New Yorker Rejects #14 - I've Got Felines

Yes! I am still on my quixotic journey of submitting cartoons to The New Yorker!

In fact, we just had a meetup of local cartoonists here in Portland. We all take turns showing off our latest work, and ask for constructive feedback. It's so much fun! A group of grownups sits around a table and seriously question whether or not a dog's facial expression changes the cadence of a joke about buttholes too much.

But also, it's terrifying! When it's time to put my work in front of the group, my heart starts to race. I feel a creeping panic, as though some mask is gonna be ripped from my face, revealing a deranged moron with delusions of grandeur and the artistic skill of a brainworm-riddled baboon.

The thing about cartoons is that they're deeply personal. For example, my favorite animal is a Tyrannosaurus rex, but I've always felt like even though they're incredibly frightening beasts, they must've be afraid of some things.

It's a fear of exposure, that my deepest vulnerabilities (which happen to be best source material for cartoons) will be on full display. And that the reaction will be... confusion? Irritation? Disgust?

Indifference?

(Hold me.)

But you know what? After two years of publicly displaying my work, it's time to get over it. Right?

I mean, here I am lecturing and publishing and going on podcasts to act like I know what I'm talking about, and then secretly pretending like I'm not really afraid of having it all ending up meaningless.

This type of thinking could keep someone up at night!

It's much more important to slow down, take a deep breath, listen to that helpful-voice-that-annoyingly-hates-instant-gratification, and work on healthy habits.

In other words, focus on hygeine.

It's fine to use art to process personal feelings and all that, but what's the point of whinge-maxxing?

If cartoons are a form of humor (as I hope to one day to entirely convince myself of that), and humor is a social tool to increase laughter (a wonderful and potent neurological phenomenon), then it stands that "just having fun with it" is just as worthy a purpose as reframing dark internal thoughts.

Sometimes just connecting the dots is enough. Puzzles are fun for a reason!

Boy is it easy to let ambition creep into play time though!

Fair point, brain. Fair point!

Okay, I promise to just let the fun happen. I promise (to try, or at least that'll be my intention when I remember it) to relax.

I just don't really like massages all that much though.

Is there another way? Something meditative, without all the fingers pressing into my flesh? Would it help to knock some pool balls around?

Or am I just overthinking it at this point?

Is that even my fault?

Probably not!

But let's just agree that however you spend your free time, things are getting more and more niche out there. Things that used to seem to universal and fun have don't seem to unite us so much anymore.

It's a fragmented and increasingly ridiculous world!

So who cares what anyone actually thinks?! Why not just say it all, share it all, and let the consequences play out how they must.

For whatever reason, I love drawing cartoons. And I'll continue to do so. It's not like society really cares, as a whole. And even in my niche of veterinary cartoons, where I've somehow found an audience willing to listen, I'm still often afraid of telling it like it really is.

But when I find the courage to do so, I find it incredibly liberating. It's a peaceful release of tension, like realizing that I'm not the only blasphemer in the crowd.

So I guess I'll keep going.

What's the worst that could happen?