Tag Archives: humor

I Wrote A Novel*

And immediately I thought to myself, I should write a story about writing that story. It could be meta and funny and clever. I have so many amazing anecdotes about this process, e.g., the time I sat in a Casino for a bit to see what the fuss was about for Research Purposes, or the time I was working in a café like a Proper WriterTM and the waiter actually asked what I was doing and I got to say ‘writing a novel’, or the time used a sword.

So I sat down to write this meta and funny and clever story.

After several months, four abandoned drafts, many unintended tangents into grim trigger-warning topics, an existential crisis, giving up twice, extreme use of the backspace key, and many, many, many cups of coffee all I had to describe writing a novel was …

9 panels of me writing. Several in front of a window with changing seasons. One in a cafe. One in bed. One in a garden. One on the couch.

… a montage.

No, worse than a montage. A montage without a kick-arse soundtrack.

Actually, small request? Could go put on your favourite montage track on. Spotify, mp3 player, CD, tape deck, vinyl, acapella cover band taking requests, however you play your music. Doesn’t matter. Got it? Cool. Now that’s playing, would you mind looking at that last illustration again?

… any better?

Yeah. Figured.

It wouldn’t do. This may come as a shock, but I have standards for this site. Not every loose thought or whim ends up here. I try do an acceptable-if-not-amazing-enough-to-get-widely-known job (and since no one has shared my stuff enough to make me widely-known yet, I assume I’m hitting that sweet spot. This is definitely fine and deliberate and not at all a secret disappointment to me).

I thought a bit harder about what the writing process was actually like, and finally I came up with something else.

3 panels. Panel 1: me lying upside-down on couch. Partner says 'what's wrong?' I say 'I need someone to tell me my writing is amazing'. Panel 2: partner says 'your writing is amazing'. Panel three: I look tortured and yell, in a tortured sort of way 'WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME SUCH A HORRIBLE LIE?'

I thought, better. Much better. It introduces some conflict, reveals character, and does that satisfying thing where I am completely honest about what a terrible person I am but somehow this entertains people rather than driving them away probably because they wrongly assume I am being hyperbolic (and I have just done that thing again by pointing it out). I have finally, in Proper WriterTM terminology, advanced the story.

Excellent. What happens next?

3 panels. Panel 1: me sitting at my desk, looking like I have just come up with an incredible idea. Panel 2: my excitement fading as I realise that idea isn't a real idea after all. Panel 3: me side-eying the reader in apologetic fear.

Here’s the thing.

Writing a novel felt like carrying the one ring to Mordor across an endless plain. It felt like slipping into a Lovecraftian dimension to stare down the old gods. It felt like fighting to the death in an arena for the entertainment of the Capitol (… if all the other tributes were me as well and I was also everyone watching it on TV, anyway).

It took years. I made myself chip away at it, re-write whole drafts, do better each time. I used it as a distraction from my miscarriages, my growing depression, the world. Sometimes the thought of it sitting on my laptop waiting for me kept me hiding in bed in the morning, other times it got me up early.

But all that happened in my head. From the outside, it just looks like a montage. And I don’t have a meta and funny and clever story to tell about writing.

Nevertheless, I have set up a brand spanking new alternate site so I can chat about writing ad nauseum for, ideally, the rest of my life.

Me presenting my laptop with my new site on it and saying 'Ta da!'

Maybe chuck it a follow if that sounds fun?

* Pretty much. Some final polish to go still, but I’ve done four-ish total re-write drafts as well as several editing rounds. It’s there. It exists. I feel I’ve earned use of the phrase ‘I wrote a novel’.

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So my new blog is OVER HERE. It will be different from Silence Killed the Dinosaurs, and Silence Killed the Dinosaurs will absolutely continue as is, unaffected. You do not have to follow the new site, particularly if you have no interest in writing, fantasy novels, or me as a person and not a stick figure. But, if you do, head on over.

Other light-hearted, non-dramatic stories and comics collected HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here.

