Us: How do I love failure? Let me count the ways

April 17th, 2023

I’ve mentioned several times that the story of my book, Us, is the story of failure; but today, I want to count the ways.

Because I’m an eternal optimist, however, failure is always only half of a story.

The other half is a lesson, an annoying ray of sunshine as a bookend to perceived misery.

Let us, then, count both the ways.

Failure #1: Writing the story

Us was not easy for me to write. At all. I knew how it ended, I knew what it was about, and there were still so many nights I sat staring at a blank computer screen, realizing for certain that I was not, in fact, a writer, and I was never going to write again.

Among my active alcoholism, my inactive imagination, my overactive sense of doubt and sometimes debilitating lack of self-esteem, I found myself drowning.

Then November came.

I had long wanted to do two things: write a story about dreams, and participate in National Novel Writing Month, which takes place around Thanksgiving, and is exactly what it sounds like: a challenge to write a whole book in one month.

A few days into November, the ending to Flip, a story that I, myself, had been dreaming about, told itself to me. I decided to shift from Us to work on Flip, and I did it, finishing the novella in a month and releasing it that December.

It gave me a new lease on Us and I was able to finish it by its release date: April 1st, 2014, exactly a year after Them.

Lesson #1: Creativity is a strange thing. (Like, duh.) I have to leave myself open to inspiration and new paths that reveal themselves to me, even if they’re scary. (Especially if they’re scary.) Since then, I’ve never only worked on one thing at a time; I always have several projects at different stages in motion. Always.

Failure #2: The Kickstarter

The funding of Us was my second Kickstarter campaign. I upped the goal after successfully funding Them, and I had ample confidence that I would succeed.

Spoiler alert from here, the future: I failed.

Lesson #2: Nothing is guaranteed. Running the exact same campaign, with the exact same product and reward, but expecting more money for it was both foolish and selfish. Next time around, I added another book — the aforementioned Flip — to the campaign, to much greater success. I learned that giving people variety and choice was a win-win, and have utilized that mindset since, leading to four successively successful Kickstarters.

Failure #3: The response

Us came out and… nobody cared.

It remains the book of mine that is talked about least, at least to me. Even after getting two decent reviews in the Faribault Daily News (for my previous novellas, Them and Flip), they moved on, and so did everybody else.

I don’t blame you.

Lesson #3: I didn’t really look inward on this (and everything else) until I got sober, but the lesson for me is I can’t care if other people care.

Because they haven’t, and some forever won’t.

If you’ve done the math, you’ll see that Us came out in early 2014, and I didn’t release another anything until later in 2018, and that was an issue of a comic book.

This shit hit me hard.

It was the same thing that happened with The Next Step; after releasing three albums that nobody outside a baby handful of people cared about, I knew that I just wasn’t good enough at music to keep doing it.

What I had to do was some hard-to-swallow soul-searching, and that resulted in the scientific finding that I was a bit of a piece of shit and I needed to change.

Writing and art was and continues to be a big part of that process. Sure, it’s hard not to care what others think of what I do, and I fail often, but ultimately it’s most important that I care about what I do.

So I do.

(And I found I strengthened a part of myself; I feel differently about writing than I did music. With writing, I DO feel good enough, and it’s just something I can never cut off. Blessing and a curse, or some shit like that.)

Failure #4: The story itself

I’ve described the overall story of Us as half-baked, and I think that’s still true (though the updated Special Edition does the series justice, and I know because I read it again this year).

But that’s not what I’m referring to here. The story of Us itself is actually about failure; about being aware (woke, if you will), and still failing to do a damn thing about it.

There are several interpretations of the ending, and this is one of them; looking around at the world right now, it makes me sick that it feels so true.

We live in a country, particularly, that hates those it considers “other.” We ban books, we censor and “cancel” and build walls so high, they touch the peaks of the moon.

We’re violent; nonsensically so. We’re distrustful; hysterically so.

Them + Us cover all that, and more.

Lesson #4: Be careful what you write, I guess.

But, really, all the failures — personally, financially, professionally — taught me that it doesn’t matter how often or how hard we fail.

I’m still here.

