticed a faint blue light emanating from somewhere far into the cave. In the glow, the burrow became a cavern, larger than her room at home. It was the blue glow that made her crawl into the burrow, and leave the world behind her.

I seem to have neglected the paragraph that explains her affinity to sports (Hockey and Rugby specifically, she’s a tough, strong girl), opposite her father’s scholarly pursuits (which explains her hockey stick, and her skill at wielding it in the future).

Spoiler alert: When she returns from the cave, the world seems faded, desaturated. She seems invisible to the normal world, but very visible to the new array of animals and monsters that find her. A helpful denizen calls it “in-between”, we might call it “a parallel universe”, 90 degrees from the reality we know. They bleed together, though nobody in the “real” world notices.

Someone has to steal that keepsake necklace. She also has to save somebody and be a hero. She makes some lifelong friends. The whole spiel.

She seems like she’d have a dog too, a white husky. Or maybe she meets a bear in-between. Or an Alaska Marmot (something unique would be nice, though it exists nowhere near Fort Smith, Northwest Territories, Canada). I like the idea of a marmot, ferret, or mongoose, the long, elegant rodents. He would be a stark contrast to her stoicism, full of energy and vibrance (almost to the point of ADD).

It might be her mother disappeared to in-between (or maybe just her spirit). There’s also a Reaper, a thin wisp of blackness 12 feet tall, but Death in the neutral sense, not in the evil sense. He never speaks, though she might talk at him, even scream at him, blame him for her mother (think No-Face, but without animosity or antagonism).

I would avoid the standard “she finds her femininity” or “turns into a princess” tropes because really. I mean really. Gag me with a Volkswagen. I hate the “princess” trope most of all. As far as I can tell, the only true reward because of her journey will be confidence, companionship, some closure for her mother, and maybe a battle scar or two. A real-life happy ending if ever there was one, in contrast to the fantasy world her story takes place in.

Video game or short story, whatever. I think it’d be awesome to watch her wielding her hockey stick to bludgeon enemies, and her marmot darting from enemy to enemy in a blur of motion.

Ah… the stories that art can evoke.

There are a few differences between this and the back story I’ve been cooking up, but overall, this is eerily close to what I’ve been considering.  I guess this means I have to take a crack at writing my own character next. :)

Thanks for taking the time to write this, man.  I never figured anyone would give her this much thought outside of me.

It had to be done. She looks like a hero on the second page, the upper- and lower-right there, and heroes need legends written about them.

Plus, as you can tell, I need to practice story-telling :p. I tend to be direct, no bullshit, targeted, straight-to-the-point, mechanical even, and that doesn’t make for an interesting story. I kept having to go back and add more description, fill in areas, and I still see that it’s incredibly brief, sparse almost. A story is a picture with words, so you’ve got to have thousands of them! (and it can be a lot easier when you start with the picture). That much exposition alone could probably cover pages and pages (and so should be broken up, lots of potential for flashbacks / dream sequences, especially in a fantasy realm).

If I had noticed the bit where you said “comic”, I’d’ve tried my hand at a script-style piece (less exposition, more action). Never done one of them before, though I did write 6-10 4-panel comic strips a long, long time ago (artist and I had a disagreement about “daily newspaper style” or “full-page manga style” after the first comic, and that was that).

thefusspot:

The first page in my new sketchbook, and the finished version of one of the last ones I posted.

If I were to do a comic I’d ideally want to do it in color, but I can’t do that and do it quickly, I don’t think.  So I’m trying to get used to Manga Studio.

I dunno.  Either way, you can see where I ditched ballpoint in favor of pencil/Copic Multiliner.  Ballpoints are pretty decent for technical concept work, but I prefer pencils for people, I guess.

If you don’t mind terribly much: A story of her. Well, more of a character description than anything, I guess.

Stephanie was a loner. It wasn’t that she despised company, nor was it that the people around her disliked her. She wasn’t the warmest person, her innocence and light had been tormented out of her by cruel classmates by the time she was 6. But, neither was she off-putting, she was helpful and courteous to everyone who knew her.

She defied the traditional awkward teenager stereotype with a quiet stoicism. She was not thin, but she was slightly taller than average, both of which won her no favors growing up. Her green eyes shined like emeralds, but her hair stayed unruly (though whether through apathy or poor fortune was unclear). Her face was plain and unremarkable, and though she was well on her way to womanhood, she never wore makeup. There were times, in her heavy winter coat, she was mistaken for a boy, but that never really bothered her.

