Six Weeks in Hell: Pt 6

On the news side of things, given the large amount of work I have to produce over the remainder of the quarter, it does not look like I'm going to be able to produce the Vaticomics that I truly wanted to create before quarter's end. As it stands with the comics so far, I have the pencils for one issue finished and some scattered panels and roughs for two more issues. I have the scripts for four issues, including the three I've been working on. So all in all, a pretty royal fuck up on my part and a bad case of stretching myself too thin. I'm hoping to be able to salvage something out of tomorrow's class, what with no actual journal entries to speak of, with a pitch-packet of sorts that I've assembled from the pieces I have. Before the nights over, i'm hoping to at least get a nice, inked drawing of the professor character completed and scanned, along with the penciled pages. If I succeed, I hope to post these up online later tonight.

In other news, I'm running really behind on a project due Tuesday for Daddy D, though I feel I should be able to finish it before the deadline. Other homework assignments, including script re-writes for Kneece and panels for Dove are also falling well, well behind schedule. I suppose I didn't name these entries six weeks in hell for nothing. I'm keeping up my spirits, but this is really starting to wear on me.

Unsatisfied with the almost bitter tone of the entry, a side effect of licking wet wounds, I must say that although Vaticomics has, in some sense failed, I do not consider the idea a complete failure. Browsing the net, I'm keeping up the faith that I may perhaps, with a bit more time invested into the idea, be able to push it out into the world in a magazine of the Christian persuasion. Though the grade tomorrow and the inevitable looks of scorn from my professor do little to alleviate the mood of failure, I still bear in mind that which I've tried to remember through any of the monumental fuck-ups on which I've embarked:

Looking at poor Icarus, with wings tattered and flesh charred, as he plummets from the sky, it must be said that at least he reached for the sun. Daedalus, precise and prudent, remains forever an underachiever.

Namaste,

Jon Jones