I was told that I couldn’t change my spots or stripes; it has been slapped into my head that things are the way they are and that’s just the way it is.

But it’s not.

It’s not for me, it’s not for you. It’s not for this country or world or universe.

Failure isn’t an ending; it’s a beginning. Over and over and over again.

Us is about cycles, and what we can do to break them; it is an annoying ray of sunshine through a seemingly impenetrable wall of clouds.

Axol Review!

April 12th, 2023

I’m officially an Axol-Head.

I got introduced to the work of 14-year-old Landon Shepherd by his parents, Jennifer and Justin; he’s an incredibly talented artist and storyteller, and I couldn’t be more fortunate to have been able to feature some of his artwork in my graphic novel, Brushfire: Wave 1.

Not one to rest on his already impressive accomplishments, Landon has just released his first full-length comic book, Axol #1, and it is an absolute blast.

I’m a child of the 90’s, and the action and humor in this story brought me back to those golden Saturday cartoon mornings; the only thing missing from my experience was a bowl of candy-colored cereal.

Axol is a hero with snark, and his attitude comes in handy as he goes head-to-head with The Shark, a new supervillain.

The art in the book is vibrant, bursting with life; his pacing is light and right on, getting you to the action just a few pages in.

Landon himself sums up his new world best with a word he uses at the end of book (right before he gives you a preview of what’s to come): he describes Axol as having “gumption,” and it’s that personality trait that drives the character and makes for such an enjoyable read.

No matter what Axol decides (of course this ends on a cliffhanger!), I can’t wait to see what Landon Shepherd takes on next.

Woke Up Call

April 10th, 2023

Happy Monday, y’all.

I haven’t been posting much this month and I can’t throw a dart on a board to pinpoint why; it’s a whole set of concentric circles, from all the work I’m doing, the day kind and the creative kind, to obsessively watching and reading Star Wars to maintain my emotional and mental health in a world that doesn’t always feel like it considers either.

I was also avoiding today’s topic.

I’m going to be talking about the term “woke.”

This isn’t (or maybe it is!) going to be fun. Everybody has a different definition of the word, which means it doesn’t really mean anything at all. But the original definition informs my book, Us, and that’s what brings us all here today.

Let’s start with that original definition: being woke is to be “aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice).”

That’s it. It’s very simple. Being woke means being able to recognize how our systems oppress the humans who operate within them — it’s about us, basically, and how we imprison ourselves, and being able to identify the bars.

You can be woke about anything. Do you think the pharmaceutical companies are making money off our suffering? You’re woke. Do you think the chemicals used in our processed foods are killing us? You’re woke. Do you think politicians are less than honest and base their decisions on personal and party gain? Go home, you’re woke.

Waking up and not accepting the systems of the world as they’re explained to us without exception is woke af.

Raise your hand if you’re not.

Moving on.

Being woke means having to face (or not face) your own hypocrisy, and that is very hard for people to do, and it is the core of what Us is about.

In the book, I reveal where the aliens really came from, and it completely changes and challenges the notion of an invasion altogether.

Woke is often thought to be a principle that lives in the future: where society should go and how we can be better. But woke depends just as much on the past: our history can show us so much, and by learning it (and learning from it), we can be aware of mistakes, misery and tragedy, and avoid them altogether.

The next time a person uses the term “woke,” ask them to define it. We have hilariously seen this play out lately in different arenas (see: an author who dedicated an entire chapter of her book on “wokeism” was asked to define the word; she then spent an excruciating 45 seconds saying nothing at all, acknowledging out loud that her response was going to go viral, which it did).

Often, “woke” is a stand-in for something really uncomfortable or just awful to say.

“Woke” can mean “I’m not comfortable with diversity or stories that are not about me.” It can mean “I don’t have any smart reasons to defend this thing I’m saying, so I’m relying on a buzzword to bully others.”

We keep asking for a world where reasonable discourse — you know, talking to each other in a respectful, honest way — is how we communicate in our daily lives and enrich and strengthen our communities.

Until we stop using single words that have infinite definitions and do so with the intent to hurt and divide, that just won’t ever be an option.