Stephanie’s father was a scholar. They had moved to the Territories just three years ago, when Stephanie was 13, for her father’s studies. He was always “her father”, never “daddy” or even “dad.” He wasn’t distant, but he wasn’t warm. He was always caught up in thought. He had a way of drifting through the house as if in trance, stopping sometimes to stare through window and wall alike. Perhaps she got her demeanor from him.

Her mother died when she was 3, and all she had left was a faded memory and a cheap keepsake necklace. Father rarely talked about her except in the most reverent of tones. She was tall and graceful. An angel of fire. His shelter and his muse. After a while he would trail off and stare at his desk for hours, unmoving as the dead.

Stephanie lived in Toronto until they moved out here. Her life in Toronto was anything but idyllic. With her father’s work for the College, she had a lot of time to herself. Unfortunately for her, the children at school did not let her keep to herself. They called her “Hefty”, or “Steph-ty” when the teachers were like to overhear, and would torment her mercilessly.

On the few occasions when they took it too far and she fought back, sobbing and screaming to be left alone, inevitably she was fingered as the aggressor. She was tall even then, and after she failed to convince the teachers that they had all ganged up on her, she simply stopped arguing. She never stopped fighting, though, which got her into plenty enough trouble.

Thankfully, Toronto was three years behind her now. The teens at her new school were not cruel, but after the novelty of the new kid had worn off, they went their way and she went hers. She didn’t blame them, in a small school where everybody had grown up together it can be hard to accept someone new and strange as a friend. Most days she preferred being on her own anyway.

With her father mostly occupied, and with her propensity for solitude, Steph had plenty of time to explore the place they had made their new home. The Northwest Territories were known to the natives as “beautiful land”. It was rarely warm, nowhere near as warm as Toronto had been, but Fort Smith was surrounded by forests. Any spare time she could, she spent in the forests, exploring the great woods, watching the animals, looking for interesting things.

It was a sunny day in early spring when she happened upon the burrow. It had been dug into a gentle hill, so the cave sloped sharply downward. Truthfully, she fell into it, her left foot firmly planted on the ground next to opening, her right foot finding only air. She landed across the opening, bruising her shoulder in the fall.

Once she brushed herself off, rubbing her shoulder, she peered deep into the cave. The sun didn’t penetrate very far, but the longer she stared, the brighter the burrow seemed to get. Eventually, she noticed a faint blue light emanating from somewhere far into the cave. In the glow, the burrow became a cavern, larger than her room at home. It was the blue glow that made her crawl into the burrow, and leave the world behind her.

I seem to have neglected the paragraph that explains her affinity to sports (Hockey and Rugby specifically, she’s a tough, strong girl), opposite her father’s scholarly pursuits (which explains her hockey stick, and her skill at wielding it in the future).

Spoiler alert: When she returns from the cave, the world seems faded, desaturated. She seems invisible to the normal world, but very visible to the new array of animals and monsters that find her. A helpful denizen calls it “in-between”, we might call it “a parallel universe”, 90 degrees from the reality we know. They bleed together, though nobody in the “real” world notices.

Someone has to steal that keepsake necklace. She also has to save somebody and be a hero. She makes some lifelong friends. The whole spiel.

She seems like she’d have a dog too, a white husky. Or maybe she meets a bear in-between. Or an Alaska Marmot (something unique would be nice, though it exists nowhere near Fort Smith, Northwest Territories, Canada). I like the idea of a marmot, ferret, or mongoose, the long, elegant rodents. He would be a stark contrast to her stoicism, full of energy and vibrance (almost to the point of ADD).

It might be her mother disappeared to in-between (or maybe just her spirit). There’s also a Reaper, a thin wisp of blackness 12 feet tall, but Death in the neutral sense, not in the evil sense. He never speaks, though she might talk at him, even scream at him, blame him for her mother (think No-Face, but without animosity or antagonism).

I would avoid the standard “she finds her femininity” or “turns into a princess” tropes because really. I mean really. Gag me with a Volkswagen. I hate the “princess” trope most of all. As far as I can tell, the only true reward because of her journey will be confidence, companionship, some closure for her mother, and maybe a battle scar or two. A real-life happy ending if ever there was one, in contrast to the fantasy world her story takes place in.

Video game or short story, whatever. I think it’d be awesome to watch her wielding her hockey stick to bludgeon enemies, and her marmot darting from enemy to enemy in a blur of motion.

Ah… the stories that art can evoke.