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This Saturday, October 7th, marks another 24 hour comic book day. The date was moved from late April due to retailer conflicts with the Free Comic Book Day the following weekend. While it certainly made for a holy week of comic book goodness, I can understand needing to spread out these national events. The 24 hour comic book was invented by my chess opponent Scott McCloud (and yes, the chess match between us is still going, there’s been some delay due to his 50 state tour). Scott has always been at the forefront of comic book innovation and scholarship. This idea is one of his best. Simple premise: you have 24 hours to create a 24 page comic book, fully lettered and inked. That’s it. And yet, the simplest ideas can be endlessly fascinating. The challenge itself is a great equalizer. A 10 year old could attempt it and succeed. A professional comic book artist could try and fail miserably. I appreciate the idea of getting back to basics, just making comics. Forget the industry, forget the expectations, and just tell a story.

I’ve participated in two 24 hour comic events, and have succeeded both times. It’s an amazing test in personal determination. My stubbornness finally has some tangible benefits. The event is also a low-grade form of voluntary torture. At around four o’clock in the morning, my hand starts cramping. I’m hysterically tired, and I still have six more pages before the deadline. Many people give up, and justify it saying they’ll finish tomorrow (they never do). For those who keep going, there’s no greater thrill than when you complete those 24 pages. Sure, it’s complete crap through and through, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a deep meditative state found in drawing for hours on end. I’d say it’s therapeutically Zen. I’ve discovered I enjoy being drunk on sleep deprivation. Pushing past the stage of nodding off, to the point where you are awake, staying awake, but completely drained off all motivation to do anything except continue the current activity. I don’t know if there’s a psychological condition for this midnight disease, but I’m it. I love looking around the room to see other people also hard at work.  Certainly, taking on the 24 hour challenge without other people would be considerably harder.

I would love to attempt it for a third year in a row. However, October 7th also happens to be my 10 year high school reunion. Once again, a simple idea that is endlessly fascinating. Meet up with those people from high school, ten years later. It is also a great equalizer and a form of low grade voluntary torture. Ten years is long enough to construct a faulty narrative in your head for what your high school experience was like. We emphasis certain experiences, lacing them with a great amount of symbolic meaning. We remember friends not as they were, but as we thought they were. We forget other people we used to say hello to in the hallways everyday, but they remember us. Stick these people in a room together, add a buffet, an open bar, a DJ, and an obligatory slide show, and you’ve got yourself an interesting social experiment.

As an equalizer, that guy or girl who used to be the most popular person in school could turn out to be a real loser in his or her late twenties. Likewise, the girl no one noticed was actually the most beautiful person in school. Ten years later, the outcasts and freaks have found their place. And the prom queen is a stay-at-home mom with three kids. She’s a little too desperate to tell you how much meaning she’s found in her life: “No, I’m really, really happy. This is the greatest thing ever. I love my family.” Okay, we get it. The awkward overly enthusiastic kid who was editor-in-chief of the literary magazine is now a comic book writer and columnist for Pop Syndicate. Last week, he was recognized by the Dallas Observer as “Best Local Comic Book Writer.” And don’t you know he’s going to find a way for his incredibly attractive roller-derby wife to mention it repeatedly throughout the night. (At what point did you realize I was talking about myself? I had you at awkward, didn’t I?) As voluntary torture, have ever tried asking someone you haven’t seen in years, what they’ve been up to? Not to mention, the overall mood of quiet desperation. We didn’t become rock stars, pro athletes, or bohemian artists. We didn’t spend a year traveling Europe or road trip across the country in an RV. We took safe jobs with safe benefits. We assimilated, and most of us are okay with that. But ironically, we’re not okay about being okay.

Which brings me back to the 24 hour comic book day. The event reminds us we don’t have to be rock stars to perform music. We don’t have to be pro athletes to pick up a basketball. We don’t have to be bohemians to start water coloring. The whole world is accessible, if we want it. Anybody can write a novel, make a movie, or create a comic book. If we’re not happy, then the problem is our own. It’s never too late to pack up the kids and drive across the country. Or blow it all to hell and move elsewhere.

If you aren’t attending a high school reunion next Saturday, I would strongly recommend breaking from your routine and spend 24 hours drawing. Just because you haven’t done it before, that’s reason enough.

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