The first draft of my third convention comic script is done.
I write as long as the momentum allows, set the script aside, and return later in the day to see if it will bellow a lingering ember. Often that does happen.
This morning's work was not what I expected. I didn't know what the final image/thought of the story would be. I've provided the big moments of the superheroine origin but not an obvious exit. I figured I'd need to hammer out some dents and prune weak dialogue before building a new scaffolding. To my surprise, I only needed to apply one final sentence to button the script. I mentally skipped what could have been a page of talking and dropped the capstone in place.
I'm as relieved as I am delighted. Now I can print it and get to polishing. I still need to determine how many pages I can feasibly draw and afford between now and May.
Almost Obligatory Baby Information
Despite the doctor's advice, Your Sister gets a mite concerned when the boy doesn't have a bowel movement. He reminded us that some babies can go three weeks without it. He hadn't befouled a diaper since the weekend, and she set her mind to fixing that when I brought him back from Your Parents' house last night. Protracted stomach massage ensued, and she seemed as physically relieved as he when he was placed naked on the changing station and extruding what appeared to be a few pounds of batter. Within a half hour, he had drunk 8 oz. of milk and was sacked out in the crib. We see the otolaryngologist Friday afternoon.
Dramatic Confession from My Innermost Dungeon of Shame of the Day
I had to look that word up.
Picture of the Day
To celebrate my comic work, I shall mosh with my crocs.