Be The Sun

April 6th, 2023

It’s a weird phenomenon that we think of something nice to say about someone else and then battle within ourselves over whether or not we should say it.

We should always say it.

I got a gift today.

As an artist, you’re always trying to figure out what kind of art you want to spend your little, precious time on. I’m never not thinking about it; I’m tail-deep in Brushfire: Wave 2 right now, but I can’t spend every waking moment in that world, because I’d go squirrel raving mad.

I have to live as multiple people on many worlds, and I choose those worlds carefully.

We didn’t reach our stretch goals in March, so we don’t really have the money to do so, but animation and audiobooks still weigh heavily on my mind and prick at my heart.

I want to make it work; I want to find ways to create these things, but I’m less confident in them, because, at least financially, few other people have shown they are confident in them and, by extension, me.

It’s hard to shake doubt, like downpouring rain, like ancient rust.

(It’s as exhausting being inside here as it is to read about the experience.)

That being said, I was at the restaurant today when a woman, a complete stranger, said to me: “I just have to say, you should do audiobooks or something with that voice.” She was very complimentary, and it started a conversation where I said, “Well, that’s a huge coincidence, because I’m a writer who has been thinking a lot about doing audiobooks!”

We chatted and connected and, to anybody else, it was a small thing; it was a few words. But to me, it was a few words she decided to say on a day when I really needed to hear them.

It helped me shake off some things that I don’t need, and renew focus on something that means a lot to me.

Don’t battle.

Relent to your insistent kindness.

Say the nice thing you were meaning to say, harbor no small regrets, and enjoy the flowers that bloom in response to your sun.

SKP 2023: Us

April 2nd, 2023

The story of Us is the story of failure.

In April, we’ll be staring up at that shiny rock in the sky (I’m obsessed, I know) and talking about my — third book? — which is the second in a two-book series, the sequel to Them, my — first book?

I wrote and released Flip between this pair, but that’s a story for another month (October, to be precise).

When I say that Us is about failure, I mean that in truly every way; every step in this process had me tripping, but every trip found me moving forward.

I learned more during this period than probably anywhere else in my writing “career” (heavy quotation marks here), and after Us, I wouldn’t put out another published work (a comic book, actually) for over four more years.

We’ll be talking about what it means to not give up, what “woke” means (and doesn’t mean), and how I felt being mean to one of the kindest characters I ever created.

I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t get through this part.

(And can you believe we’re almost a third through the year already?!)

We Did It!

April 2nd, 2023

All because of you, we just raised the most money we ever have with a Kickstarter — by a whole dollar!

We did not, however, reach the stretch goals we set for ourselves; that means no animation studio, and no audiobooks, at least for the time being. It’s disheartening, but we simply don’t have the funds to make those things work today.

Like every time, though, I learned so much.

In totally rad news, we have two brand new, fully-funded graphic novels coming soon: Brushfire: Wave 2 on the 4th of July, 2023, and Jojo’s Time Machine, on a date to be announced.

I can never express my gratitude adequately or appropriately; I appreciate every single cent and every remarkable person just so dang much.

I wake up every day and have to be reminded that somebody believes in me; I don’t deserve it, and yet you give me that gift freely.

Love you, love you, love you.

We have lots more to talk about soon.

– Den

One Last Time

April 1st, 2023

No foolin’: today is the LAST DAY of our Kickstarter!

My birthday is in exactly one month (that’s right, I’m a May Day baby) and if you’re the kind of person who loves giving gifts, then give yourself the gift of locally-made books (while investing in a totally rad creative project).

I mean, what else are you going to do today — go outside?

All the details are here:

Them: Heroes, Villains, Humans

March 31st, 2023

I spent most of my youth trying to shock people.

I think a lot of young people, especially boys, do.

When I think of those moments, that era, the many times I said or did something for the sole purpose to shock, I cringe so hard I form permanent wrinkles on my soul.

It’s a miracle that I don’t regret any of the books I’ve published, though it may have helped that I pushed through my early twenties before successfully printing one.

I am genuinely proud of all the work I’ve done: the words, yes, but mostly the effort I put in me.

Them (and its sequel, Us, which I start talking about next month) were experiments in several ways, and learning experiences in every.

