Six posts were all I could muster. Plus, this seventh half-assed, self-pitying piece of shit. A year well-spent, no?
- January -- Marvel Boy
- February -- The Annotated Mantooth
- March -- Messner-Loebs Thor
- April -- Marshal Law
- May -- Channel Zero
- June -- Holy Terror
- July
- August
- September
- October
- November
- December
List of books that could be done:
- Automatic Kafka
- The Authority
- Punisher: Welcome Back, Frank
- From Hell
- Rucka Detective Comics
- Busiek/Perez Avengers
- Spider-Clone
- X-Man/Counter X-Man
- The Incal
I was tempted to call this series of posts an ambitious failure, but that would be wrong. There wasn't much ambition here, was there? A vague structure that never quite worked and didn't really go anywhere except for late-night 'rants' that weren't as entertaining as I hoped. I liked some of what I wrote and that's something. Sometimes, though, I feel like one of those people I hate. One of those creators who talks up a new project, who has a lot of good ideas, and, yet, months go by and you don't see any new issues. Everyone wonders what happens. How can they not deliver? I don't understand still, because I'm not them. I do know it's easy to waste a day. Or two. Or three hundred, sixty-five.
Part of the problem is the idea: explore my comic reading past and see what it says about me now. You know what it says? That I reread some comics that I read when I was younger. Bravo, Chad, you're a genius. What began as a decent post where I had something to say turned into a series of failures as I struggled to say something once a month and couldn't even do that. 28 was the year where I struggled to have anything to say. I talked a lot of shit. How much of it was worth paying attention to? And, yet, I stand by all of it. I stand by the mean things and the stupid things and the thoughtless things and the tossed off things and the half-assed things... I meant them all, after all. I also meant the things I worked at like the Blogathon, of course. But, I really meant that bad stuff, because that's where my head was at most of the year. It's still there. And it will be there tomorrow, most likely, when I'm 29. That shit doesn't change over night.
I didn't enjoy writing about comics this past year. That's a generalisation, obviously. Sometimes, I enjoyed it more than anything. As a rule, though, it was pulling teeth. And it showed most likely.
'28' will always be unfinished. Rushing to finish it would be a lie. I tried to do something and didn't actually try. I failed.
Maybe 29 will be different.
Later
