The History of Sleeping Kitty Productions, Part I

December 23rd, 2022

“Why the sleeping cat?”

There are questions I have been asked more than most others, and this is one of them.

For as long as I’ve been releasing my work into the wild, I’ve been flying the banner of Sleeping Kitty Productions over, under and through it. It’s the name of my business, and it’s featured everywhere, from my calling card to my convention banner.

So where did it come from?

One of the earliest examples of the logo comes from this beach ball, which I signed when I was sixteen years old. We were given these as closing gifts for the musical South Pacific; I played Lt. Joseph Cable in my high school production.

I drew cats all the time. I love cats.

We had three of them growing up. My first was an orange & white gentleman named Jasper; he was later joined by Beauty, a gorgeous Siamese lady, and Ace, a feisty black & white icon.

As an adult, I also had a cat. His name was Ashley Kitty Vogen, but we all called him Kitty (and a long string of expletives too offensive for this post); I adopted him, and his given birth name was so deliciously ironic. I whisper it to others only in person, to respect his wishes and protect his legacy.

I often say one of the reasons I love Marvel so much is because she’s part cat.

So I draw cats because I love them. Easy. But why is this cat sleeping?

First of all: it’s cute. A slumbering, snoring feline is adorable. It would always elicit a sigh or a smile when I drew one, so I kept sketching them.

But, of course, there is something deeper to why the cat is sleeping.

It’s because, presumably, when a cat sleeps, it dreams.

I knew that there were a lot of things I wanted to do; I was already writing, drawing, painting, animating, acting, singing, playing instruments, filming movies. I needed a ribbon to tie it all together.

It was never one thing and yet it was. It was all about, like my idol Walt Disney impressed in my head and on my heart, having dreams and then making them come true.

As I read Walt’s biography now, I am stunned by our parallels and comforted by the ways we diverge. I knew I didn’t want a company with my name on it; I wanted to collaborate and have people feel like they could stake as much a claim in what we created as I do.

I (in)famously went to art school for three quarters. When I was nineteen, I designed the official Sleeping Kitty logo that lies on every book I’ve ever published in an Adobe Illustrator class.

The cat is a paradox. Sleeping, lazy, yet plotting and dreaming. Doing while you’re not looking; striking when you least expect it.

I discovered a website called Cat Bounce today (google it) and they write about the appeal of cats:

“Cats are independent. Sometimes they’re mysterious. They’re always a little unscrutable. And they seem pretty smart, even when they’re doing something dumb. Cats can’t be told, they simply are. That said, there are all kinds of cats, just as there are exceptions to every rule.”

And that’s Sleeping Kitty Productions.

Independent. Dumb, but kind of smart.

And an exception to every rule.

Ducks by Kate Beaton

December 19th, 2022

This story broke me.

Like a vase falling off a counter.

I’m always telling my friends and family to give comics a try. You’re probably my friend and/or family; you know this statement to be true.

Give this graphic novel a try.

Not since Craig Thompson’s Blankets have I felt this possessed to tell everyone I know to experience someone else’s deeply personal story.

Kate Beaton gives you a slice of her young adult life in Ducks: sweet and bitter, dolloped with joy and filled with sorrow, drawn in black and white but dealing only in grays.

Relevant at every time, both universal and intimate.

I picked it up because I couldn’t throw a stone at a comic professional who didn’t recommend this one as the year’s (or several years’) best.

It is.

It broke me; but, like golden glue, it puts you back together, too.

A.I. Yi Yi

December 17th, 2022

Exactly zero people have asked me what I think about AI, and I am indignant.

This is a post about AI, written by a terribly flawed human being.

Most of the responses I have seen to emerging AI technology have come from artists. I’m an artist, too, but I have always identified most as a writer specifically, so I want to offer my viewpoints from that branch.

Quick aside: if you’re choosing to remain completely ignorant on AI, giving money to companies that are literally stealing from artists, that is 100% on you; then again, society has had no problem stealing from artists again and again and again (illegal downloading, content pirating, password sharing, you see yourself somewhere here, don’t you, thief?). So don’t worry about it. Just think about it the next time you want to stand on any moral high ground against any kind of lawbreaking, lawbreaker.

As a writer of human words, AI does not terrify me.

If anything, it just strengthens my resolve on what art is and what art should be.

There are many books in the world.

Most of them are bad.

Not bad in their quality.

