There was this graphic novel I was working on for a long time. Years. I started coming up with the original story in the summer between eighth grade and my freshman year of high school. Every time I finished it, I would sit down and redraw it from the beginning, improving the art, adding in new story ideas, trimming out bad ones, and just generally trying to improve it. I drew it four times from the first illustration until I finally stopped working on the project after I finished my junior year of college. Classes and projects were more of a priority. Every now and then I consider working on the project again only to decide to wait until my art was in a better place.
I never want to draw it again.
One day, maybe I’ll finish it. Maybe in ten years when I think I can do the illustrations and the story in my head justice. It still needs a lot of tweaking to become truly compelling. The most recent draft had reached art-school student levels of pretentiousness, and that’s definitely not what it set out to be in 8th grade. Every now and then I’ll draw the main character, trying to bring his design up to speed with my present style. That’s what this illustration is. The main character of my series; on the right, one of the last illustrations I did of him when I was a junior, ripped right out of the comic page. On the left, a modernization. Facial structure, highlights, shadows in better places.
Maybe one day I’ll finally get it right. Maybe not. But I’ll keep on drawing this guy until I can’t stand to look at him anymore.