Greg Gildersleeve

This is a reposting from 2/28/06. The original post has been deleted because of spam infestation.

Over on Arie Monroe's blog, she laments about being away from KC, and often feeling "no love at all" while attending the Joe Kubert School in New Jersey. Things do seem to be looking up for Arie, however, as she's made friends with fellow student cartoonists who no doubt share her dreams of becoming a pro. A special relationship exists among students who are pursuing professional goals: I felt the same sense of connection when I was in college and (to a somewhat lesser extent) in grad school. It helps make the learning process bearable, particularly when you move so far from home.

Arie's post got me to thinking about my own journey.

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In 1994, I left home in St. Joseph, MO, to attend grad school here in the big KC. The journey of sixty miles was nowhere near as far as Arie's journey, but for someone who had never lived far from home before, it might as well have been on the other side of the planet. Also, while Arie gets to study what she wants to do, I approached my dreams in a more roundabout way. I enrolled in a screenwriting program, thinking I could apply what I learned there to the art of writing comic books. (The reason I chose such an indirect route: I could find no schools or programs that concentrated specifically on writing comics.) In retrospect, I made the right choice -- writers should broaden their talents by learning how to write in a variety of forms, such as prose, poetry, playwrighting and film, just as artists should learn to draw more than muscular men and scantily clad women.)

There were many times, however, when it seemed that the path I'd taken was leading nowhere or in areas that took me as far from comics as I thought it possible to go. After finishing my master's in '96, I had a full-time job and joined a church, but I had no idea how any of these things would connected back to comics. I continued to write scripts, but I knew no artists who could draw them. I had hoped (as many aspiring writers do) to find a publisher who would be so wowed by my stories that he or she would procure an artist for me. But the old adage is that nobody reads scripts. Creators you meet at conventions usually don't (with few exceptions). Publishers (particularly those who publish creator-owned works) prefer to look at a completed comic. I was told this time and time again. But I continued to write and to show my scripts to anyone who would look at them. It was all I knew how to do at the time.

Finally, in 2002, I asked an artist at the newspaper where I worked to draw a few pages from one of my scripts -- a "sample" for me to show to publishers what the comic book could look like. The artist charged what seemed a gawdawful amount, but I was desperate. I finally agreed to his terms as an investment: It was the first chance I ever had to see my words interpreted by an honest-to-gosh, real-life artist. I learned so much from that experience that I still consider the money well spent, even though the collaboration didn't pan out. (After taking a year to produce three pages, the artist -- who was more of a commercial designer -- realized he was in way over his head in attempting sequential art and pulled out of the project.)

Then, in March 2003, just about three years ago, I joined the Comics Creators Network. At last, I was talking to artists who really did want to draw sequential art. Many of them had also published their own comics and, buoyed by their enthusiasm and experience, I realized I could do the same. The idea of publishing my own comic book was something I had previously dismissed out of hand: Working with an artist and a printer, determining pricing, marketing ... it all seemed very intimidating to a boy from St. Joseph, who fancied himself "just a writer." Why, oh why, couldn't I find a publisher to take care of everything else? That's the dream, right?

But I soon realized that if my work was going to be published, I would have to do it myself. I have been told by others that my scripts are good and are even of professional quality (and while I appreciate such assessments, I know that there is still room for improvement). But talent alone does not guarantee success in comic books or any other field. Many times, success depends upon one creating an opportunity where none existed, rather than waiting for some mythical door to open.

Publishing my own comic book was a way of opening my own door. It has led to some very interesting and educational experiences. It was -- as was that first artist I worked with -- an investment in the future. Along the way, I've learned some things about myself and what I can accomplish. Was publishing the comic book worth it? Hell, yes!

Now, having published my comic book, I find myself at another crossroads. What's next? I've also found that being in this position is far from unique. (My brother fulfilled his lifelong ambition when he became a cop. Now, after more than 10 years on the job, he, too, wonders what's next.) Fulfilling your dreams is, I've discovered, not the end of the journey, but the beginning.

One thing I believe for certain, though: Comic books and the art of writing them will always be an important part of my life. The proof of this lies in the very lengthy road trip I took to get here: moving away from home, studying film writing in graduate school, working for a newspaper, joining a church, joining the CCN ... all of these experiences played a role in shaping who I am as a writer. Taken together, they led me back to where I started (comics), and to where I always intended to go.

"If it's meant to be, it's meant to be," is a common expression about the role of destiny in our lives. I agree with this, to an extent. But I also believe we have to have faith, both in ourselves and in something greater. Furthermore, we need to demonstrate that faith by doing the work that is required of us as writers. If I had not been writing scripts all along -- even when there was no one to draw them -- if I had given up, I do not believe I would be here today. We also need to be willing to take on new roles and to be open to new endeavors. If I had not taken on the role of self-publisher, GOLD DUST would not exist, and I would still be wondering what it would be like to self-publish.

So, it's okay to be lonely and frustrated and far from home, or to take lengthy detours that seem unconnected with fulfulling your dreams. If you are doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do, then all roads lead home.

What journey are you on? Where's it going? Where do you want it to go?