They’re well-written, well-edited, contain consistent characterization, tell coherent stories.

No, they’re bad in their lack of individuality. They’re bad for their conformity. It’s art in bad faith; that makes it bad art.

Anyone could have written them, and with AI, literally anyone could.

That’s kind of the way it’s always been.

I want writers to sit down with their notebook, or at a typewriter, or a screen, and say: “I want to say something nobody else — human or otherwise — could say.”

And then say it. Uncompromised. Furiously and compassionately.

Do what technology cannot.

They tried robot bartenders. Machines that make perfect drinks in record time. Genius.

But robots don’t listen like your human bartender does. They don’t feel and offer personal wisdom and make bad jokes that come from the heart of the hardships of being alive.

Which is why humans will always have the jobs that require us to be human to perform them.

This is a post about AI, written by a terribly flawed human being.

One who believes that as long as he’s true to who he is and what he believes, he’ll always have at least one reader who believes, too.

P.S. Stop paying for that stupid AI image app. It is literally the least you can do if you have an artist you love in your life. In fact: hire the artist you love to do a portrait of you instead. And see how fucking magical art is and how fucking magical supporting people you love is.

The Troll Toll

December 15th, 2022

The history of philosophy is a history of trolls.

The 1975 is one of my favorite bands (and my absolute favorite band most days). We saw them play at The Armory last night and it was quite possibly the best show I have ever seen.

Like TikTok itself, I am obsessed with Matty Healy, the frontman of The 1975.

I read and watch a lot of interviews with Matty and, oddly, a lot of interviews ABOUT him. For example, I watched a Zane Lowe interview with Lewis Capaldi yesterday in which they talked about Matty at length.

They both agreed on something:

“He’s a troll!”

The term “trolling” is an integral piece of internet culture, or the lack thereof. I wanted to distill to its essence what I believe a “troll” is, and I came up with four words: “a person who provokes.”

On paper, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The internet is a place that takes good ideas on paper, douses that paper in gasoline and throws the sheets into an active volcano.

Most trolls are bad, because the majority of the people who do the provoking are thoughtless, cowardly, all sorts of biased, have clear agendas and they’re generally slimy to the touch.

But when I was reading about the history of philosophy, it didn’t take me long to see that it is filled with trolls.

People who existed to provoke.

Provoke people to think. For themselves. About themselves. About others. About the world around them.

Those trolls provoked thoughtfully.

This is what people are talking about when they say modern discourse is dead.

Of course it is.

Nobody is thinking before they speak. Or type. God, especially before they type.

And this is why I love Matty Healy.

He’s a troll, but a classic one. He provokes, but he doesn’t run; he’s game to have an actual conversation with you, even if it’s only one you’re having with his art.

He reminds me to provoke.

Thoughtfully. With meaning.

Not for my own ends.

But to end all this thinking solely on my own.

R-E-S-SOBRIETY

December 11th, 2022

Okay, this is both an appreciation post for the best co-workers ever (look at this effing cake!) and a passive-aggressive reminder of what you, a normal person, can do for the sober people in your life.

When people decide to get sober, it is often daunting and overwhelming. Every solid decision splinters into a dozen other decisions.

Some people limit themselves. I don’t say this in a condescending way; sometimes, and often in early sobriety, an individual will decide to cut people or places out of their lives, temporarily or permanently, because they act as perceived triggers.

I knew from the moment I could think relatively clearly that I could not do that. I work with alcohol. The people I love (mostly) drink alcohol. Most of the rest of the adult world drinks alcohol.

I had to be cool with alcohol.

And, largely, I did not have to cut anyone out of my life. There is a reason for this:

The people in my life have respect for me.

I support all ways of recovery, as long as they work for somebody, but I do not subscribe to the “you can’t get well in the place you got sick” take. (I wrote an essay on that topic which, if you haven’t read it, basically states that I feel like that mindset becomes an excuse for people to not try to get better right now.)

All of my current relationships have something in common: they value the fact that I exist in their life, and they don’t make me feel less than or pressure me to do something that makes me worse.

That’s not to say I haven’t had honest conversations with them, some who don’t understand but want to, or miss the times we used to have.

But above all that, they want me here, that’s the most important thing, and they give me the respect and support I need to keep doing that thing.

So if you’ve been less than supportive of your sober friend, am I calling you out?

Absolutely.

I sincerely hope this gives you something to think about.