In the new epilogue in the collected edition of Them + Us (it’s very good, you should read it), I suggest the idea that Kim, our protagonist, may also be its villain.

I also quickly point out that she might not.

And that is true of all of us.

We talk all the time about how humans have the potential to be both good and bad, and it’s kind of a pointless conversation, because all of us have already done both good and bad — at least according to somebody else.

We are all heroes. We are all villains. It just depends on the day.

This morning I was talking about terrible things I’ve said and why I don’t say them as much.

It’s because I’ve learned the value of shock.

It’s an ingredient, a spice.

It works best as part of a whole.

Them and Us were vehicles of offense, designed to shock and, in a way, it lessens its impact. The shock, when used effectively, is a break in character; it shouldn’t be character itself.

And I look around at the world, and the internet in particular, and I see clearly what happens when we let shock control us.

That’s the legacy of Them for me: the idea of shock as both revelation and harm.

I relearn every day that words matter. I learn that people matter. And that caring about others — heroes, villains, humans — is the most important thing we can ever do.

The World of Brushfire and the Jojo Universe, Explained!

March 30th, 2023

I saved the best for last.

So, this is it. Less than 48 hours and our Kickstarter is over! This is your last chance to be a part of this, and if you’ve been on the fence, I hope you fall over on this side.

If either of these books are something you want for sure, this is your only sure way to get them. How much we raise will determine how many books are published, and the backers get their books first and are the only people guaranteed them.

Now then: have you been sitting over there just wondering what the heck Brushfire is, and who the heck Jojo is, or even what the heck I am?

Then this is the video for you.

I sat down this evening and explained it all, Clarissa-style: the worlds we’ve built and are building, and why they exist and what they mean. This is a candid talk about art and life and how both imitate the other, and how art is life to me.

I hope you enjoy it and share it with someone you love; or maybe you hate it and you share it with your greatest enemy. A share is a share.

We’ve already locked in the main goal for publishing two graphic novels, but we’re pretty far off from starting an animation studio this time. However, there are no absolute failures; just learning experiences.

Merry Spring Break. I hope you’re looking forward to the fricking snow. 

Maybe I’m Wrong, Part II

March 28th, 2023

It’s weird, because yesterday’s school shooting was supposed to be a heavy day for our country, but nearly every day is heavy with the same weight, like a wet blanket at the bottom of a swimming pool, so yesterday was just a normal day.

This is our normal.

I wrote an essay about grief on Sunday in which I used the powerful phrase “Maybe I’m wrong.”

What if we all embraced those words? Every morning when we wake up, what if we considered something we “knew” to be true, and we asked ourselves if there was a possibility that we were wrong about it.

Maybe I’m wrong about guns.

Maybe I’m wrong to attack people just because I don’t understand them.

Maybe I’m wrong to not try to understand different ways of life.

Maybe I’m wrong to want to censor other voices, and burn other’s words.

Maybe I’m wrong over wanting to control other human lives.

Maybe I’m wrong to seek out false information that only confirms my own biases.

Maybe I’m wrong in how I treat and speak to certain people.

Maybe I’m wrong to ignore how Jesus brilliantly teaches us how to care for others.

Maybe I’m wrong to outright ignore Jesus.

Maybe I’m wrong in how I think we are protecting our children and the most vulnerable people in our country.

Maybe I’m wrong in thinking I know everything. Maybe I can learn.

We can’t fix anything if we don’t admit that something is broken, and that something, sometimes, is the way we think.

As soon as you question yourself, you free yourself; you are now open to explore every avenue, to look down streets you previously avoided.

This is scary. I freaking know. I had to ask myself, countless times over my life, “Maybe I’m wrong and I can’t drink like everybody else. Maybe I’m wrong and all I do is hurt people.”

Sometimes this exercise strengthens what you feel and know, and that can be a great thing, too. When you really hold your beliefs up to the light, and then pick at them with extreme scrunity, you get to see what they’re made of, and how strong its parts are.

What happened yesterday shouldn’t be normal. We shouldn’t lose count of days like these.

But, you know… maybe I’m wrong.