Friday, 04 April 2008

• Awkward Artsy Situation(s)

  So again, I find myself in a sticky situation. *mind goes straight to gutter, stupid chuckle ensues, clears throat* Uhm... yes.

  So it turns out that a few people know about my so-called artistic ability at work, because I've done a few poster-comics for the Hospital, and because I have an overbearing, loudmouth, gossipy fan-turned-PR-agent (aka: my mother) working here.

  A few weeks ago, one of my superiors (not my immediate boss, but nevertheless someone who holds Da Pawa over me) asked me to join her in her office for a few minutes, to discuss a "personal project". *mind goes straight to gutter, awkward shudder ensues, clears throat*

  It turns out that her husband is an aspiring writer, and that he was looking for someone to illustrate the cover of a novel he's trying to publish.  I was excited by the idea, because it looks great in a portfolio to do work like that, even if it's a freebie for now.  So I enthusiastically agreed to participate, and a few days later, she brought me a copy of the work in a big-ass binder for me to read over the next while.

  I began reading it a few weeks ago, and between my grandmother's passing and my various health hold-ups, I only got to about page 25.  But here's the problem. 

  It sucks.

  It sucks, blows, and all other means of taboo sexual deviance you can think of. (It backdoors?) And really, for the timing and black-hole depths of its suckiness, I'm sure this book caused my grandmother to off herself, and caused my body to initiate auto-shut down as a self-preservation measure.  (Ok, I'm classlessly exaggerating.  Like you needed me to confirm that, but you get my point.)

  See... I feel terrible, because she insisted that I be absolutely honest with her about it, because her husband is a no-nonsense guy, and he wants honest reviews and critiques so he can improve on it.  The inherent problem with the writing is not so much the story, so far anyway, but the structure.  The guy is French, and he's trying to write an English book.  I applaud him on his efforts, and really, his vocabular is very good... but his syntax (sentence structure) is completely French.  Not to mention that he puts Verne to shame when it comes to useless, unending descriptions.  Also, a billion stereotypical characters come out of nowhere, the setting changes constantly and confusingly, as it's set in Europe but NOT meant for European readers... and it's trying to be some sort of Dan Brown-like excite-a-thon but failing miserably, so far.

  Granted, I've only gotten to page 25 or so. 

  But I don't think I can read any more of it.  It's physically hurting me. 

  The boyfriend and I had been doing our own respective work at his place one day last week, and I got so bloody angry reading the damned thing that he felt compelled to point out my grammatical Nazi-ism and mock it outright, after calming me down some.  It turns out I'd been ranting about commas, improper verb tenses, faulty syntax and subject-object disagreement.  Out loud.  For about 10 minutes. Naked.  (I'm just going to let you wonder whether or not that was a joke for effect, or the truth.)

  So yeah.  The lady came into my office yesterday, and asked me how it was going.

  I sat there at my desk, horrified, looking at her with much of the same  glazed expression of muted stupefaction that I imagine a deer might get, upon realizing it's about to get run over by an 18 wheeler hauling chicken-feed in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, Ontario.  After a few moments of enduring the ensuing awkward silence, I told her that I hadn't finished yet, due to the unforeseen family circumstances that had occurred of late.  She agreed with a sympathetic mist in her eye, thankfully.  I told her that the only thing so far, was that "well, I like it, but the syntax is a little French..." *insert girlish laughter and hair toss here* She seemed pleased with that and eventually left... but right now, I'm at a loss.

  I wonder if I should tell her I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty paper clip than to begin page 26.  I wonder if she'd fire me for saying so.  Because yeah, she can fire me.

  UGH!!!

  So yes.  Quite the dilemma indeed. 

  Other art-related issues going on lately: I've been commissioned to draw porn.  Well, not porn per say... but what I like to call "girl porn".  Not what you think.  (ie: not lesbian porn) I mean some girl I know, who's actually very nice and pays me very well for my work, asked me for a steamy romantic scene between her usual characters.  (She's writing a story, and I've been illustrating the same characters for her for a few years now) So basically, it's porn... but softcore stuff that a girl would like, because it's excused by romance.  (Like I'm drawing an anime Harlequin Romance book cover, or something) Still, this makes me feel pretty damned awkward.  I'm almost done, and I keep having to restrain the cheese-overloaded-vomitus from exiting my mouth every time I look at it.  I mean shit, it's beautiful, right.... I did a fine job, hahahah.  (pompousbastardpoints+5000000) But nnnnrrghhh.  Makes me wonder how much I could make if I could just suck it up... and how much I could make if I didn't have any morals, drawing-wise, haha. 

  Anyway.  We'll see how that goes.

  For the moment, here's a random pic I finished the other day, for shits and giggles.  If anyone needs something drawn, because I'm broke and will pretty much draw anything, apparently, let me know, hurhurhur.

  HAPPY FRIDAY! 

  

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