The Daily Davis

A couple posts from a forum thread I have started, that will likely be updated for a while. Posting my two major posts here thus far as blogging because I am scrounging for content. The thread is titled “I am giving up on webcomics. I am going to do web comics“.

Yes, you read that correctly. I’m no longer doing a webcomic. Instead, I am going to do a comic that is posted on the internet.

I’ve struggled with the webcomic model for years, and it’s never really clicked. Perhaps I lack the discipline, or maybe I’m just not cut out for it. How do I justify my decision?

I am crafting a long-form, episodic narrative. The page-by-page update style of a webcomic is non-conducive to this. In many narratives, in order to enjoy a story, you must digest it in larger “chunks”. I face the problem that a sequence in my story, or a scene, can go on for a number of pages, and this page by page system will break the flow, ultimately forcing me to make compromises, or confuse readers because pages do not end on a clear note.

Thus, I have decided that instead of a page-by-page comic, I will be drawing/writing full stories to post at once, in full chunks. What this means is that I won’t update very often, but the updates will be large when present. Ideally, I am bringing an actual episodic and publication model to my stories, which I feel might work in my favor.

Am I going to have a popular site with a comic that is checked on daily? Likely not. Instead, I hope to have a tighter narrative in larger installments that I just happen to post online as a distribution model.

I think many more narrative comics can and should take advantage of this method. Instead of dragging stories out over time, just post and entire story or episode, rather than dragging these events and adventures over time. Non-narrative comics benefit more from a page-by-page structure. You wouldn’t watch a TV show in one minute installments over a week, why do something similar with stories? Imagine if Novels were given to you, a page at a time, a couple times a week. Would you bother reading it?

Followed up with another plan later that includes brainstorming and continuing thoughts.

Ultimately, I am kind of lazy, and would rather post a complete product, even if it takes a while, than force myself to adhere to any sort of schedule and do “progress reports”. I can tell you that I am much less stressed out now. Even though I always say I do my comics for myself, trying to do the page-by-page method always struck me in the back of my mind as doing comics for others. This is a bit of a breath of fresh air for me, one I feel I needed.

The real problem now, however, is if Comicpress is the right solution for my posting needs. As of now, I am considering very low-tech specialty webpages for each story, decorated and designed to match the corresponding episode.

So my Egg MacGuffin story site would be decidedly low-tech as far as it’s technical construction, such as simple html and hyperlinks between pages, but I have the opportunity to use the website itself to enhance the story.

This excites me actually. Instead of having a stock layout for all my stories, I can mix things up quite a bit. Each collection of pages for a storyline can be themed to reflect story content, or maybe even reflect the beats of a story. The site itself, potentially, can become part of the reading experience, as design and color cues can influence a reader’s experience of the pages within.

It’s exciting stuff to think about really. I won’t sacrifice ease of navigation and readability, of course. However, perhaps the site itself should be an extension of the narrative experience.

Am I lazy or what? Your thoughts are appreciated, as always.

Write for fifteen minutes a day, five days a week, for a year.

First prompt comes from Wigglytype, who simply suggested “Splash”.

Prompt posted with minimal editing.

__________________________

The smell of lake water filled his nose, and the rocking of the boat was a subtle sort- noticeable, but not extremely. The kind of rocking that resembled a nervous jitter. He found himself at this moment stuck, surrounded by yards of greenish-gray fluid.

The boat shifted a bit more as Noah’s father adjusted his sitting. The aluminum slat that served as a seat on this can was uncomfortable, and for the old man, the discomfort was only slightly agonizing. The old man liked to fish, and it was something Noah never understood. The water grew still after the boat finished its rocking, and there was an eerie silence. It was broken, fortunately, by the sound of a bird in one of the trees at the shoreline.

Noah finally swallowed and asked a question without really considering whether or not he should ask. “So, do you ever catch a fish while you’re out here?”

The father casually cranked at the reel. “I always do.”

Noah swallowed hard. He didn’t have the heart to tell his father that there hadn’t been a catchable fish in this lake for at least a year. Nobody quite knows what happened. Some fanciful stories included that there was a spillage of toxins in the lake, or that the fish had simply been fished into extinction. Noah always favored the one about the fish taking a cab to the lake next door.

Noah also didn’t have the heart to deal with his father’s condition. The old man was getting up there, and there was some real memory loss, but Noah always just chalked it up to senility. He also shamefully hoped that the comment about always catching fish was just a joke on his father’s part. He was ashamed because that line of thinking was optimistic, and throughout this life his mother would always express that optimism was just not something that worked for him.

His father stirred again, reeling in his quarry of nothing, and proceeded to cast once again. Noah did this as well. Humoring his father was slowly becoming a chore, and he was, admittedly, getting bitter about it. His dad just had to fish in the fish-less lake, not realizing that it was essentially a dead hole full of water. He wanted to shake his father, and tell him to remember, to realize that he’d not caught a fish the last time they were here.

The splash came suddenly after his thoughts of shaking his father into realization, and Noah was immediately struck with guilt over his desire to shatter his father’s view. Once again, another splash shook him from his thoughts, and the boat began to rock.

“Got one. Got one.”

His father was reeling in, full of vigor, pulling against the fish. For a period of a minute Noah just watched in shock and disbelief in this spark of life this day had brought. The fish finally found its way out of the water, and into the boat.

Noah’s father seemed happy enough with his quarry. It wasn’t a large fish, but it was a fish regardless. It would be a productive day for him.

All Noah seemed to see was a fish who was choking, surrounded by something that wasn’t water, and with no way to escape its fate.