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

Foot

Panel 1: When I was little I thought a monster would eat me if I left my foot sticking out the blanket [me in bed, foot out] But now I am an adult. Panel 2: [cat with open mouth preparing to bite foot] And I KNOW.

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Other safe stuff HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here.

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Living With A Bookworm #2

First panel: my partner and I sit in front of a screen that says 'a classy Shakespeare adaptation' while my partner says 'You'll tell me what they're saying, right?' and I respond 'Sure. Panel 2: I say: 'The 'dagger' is his penis'. Panel 3: I say, 'The 'sheath' is her vagina.' Panel 4: I say, ''Thrust' as in ... you probably got that one.' Panel 5: my partner says 'but everyone is dying!' and I say ''Die' can mean orgasm'.

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Everything Shakespeare wrote is a dick joke, a gloriously terrible pun, a sword fight, or a gloriously terrible pun that is also a dick joke taking place during a sword fight. If he had been big on adding stage directions, I’m certain ‘[pelvic thrust for emphasis]’ would be part of the Great Western Literary Tradition. 

Other safe stuff HERE.

Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here. It makes me feel weird that this is a thing. When I started drawing SKTD I did think things like ‘hey, I wonder if this would look good on a mug?’ but I did not think ‘gosh, what a great design for a device to reduce the spread of the plague!’. But I guess that’s 2020 for you. We’ve just got to adapt.

Also, Patreon. Still a thing I have. As well as social media. Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Living With A Bookworm #1

Living with a bookworm. Expectation: person says 'Hey--' to comic-me who is reading surrounded by bookshelves and hisses 'SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY' at them. Reality: comic me gets a vibes, looks over sees other person reading, slithers along the ground, sneaks behind the couch, pops up yelling 'WHATCHA READING?'

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But seriously, what are you reading? 

Other safe stuff HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Beards

Panel 1: I look at my phone and say "everyone's growing an isolation beard". Panel 2: my partner appears with a glowing beard. Panel 3: I also have a glowing beard (we are both smiling). Panel 4: The cat also has a glowing beard.

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He’s so proud of himself and his appearance now. It’s lovely.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Easter for Sadists

Easter is here, and that means it’s time for my two favourite things—excessive chocolate consumption and crushing my loved ones under the sheer weight of my competitive pettiness.

I probably need to explain that last one.

A few years ago I was so sick that medical appointments were one of the only reasons I left the house. Short version (and perhaps now the whole world is in quarantine you can relate without further elaboration anyway), this was very frustrating. By Easter, I was determined to do something.

So I came up with a Cunning Plan.

Me coming up with a cunning plan

I asked a friend to buy me a packet of Easter eggs (I was too sick to go to the shops) so I could make a surprise egg hunt for my partner. I would sneakily hide all the eggs—perhaps while my partner had his morning shower—and then not say anything. I would just wait for him to notice.

The day came. He got up before me because even factoring out the chronic illness I have never been a morning person. But I was committed to my Cunning Plan, and my religion of Cunning Plans has no room for divorce. Once I’m in, I’m all in. One time a friend kidnapped my iconic shark keychain and tried to ransom it for one of my partner’s kidneys, and I had a Cunning Plan.

Panel 1: friend says 'Joking! here it--' while I look on, unamused. Panel 2: I had over a kidney in a bag. Friend is surprised.

I trekked to every butcher’s shop in the suburb before finding one that had some sort of animal kidney.

Obviously it was from a butcher’s shop.

Point is, when a Cunning Plan is at stake, I put in the miles.

So, with super-human effort, I dragged myself out of bed, slithered down the hall, and oozed onto the couch to regroup. But then, as I blinked blearily at the living room cursing all times between 2am and 10am for existing and trying to formulate clever ideas for egg hiding …

Panel 1: I sit on couch clutching bag of eggs. There is an egg on couch arm next to me. Panel 2: zoom in of egg on couch arm, sparkling. Panel 3: zoom in on my shocked eyes.

