Chasing A Butterfly

An Excerpt of An Except of A New Comic Entry

I’ve rewritten the comic book five times now. Every time I find my footing in the story, it falls apart. You know the feeling — the slow, gnawing doubt and unrealistic standards you hold for yourself slowly turning what could’ve been a good story into a dead one, all in the hopes that the next version could be a great one.The idea of writing more about my injury feels redundant and already done. I’ve lived that life and found people who could draw from that writing, so what now?

Talking to people about turning their stories into a comic led me back to who I was in a way. At first they’d agree, but then decide against it because of how unique their story was, fearing someone would know it was them. They’d worry about being embarrassed, made fun of, or, in one case, retaliated against.

So I chose to let people reach out to me about putting their voice into writing, and sometimes into a podcast. That felt like an easier ask than saying, “Hey, let’s keep emailing for five months while this comic slowly gets made about your life.”

So where does that leave me?

I’m on the fifth rewrite, and it doesn’t look anything like the comics I’ve written before — which I’m happy about, and scared of. It’s a mix of a lot of things: music genres, lives, ideas, and moments no one would fully understand unless they were reading the subtext of each panel.

Will I rewrite this one too? Absolutely.

But I feel the most like myself with this draft, pulling from a lot of things outside of fire and bringing them into the story in a fun and weird way that I hope no one’s done before.

Here’s an excerpt from Untitled WMMWS Comic Episode 3 // Panel 17:

“You run like you’re chasing a butterfly,” said Ritch as he stared down the mountain at the small town below, where faint hues of light flickered through the darkness.

“Your dad’s Mexican and your mom’s Russian and you look like a mutant. My running is the least of your worries,” replied Darren, who was also staring down at the blacked-out town below them. Individual hues moved in and out of buildings, eventually coming together into what looked like a flaming mob.

“Do you think he’s down there?” asked Darren.

“He has to be.”

-Robo