in plastic for Jesse. “You want me to go get him
so he can eat?”
“I don’t think so. I’m too tired to deal with him today.
Let him stay out in the studio and play with his paints.”
“Have you seen his paintings?”
He nodded. “Yeah. He’s a genius, Lorenzo. A world-class
genius, a world-class pain in the ass, and it is just my luck
he was born into this family.” He took a big bite of his
sandwich.
“Jesse had this idea, about making the characters in the
cartoon more obvious, like caricatures. Thinks that will get
the point across. Makes it more likely for people to identify
with character types.”
He thought about it, his eyes distant. “Well, people do
recognize caricatures. They’re good for a laugh. It would be
Marathon Cowboys | Sarah Black
56
easy to fall into the habit of making all your characters one-
dimensional, though.”
“I was thinking about Doonesbury . You know that
character BD? He wore his college football helmet—for what,
thirty years? But he was always a fully realized character.”
“It’s easier to do that with a comic strip instead of a
stand-alone. With a strip, you’ve got narrative. That helps
you develop character.”
“We don’t have so many newspapers anymore. I always
wanted to do a comic strip, so I could tell stories over time,
but most of the markets these days are for stand-alones.”
“I think you should go for what you want it to be, make
it as good as you can, then worry about finding markets.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m trying to think about too many
things at once.”
We ate our sandwiches in peaceful silence, then The
Original cut an apple up into pieces and we ate that for
desert. “You know, I was thinking about the military
cartoons out there. Doonesbury , he sent BD off to war. In
Jarheads , those boys went off to war. Those were the only
two, though. The rest just had a lot of stale jokes about
peeling potatoes for KP and that tired, old officer-enlisted
shtick.”
I thought about it for a bit, eating my apple wedges.
There was enough funny in a war to make a comic strip. Wry
humor, but real. A strong sense of the ridiculous. More than
enough absurd. I hated to step into politics, though. I could
see how people would want me to come down on either one
side of the line or the other.
I sat up. Wait a minute. I could come down on the side
of the people sent to fight the war. I suspected they had a
Marathon Cowboys | Sarah Black
57
perspective different from the strong right or the strong left. I
could do a comic with a unit at war, and in forty years, they
would probably still be at war. Somewhere. There was always
a war.
“Huh.” I stood up, put my paper plate in the trash can
under the sink. “Can I look at some of your books? I took
some out to the studio last night.”
We sat together on the porch, and I looked at cartoons
from his huge collection. Sometimes he would lean over and
point something out to me, but mostly he just sat with me
and let me think. The really good comics, they were subtle.
They had something to say. They used exaggeration and
caricature in a very quiet way. Most of the really good ones
were daily cartoons, narratives, the old-fashioned newspaper
comic strip.
It was coming clear in my mind, not any specific
content, but what I wanted to aim for. I felt like shadowy
building blocks were rearranging themselves in my mind,
and my cartoon was starting to take shape in my head. I was
pleased. More than pleased. Happiness, excitement were
bubbling up in my stomach. The old man and I, we fit
together. What he had to teach me was just what I needed to
learn, and his style, the quiet way he made a point and then
sat back while I thought about it, was perfect for me. Navajo
men and women, the elders, they taught this same way.
They told a story, and the story had a point, but the person
listening, they had to work out how that story mattered to
them. It
so he can eat?”
“I don’t think so. I’m too tired to deal with him today.
Let him stay out in the studio and play with his paints.”
“Have you seen his paintings?”
He nodded. “Yeah. He’s a genius, Lorenzo. A world-class
genius, a world-class pain in the ass, and it is just my luck
he was born into this family.” He took a big bite of his
sandwich.
“Jesse had this idea, about making the characters in the
cartoon more obvious, like caricatures. Thinks that will get
the point across. Makes it more likely for people to identify
with character types.”
He thought about it, his eyes distant. “Well, people do
recognize caricatures. They’re good for a laugh. It would be
Marathon Cowboys | Sarah Black
56
easy to fall into the habit of making all your characters one-
dimensional, though.”
“I was thinking about Doonesbury . You know that
character BD? He wore his college football helmet—for what,
thirty years? But he was always a fully realized character.”
“It’s easier to do that with a comic strip instead of a
stand-alone. With a strip, you’ve got narrative. That helps
you develop character.”
“We don’t have so many newspapers anymore. I always
wanted to do a comic strip, so I could tell stories over time,
but most of the markets these days are for stand-alones.”
“I think you should go for what you want it to be, make
it as good as you can, then worry about finding markets.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m trying to think about too many
things at once.”
We ate our sandwiches in peaceful silence, then The
Original cut an apple up into pieces and we ate that for
desert. “You know, I was thinking about the military
cartoons out there. Doonesbury , he sent BD off to war. In
Jarheads , those boys went off to war. Those were the only
two, though. The rest just had a lot of stale jokes about
peeling potatoes for KP and that tired, old officer-enlisted
shtick.”
I thought about it for a bit, eating my apple wedges.
There was enough funny in a war to make a comic strip. Wry
humor, but real. A strong sense of the ridiculous. More than
enough absurd. I hated to step into politics, though. I could
see how people would want me to come down on either one
side of the line or the other.
I sat up. Wait a minute. I could come down on the side
of the people sent to fight the war. I suspected they had a
Marathon Cowboys | Sarah Black
57
perspective different from the strong right or the strong left. I
could do a comic with a unit at war, and in forty years, they
would probably still be at war. Somewhere. There was always
a war.
“Huh.” I stood up, put my paper plate in the trash can
under the sink. “Can I look at some of your books? I took
some out to the studio last night.”
We sat together on the porch, and I looked at cartoons
from his huge collection. Sometimes he would lean over and
point something out to me, but mostly he just sat with me
and let me think. The really good comics, they were subtle.
They had something to say. They used exaggeration and
caricature in a very quiet way. Most of the really good ones
were daily cartoons, narratives, the old-fashioned newspaper
comic strip.
It was coming clear in my mind, not any specific
content, but what I wanted to aim for. I felt like shadowy
building blocks were rearranging themselves in my mind,
and my cartoon was starting to take shape in my head. I was
pleased. More than pleased. Happiness, excitement were
bubbling up in my stomach. The old man and I, we fit
together. What he had to teach me was just what I needed to
learn, and his style, the quiet way he made a point and then
sat back while I thought about it, was perfect for me. Navajo
men and women, the elders, they taught this same way.
They told a story, and the story had a point, but the person
listening, they had to work out how that story mattered to
them. It
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