Jolted into full wakefulness, I looked around again.

I sit on the couch, and on every conceivable surface around my there are sparkling eggs.

My Cunning Plan was not so cunning after all. I was not the only person to come up with it.

Before I was even awake, my lovely partner was already up and about making a fun Easter egg hunt at a time when I had very few activities open to me. How considerate. How wonderful. How sweet.

How dare he.

I am very cross

I considered abandoning my own hunt, pretending I never had any Cunning Plan, and being sickeningly delighted by what he’d done, but quickly wrote this off as a brain-misfire due to not having my morning cup of tea yet. I considered fessing up, handing over the eggs I had obtained for him, pretending to be amused that he got in first, and then finding the ones he hid for me. But that didn’t sit right either.

Instead, I had a new Cunning Plan.

Me looking devious coming up with a cunning plan

Ignoring all the eggs he had hidden for me, I hid mine anyway. Only better. He hadn’t tried that hard. His was child egg hunt. His eggs were sitting in where foil would catch the light, on tops of books in bookshelves, in little clusters on tables.

I could do better than that.

I hid them in mugs that went back in cupboards. I put them in the tea tins. I stashed them in drawers, in high places, under things that were rarely moved. I made sure none of them were visible if you just wandered in and looked around the room. Some would be stumbled upon through daily tasks, others would take concentrated searching.

And then I sat back on the couch and read a book.

Panel 1: I read a book, surrounded by easter eggs. Partner looks at me. Panel 2: partner looks bewildered, I smile at him. Panel 3: I say "everything okay?"Panel 1: partner says 'yeah. of course.' Panel 2: I read. Partner waits. Panel 2: partner gives up, saying 'i guess I'll make us tea'Panel 1: I sit along, surrounded by eggs, reading. Panel 2: close up of my devious eyes. Panel 3: off stage, my partner shouts 'HEY!'

He acknowledged my genius. We had a good laugh about it. We did each other’s egg hunt. I found his in about five minutes. He took longer.

Panel 1: partner standing amid ransacked book shelf saying 'can I have a hint?' Panel 2: me, lying on couch, feasting on easter eggs, 'nope'

He found the last one over a week later. It was in his coat pocket.

Ever since, Easter has been an opportunity to destroy each other with chocolate.

Panel 1: me hiding egg in socks. Panel 2: partner hiding egg on top of ceiling fan. Panel 3: me hiding egg in board game box

And I always win. My time record, so far, is …

Partner bursting in on me showering (strategically blocked by towel rack, don't get too excited). He shouts 'TEN MONTHS?! How?"

But last year I decided to change the game.

We have a small end-table cupboard thing. It doesn’t have anything in it because for some reason it has both a door that will only stay closed if it is locked and drawers. Very awkward. But it came from my grandparent’s house, and I always thought I could paint it and change the inside or something. Of course, I haven’t got around to it. We don’t store anything in it. The key sits on top in a little jar of odds and ends.

The cupboard. My cat is sitting next to it. Just because my cat is pretty awesome.

Last year, my husband hid his eggs before I got the chance, and I found most of them before hiding my own. He hid an egg in that key jar. And as soon as I saw it, my brain sparked with my best yet Cunning Plan.

Me coming up with a cunning plan. I appear downright evil

As part of Phase 1, when it was my turn to hide eggs, I put about a quarter of them in the weird internal cupboard drawers and locked them in.

He worked it out within an hour. They weren’t even the last remaining eggs from that hunt. He’d remembered the key-jar from when he hid an egg in it, so he thought to check almost straight away.

… As I expected.

I acted disappointed. I can play a long game.

Over the next year, I primed him to think of that cupboard as the hiding place. In the weeks following, I reminisced about my failed hiding attempt often. I sighed wistfully and said if only he hadn’t hidden an egg in the key-jar first. I hid his birthday presents. One was in the cupboard, and it was the first one he found.

