Issue 4 of Wild Atlantic Ink Is Out Next Week

Yesterday I sent Issue 4 of Wild Atlantic Ink to the printers. In so doing, I am a week later than I have been hitherto. But since all the shipping labels are printed on 14th of the month, and sent to subscribers all over the world the following day, I will only be late in mailing them by a few days.

In making a 16-page comic every two months, I underestimated the commitment of time and effort that would be involved. At first I was going to produce an issue every month. Perhaps I had an inkling of this at the start, as I said something to my husband about it not mattering that there is a serious commitment involved, as I am the art director of each and every page. “And for that reason,” he said, “if you stop loving making it, then you stop loving art.” I am very glad he said that as it really hit home. When I am feeling daunted or overwhelmed, I remember that while this may just be a comic, a paper thing, it is my exhibition. It is my literary grand œuvre. I do not show in a gallery and I do not produce beautifully-written novels. I am a comic creator: that is what I did aged eleven, when I created my first actual comic with a free gift sellotaped to the cover; aged fourteen at secondary school during history class sitting beside my friend Laura; it’s what I did all through university, even though I was studying for a degree in geology. That period saw the creation of Bobh the warrior, Ray The Heterosexual, the Shelf series and lots more. In my thirties I wrote Four Legs Bad, about the guilt that comes with pet ownership, and one about birds whose name escapes me. I even secured a publishing deal in 2012 for a graphic memoir about my time in Mauritius, but I backed out, overwhelmed. And I self-published a booklet of cartoons inspired by AI-generated prompts called Inktober 2022. The cartoons are terrific, but it’s very unprofessionally produced. The only times I haven’t created comics were when I was (very nearly) down and out in London and Paris in my early twenties, and any time I have spent in art college. But when my brain is stable and free enough to create art, I am writing comic strips.

Until the fine people in my audience – you’re one of them, perhaps? – liked my comic enough to subscribe to Wild Atlantic Ink each month, now every two months, I had never sold a comic strip in my life. I have sold oils, watercolours, acrylics; I’ve sold maunscripts for books. I have sold cartoons and illustrations. I have sold books of my sketches. But until now, I haven’t sold comics. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you, because I am very nearly at break-even: just a few more will do it. That is for the physical comic itself, and the cost of mailing them out. If I sell a few more, I will actually start earning. But it is a labour of love, and I feel privileged to be able to do it at all.

I submitted Issue 1 for the Ignatz Prize last May. At that time, it was the only issue I had published. The shortlist has just been announced: I am not on the shortlist. Back in May I was sure I would be, but in the months leading up to the announcement of the shortlist I was equally sure I would not be on it. As I read the shortlisted titles I knew I would never be on it. You can see the shortlisted entries by looking up Shortlisted Ignatz Nominees. The comics on the list are very different to mine. They are serious and emotional. They talk about the struggle for racial equality, they document queer voices, they speak of sad experiences. They are nearly always drawn or coloured using a screen, with the occasional hand-drawn ones too, whose beauty stands out.

My comic is not really emotional, unless you count the emotion of joy. It is about the glory and beauty of nature, it’s about people of the past who lived near my home hundreds of years ago, under the same bit of sky as I do, and it’s got ridiculous stories about wild animals that I make up as I go along. Nature and the weather here in the west of Ireland underlie every word and every picture. The only screen I use is the one on my Macbook Air, to edit my scanned drawings and format the pages.

When it came time to decide what my theme would be, I never prevaricated, not for so much as a split second. Thinking back, that seems a bit strange – surely one considers these things carefully? – but it’s because nature, and the weather, here are all-encompassing, so my theme was clear from the outset.

For example: it’s Saturday morning. It rained so heavily last night, and the wind was so strong, that my bedroom curtain was sucked out of the window and both it and the floor were sopping wet when I went to bed. Only a few hours earlier I was swimming across the bay a couple of miles down the road, in the crystal-clear water of the Atlantic Ocean, with a tide so high that the sea had risen to the edge of the quay and was sloshing over the top. We were almost alone there – just me and my husband Marcel, a lone swimmer in the middle of the bay and two teenaged boys hurling themselves off the sea wall beside me.