Sobriety is fucking hard. The beginning is virtually impossible. The least you can do, if you love somebody, is to not actively root against them.

You can do better. You can give them something to fight for.

V

December 9th, 2022

You were this close to living in a Dennis-less world.

That’s one of the parts of my past we don’t talk much about. I’m not saying it would have been a better place or worse place, but it definitely would have been a different one.

Today marks five years since I took my last drink — a small, warm, plastic bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the trunk of my car, if you’re keeping score at home — and it’s hard to do these essays in particular because nothing I can write can accurately capture these years or this experience.

Of course, that doesn’t stop me from trying.

So, what have these five years meant? What does my choice mean?

It means my dog got the best of me for nearly her entire existence.

It means that, even though I’ve been present since day one, I’ve been able to be completely here for my child for a third of his life.

It means I got to spend the last years of my mom’s life fully living. No matter what she saw me go through, I got to show her that I was going to be okay before she left. As a parent, I can’t imagine a more significant gift; as a child, there was nothing I wanted to give her more.

I am a decent brother. I am an adequate co-worker. I am a better friend. I am a more reliable partner.

What does it not mean?

It doesn’t mean I don’t mess up or get upset. It doesn’t mean I don’t argue or that I can’t be difficult. It doesn’t mean I don’t get sad or mad or worse. It doesn’t mean I’m always right. It doesn’t even mean I never want to drink.

It doesn’t mean I’m perfect.

It does mean I can make progress. It means I can be unafraid of being wrong and admitting my faults. It means I can be honest and vulnerable. It means I can be here for people in ways I couldn’t be before, because I wasn’t there for myself. It means I am able to let people know how much I love them.

And I do.

I mean it when I say I care. I care about how you are, what you love, what you’re feeling and thinking and, above all, I care that you exist in this world.

I didn’t care much for myself. This aspect is regularly glossed over, but I’m serious when I say that I was very close to not being here. Sometimes because of how I was living, and sometimes because I wasn’t sure if I deserved to, if I wanted to.

I deserve to. I want to.

You almost got a Dennis-less world, until I listened to voices outside of my head and they told me there was a better way, a path towards a place that exists to show me I am worth something.

I’ve been walking it.

Five years and still counting steps, one day at a time.

As always, if you or someone you know needs help, reach out. These lines are always open.

All my love, squirrels.

Here’s to 2022

December 8th, 2022

Who doesn’t want to curl up with this cuddly pup, a hot mug of coffee, and a good book?

First things first: even though its official release date is tomorrow, December 9th, my new book A Dream of Tin & Eternity is available NOW on Amazon in paperback, hardcover, and digital; please go pick it up if reading a story about what stories mean to me sounds intriguing to you.

Now: I released three books in 2022.

Holy cats.

And three very different books at that.

Cold World, which came out in June, started life just around this time last year, when I was reading Stephen Hawking and the sci-fi universe of the novel just emerged, fully formed and covered with snow, in my head.

It does what I love in fiction: it talks about what I’m thinking and feeling through art, making grand ideas intimate and complex concepts simple, while trying to entertain in this big world with fantastical elements.

It’s a possible starting point for past, present, and future stories, and I really hope people keep discovering it.

Brushfire, my July baby, is my first all-ages graphic novel series, and it’s a world years in the making, and years left in its telling.

I wanted to plant the most adorable, compelling seeds with my underground community of wildlife in Wave 1, and leave readers wanting more. There is so much more to give and this series will be my focus as we start the new year.

And then A Dream of Tin & Eternity, out now, was an idea I tried to ignore over and over and simply could not. It’s a sequel to everything, and both an ending and a beginning. Of course you want everything you do to be successful, but I imagine this as a love letter, a cult book that my most obsessive two or three fans will hold dear in their heart, one of those obsessive two or three fans being me.

All my work is available on Amazon and through links on dennis vogen dot com, my official website. I hope you check it out, and I hope you’re hanging in there this holiday season. All my love.

One Week Til Dream! Holiday Sale!

December 2nd, 2022

Um, hi.

I don’t know if you know, but we are exactly ONE WEEK away from your 10th favorite author (that’s me) releasing his 10th book (that’s a little novella I call A Dream of Tin & Eternity) celebrating 10 years of my publishing.

If this is the first you’re hearing of it, you’ll also be tickled to find out that it is a sequel to ALL my previous books.