Good.

This year was Phase 2.

We decided it would be a special hunt. We ordered a box of extra nice eggs each from a local chocolatier (support local businesses through the Rona Ragnarok where possible, guys). Mine were coffee hazelnut crunch. His were almond praline. The deal was we’d each hide each other’s eggs.

I locked every last one of his eggs in that cupboard. Then I took the key and taped it to the back of the clock.

In its old place in the jar, I left a riddle …

riddle in jar: 'What must be broken to be used?'

… Which led to another riddle …

In a cartoon of eggs, a riddle says: 'What has many keys but can open no locks?'

… Which also led to another riddle …

A piano. Instead of sheet music, a new riddle says: 'Where does today come before yesterday?'

You get the gist.

A dictionary. Next riddle says 'what has a head and a tail but no body?'

Until the final note …

A piggy bank with coins. The final note says: 'You solved all the riddles! Too bad they had nothing to do with the key. Keep hunting!'

And no, that was not too evil. Even if he really struggled, the longest the hunt could possibly go would be until he changed the clock for daylight savings time.

Unfortunately riddle number three didn’t go quite as planned.

Panel 1: partner runs over holding clock saying 'I solved it! Today comes before yesterday in TIME!' Panel 2: he looks happy, I look horrified and say 'but ...' Panel 3: partner looks happy. I look even more horrified, saying 'That's not how time works!'

Panel 1: I look very stressed, and shout 'or logic! Or riddles!' Panel 2: partner goes to unlock cupboard. I melt onto the floor screaming 'AAAAAA'. Panel 3: Partner looking happy eating chocolate, saying 'What's wrong? It was a great hunt!' I am a puddle.

And thus my Cunning Plan was thwarted by sheer dumbassery.

I just … just … still don’t know how to process this.

I thought I’d covered everything. I took the key a week early so he couldn’t use it for his hunt before I got to it. I made sure ‘egg’ was the first riddle-answer because it was the most likely to be stumbled upon by mistake, and if it was I didn’t want it to mess up the riddle-chain. I had back-up hiding places for all my riddles in case he had used any for his hunt. After I arranged everything, I even went around the house slightly tweaking cupboard doors and moving things to mask my actions. I mean, he didn’t even try googling the answers! That he might do that was half the reason they were a red herring! I had contingencies for cheating, but not for him being terrible at riddles.

Serves me right for overestimating him.

Fortunately, this will just make Phase 3 even better.

I can play a long game.

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Responses on my last comic indicated my cat is in fact very appreciated, so I made sure to include him in one of the comics. You’re welcome.

Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Nice Bed

Me holding cat: You can sit in this nice bed while I'm working! [there is a nice cat bed next to my laptop]. A series of panels of the cat sitting anywhere but the bed, including on my head.

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I promise I’ll do something not about cats soon.

Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Games

My partner plays a game with our cat [man puts dino toy on table, cat looks at it then knocks it onto the floor]. Whenever the cat finds the toy dinosaur on the coffee table, he knocks it down [cat sees dino on table, looks at it, knocks it down as man laughs]. But sometimes I wonder ... [man sees dino on floor, picks it up, puts it on table while cat watches] ... who is playing with whom.

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Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

More cats

Most cats: person sits reading with sleeping cat on lap. Person reaches to turn on lamp, cat looks up and says "how dare you move". Cat leaves, person is sad. My cat: I sit reading with cat on lap. We both look up to above panel where cat is saying "how dare you move". My cat says to me "holy shit, a talking cat."

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This one’s a sort of follow up to my last comic.

Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Stage Five Clinger

Other cats: [person reading with cat on lap. They reach to turn on lamp, cat looks up says, "How dare you move". Person is sad as cat walks away. My cat: me sitting reading with cat on lap and I think "hmm, tea.'. I get up, but cat latches to my front. I make tea with cross cat latched to me.

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… But he is a big fan of all his humans social distancing and hanging out at home.

Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.