As I swam back in, I saw something I decided to screenshot in my mind, something I would look at again in the coming winter: Reuben the tiny white terrier at the very edge of the quay, watching my return. In my mind’s eye he is completely black, silhouetted against the sky and the low evening sun. I can see his outline of pointy ears and fluffy tail and fluffy back, but that’s all the detail I can see. There are wavy lines of his fluffy reflected legs in the surface of the water, starting at his little paws, because the water is level with the top of the quay wall. There is no colour – just black silhouettes and sparkles. There are puddles on the ground where the sea has sneaked through cracks in the walls, and their presence feels odd as there isn’t a cloud in the sky. I get out and towel off, and then I remember the pie I am going to make when we get home, and I pick blackberries from the hedges at the side of the road, wearing just flip flops, my swimsuit and my dry robe. The cry of oyster catchers, soft and musical, is all around us.

Just three hours later I am on the sofa under a blanket watching Godzilla and the rain outside is torrential.

In the next issue of Wild Atlantic Ink this quay is featured twice: once at low-ish tide, and once at high-ish tide. Everything changes all the time, and the very big range between low and high tide yesterday is not a common occurrence. Today is one of the few days each year that the tide will be low enough to walk along the sandy spit to Island Eddy – it’s called Island Ishree in my comic – but I am not minded to go. Maybe I should. It’s the home of Brine the seal, the protagonist of my ridiculous made-up story, after all.

So my life, and therefore my comic, is all about the natural world. When I picture producing a comic somewhere else – say for example I was spending a few months in France – I can’t say if the inspiration would flow. It’s the fact that I have been stewing here since 2001 that has inspired this work.

Like any work of art, the comic is evolving. I am art director, producer, set designer, screenwriter. I can feel it changing. Month by month there is more of “me” in it. And it is utterly exhilarating. I have never felt such a dizzying sense of freedom, artistically. I feel I can do ANYTHING. Like the ghosts in my stories – not all of them are human. Like the real people who lived hundreds of years ago. Like the crab who is witnessing kidnapping – birdnapping – in real time. Like the drawing and painting activities, based on my experience as a teacher over thousands of hours and thousands of students. Like the fact that I can share with you what it feels like to be alive now, and to respond artistically to my environment – as it happens, month on month.

I can’t help but wonder why it’s taken me so long to produce a comic formally: I guess that is what happens when you live and work in isolation from other creators. We all need to “see” it to “be” it. I saw it last April when I found another comic creator, and I decided to be it. Then I found more solo people doing similar things. And it takes a long time to have inner confidence when no one is cheering you on: my audience is kind and gracious about my sketches, my books and my teaching, but no one, not a single person, asked me for a comic. But as the great Kevin Hart says in his book I Can’t Make This Up – when you have internal validation, you don’t need external validation. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it, though. A few people have said things I hold in my heart.

“This restores my faith in human nature.” One of my students in Toulouse this summer.

“Mum, you just keep getting better and better.” My son Paddy.

“I have to immediately turn to the middle pages! Why can’t the Brine story be longer?!” My daughter Liv.

“Mum this is the best thing I have ever seen you do.” My daughter Honor.

“I just stopped by to congratulate you on your little books.” A neighbour whom I greaty admire, a film-maker and theatre director who is still working in the arts and in activism in her tenth decade. “Was there anything else? No, that’s all.”

“OMG this is the cutest thing I have ever seen! I can’t even contain myself!” A daughter of a friend of mine.

And you out there, you who subscribe and read my comic, you have sent me such lovely emails. Karen, and Nancy Jane, and so many others among you.

And my kids – they are so supportive. What greater praise is there than from your own family? I know publishers always say “just because your mother likes it isn’t enough” – but mothers tend to tell you the truth, or the truth as they see it. I think it IS enough when your mother likes it.

Ok that’s enough for now. I just want to say that if there’s something you have always done, but that no one has ever expressed any interest in seeing more of, don’t worry about it – do it anyway. Do it for YOU. You only get one life and you may as well have fun while you can. I for one will be cheering you on.

Lastly – I forgot to tell you in my most recent blog about my week in Greece in August that I will be teaching in Greece next May. It will have a focus on sketching nature, and how to use your sketches as starting points for making something a bit more polished – a recipe book, an illustrated memoir, a comic, a travel diary…something you can send out as a pdf, or print if you want. You will have to bring a laptop. I will show you how to scan and format your work so that you can make it into something really professional-looking. But mostly I will show you how to sketch the wild flowers of the area, and the olive trees, and the boats and the water and the food…it will be glorious! If you are interested, get in touch. The dates are 3rd to 10th May and the hotel is called Lagou Raxi Country Hotel, in the South Pelion of Greece. I really hope you will join me!