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Sarge [userpic]

Wow...

February 20th, 2010 (09:27 pm)
shocked

current location: United States, Hawaii, Honolulu
current mood: shocked
current song: Massive attack - Teardrop

Everyday Decay is a great artistic representation of what our future would be like if the unthinkable happened. I've enjoyed checking in week after week to see the pages take shape and got hooked on the web comic over a year ago. I'm sorry to say that they've discontinued the comic now, below is the explination they gave and while I will miss the irrigular updates I would never wish someone to go through pain to provide an audience with enjoyment...unless of course it's those Jackass twits... The archive is up and I strongly suggest a visit to enjoy some great artwork and a fantastic representation of our world in it's last hours.

2010-02-21 01:42:11
Left in the Pharmacy
I have a lot to say so I'm going to get to the point first and explain after. I'm stopping EvD updates online. The archive will remain up but there will be no more pages published. I'm sorry it took so long for me to tell you; I've been attempting to wrestle with this internal conflict that has been plaguing me for several months. I needed to be absolutely sure. For the last four weeks I've logged into my update manager with every intention to write out what I thought I wanted to say, each time finding myself more conflicted than before. How do I let 10,000+ people down? It seems brutal honesty is the only policy and something everyone deserves, myself included.

The truth is, I don't like to draw.

Now if you want to move on and delete your bookmarks and cancel your RSS feed, then by all means, go ahead - I completely understand. For those of you who want a more complete explanation, I've tried to do so without pulling any punches. It's long and I feel that it's kind of pathetic; I'm sure it's not going to do much for how you perceive me. At least when you're done reading, you won't be able to say I'm dishonest:

I used to love to draw - it was my way of coping with the cruel and painful parts of life. It was necessary for my survival as a child, as true expression wasn't allowed by my father. Having a sensitive male for a son was too confusing for him, so I got the fist and his raging disapproval until I eventually learned to shut off emotionally like he did. I turned to drawing because I needed a way to let it out, and it kind of worked. It at least offered me a way to focus on something so completely that I could block out the world, and at the same time release some tension by depicting the most horribly violent pictures a child can imagine.

But then my father vanished. He left the country and I never had to see him again. I was in college and suddenly there was a lot more attention on my art; much deeper attention, inspections that reflected on my personality. The escapist me (the younger me) who learned to deal with life by not dealing with it, did the only thing he could do. I, he, stopped drawing. I didn't learn to deal with my problems, so I turned to more immediate and perception-altering methods of escapism.

Of course no one can sustain a life of drugs and escapism forever, so I started to wake up and realize I was doing it wrong. That great quote, "Life: you're doing it wrong," was meant for people like me. So I started working on myself. I started getting better by unlearning all of the crap I used to survive through my childhood. I got on medication, started seeing a therapist and somehow convinced a beautiful, incredibly honest and well adjusted girl to fall in love with me. I told her of this dream I always had to do a web comic about zombies, and found an incredible amount of support and inspiration from our relationship.

I started drawing again and it wasn't so bad; after three years of working at a dead-end job, any artistic reprieve was welcome. I didn't really enjoy it, but if I put on music or a movie I could work my way through a page long enough to get it to a point where the story could progress. What I really loved was that I was finally doing something for myself that I had always dreamed of doing. It had always bothered me that I had achieved some degree of proficiency with art and wasn't putting it to use. The inspiration for the story came effortlessly and most of the artwork didn't give me too much trouble. Even though the process wasn't very fun, I was finally making the zombie story I had always wanted to see. At some point I started marketing and a lot of other people started reading it. Thousands and thousands of people started writing to me, telling me how much they appreciated my work and urging me to continue. In over a year and a half, only one person ever wrote to criticize the comic, and I only ever found one other scathing review. As far as I've heard, this kind of feedback is unheard of. It was the happiest I had ever been with myself for my own accomplishments. But there was always this nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I still didn't like to draw.

I ignored it at first. Instead, I started to dream of publishing the comic in print form and saw how much work was needed to bring the early pages up in quality. I was sabotaging myself in a way; I couldn't possibly print the comic in it's current state - I wouldn't be happy with it. I put more and more time into every page with this idea of taking the comic to print. 20, 30, 40 hours on a single page. I went full speed into something I didn't enjoy. I tried to inspire myself in every way I could. I even tried moving the pencil to the rhythm of music, like dancing with my hand. I was desperate. Then, four weeks ago, I started the next page (the page you see above) and WHAM, it hit me. I couldn't muster an ounce of motivation. What you see above is four solid weeks of starting and stopping, over and over and over again. Each time I stopped, I tried to face the truth, always psyching myself out and deciding to try and keep it up, pushing harder.

And you guys... The fans; the thousands of people coming to my site every week to see my work. You guys are the hardest to disappoint. I mean holy shit - there are more of you reading my comic than there are people in my home town. I was scared to death to disappoint so many people. Emi stands here behind me shocked. She kind of knew I wasn't enjoying the process of producing a page, or at least she could tell I was only happy when the page was up and I could relax before starting again. But she didn't realize I didn't enjoy drawing, and quite honestly, I couldn't really admit it until now. The truth is, you guys are the only reason I was able to keep up the work for so long. I'm not blaming you at all; I unapologetically and selfishly thank you for helping me get this far along. I would have quit a long time ago if I wasn't being fed inspiration every week, without fail. It's still not going to be easy to read all of the letters from disappointed or angry fans.

I still have the desire to finish the story I set out to create. I've come too far to stop altogether. At my own pace, not killing myself by working 60-80 hours a week between the comic and my day job, I'm going to finish this comic. The first book is written to include about 40 more pages from where I'm leaving off now. I've also gone back and figured out all the pages I need to draw to keep the pace up and the plot moving full speed. I expect the first book to be somewhere around 250 pages, all with the same quality as the last few pages, which means a lot of redrawing. All those backgrounds… I shudder as I think of them.

Even now, while I feel rather depressed about watching the web-comic die and the readership taper away, I have a growing sense of peace and stillness. I'm no longer forcing myself so hard and that pressure is going away. A new space is opening up for me to be able to enjoy what I've done. Hopefully, some day long after you've forgotten about this treachery, you'll stumble across my book in the way I always envisioned it. Maybe you'll buy it, maybe someone will loan it to you, maybe you'll find a pirated copy online, maybe you'll hate zombies then. But the story will be there. I just can't say when. Thank you, I'm sorry, thank you. -Derrick