How is that possible? You’ll have to read it to find out!

People have already been asking me: “Well, which books do I REALLY need to read before this one?” My answer, of course, is “all of them, guys” but I have also made a list of my work in order of my own perceived importance.

1. Flip & Push
2. The Weirdos: Volume I
3. Cold World
4. Theia & Brushfire: Wave 1
5. Them + Us

Honestly, it was excruciating to come up with that list; I really hope at least one person who has read all of these books reads the new one to get the full experience.

Are you missing a few from the list on your bookshelf? Never fear!

You can find them on my website dennis vogen dot com, and I’m doing a special holiday sale where everything is 15% off with the code DREAMING!

They’re also available on Amazon as paperbacks, hardcovers, and (extremely affordable!) ebooks.

These books make for great gifts and even better kindling for when the inevitable banning and burning of my books begins. Get ahead of the trend, y’all!

All my love.

Eyes on the Ball

November 30th, 2022

One of the most impossible and necessary human properties we can hold is the ability to live in and appreciate any given moment.

My friend Steven and I are obsessed with a television show called Westworld. This year, for its fourth season, we even found time to get together every few weeks to watch several episodes in his basement.

Early on, the creators of Westworld shared that they had a plan to tell a story over five seasons. Steve and I have actively participated in the storytelling, trying to figure out what it’s all going to mean when we finally reach the fifth and final arc.

A few days after season four ended, Westworld was canceled.

What we assumed we were watching was a season finale, but what we were actually watching was a series finale.

And ain’t that life.

We never know our lasts until it’s abruptly, and unceremoniously, over.

There are songs you love, books you plan on rereading, films you want to see again on a big screen, conversations with important people in your life, that you will never experience again.

You think you will, but I have to be the one to tell you: you won’t.

Which makes every moment you have essentially your last one.

I’ll admit, this line of thought sometimes leaves me feeling paralyzed; because anything I choose should be important, could be my last choice, I have to choose correctly, right?

I do. Of course I do. And so I do.

I find that when I think about what’s truly important to me, the nonessential parts of my life become colorless, devoid of what it is to live and to have life.

It’s how I choose what to read, what to watch, what to do, and what I’m going to write next.

It makes it easier to forgive in the moment. To remember to give or receive a hug in the moment. To say the thing I need to say in the moment.

And as soon as I stop living in the moment, I stop living, really, at all.

Yesterday, I heard someone say that all we should focus on is the ball in play, and as far as sports metaphors go, that one’s pretty good.

It’s not about winning or losing.

It’s about living the game you’re playing right now, and playing it like it’ll be the last thing you ever do.

The Intentional Spirit of Human Compassion

November 28th, 2022

I always get sappy and emotional this time of year (“How is that different than usual?” you ask; “Shut up,” I reply) as an important anniversary in early December comes up.

In business, you can make decisions based on common sense and objective financial goals, or you can make them based on compassion and morality.

A good professional will tell you to choose the business.

A good person will tell you to choose the people.

Almost six years ago, I got a new job. During that time, I was in a very bad place personally. My co-workers noticed. They fired me.

I want to stress something at this point: they didn’t know me. They had no reason to want to help me, beyond basic human empathy. But they had no obligation to me, nor do I believe they are bad people for cutting me loose. In fact, I think most people would have cut me loose. At the time, I would have cut me loose.

That being said, I went back to the job that I had left for the new one.

There, I had a boss who gave me too many chances. I don’t think I’m a special case; I think that’s just who he is. I don’t know if I did anything to deserve more than one opportunity, but I was given them.

At some point, during my second run at this job, I did the unimaginable:

I got better.

I was able to get closer to the thing that I wanted to be as opposed to thing that I was. It wasn’t easy, it still isn’t easy, some days I want to burn myself to the ground, but I’m here, and it’s because someone cared enough about me to invest in the idea that I could be something more.

There are a few of those people in my life, but I know that at a job it is a rare thing to choose people over business and I exist because someone did.

That’s a gift and all I can do is try to give people the same time of day in the hopes that they believe in themselves enough to give themselves a chance.

As I get closer to another year of being this me, I reflect on how I got here. It wasn’t by accident. It isn’t coincidence.

It is the intentional spirit of human compassion and the belief in our community, the people who exist directly around us every day.

And I am thankful that, no matter what you read on the internet, that spirit survives.

Just like I did.