A year ago today, Christmas Eve 2019, I started penciling the Outskirts fantasy historical fiction graphic novel. I thumbnailed the script a few weeks before and sat at the drawing table on the first day of my holiday break.
Since then, the comic has gone through two drafts and a color layer. This isn't the first page of the comic any more. This is.
I played with breaking panel borders and slowing the movement of the story slightly. But this is still a recap of the first Outskirts issues, where we meet the Ladies of the Lake. But this comic expands that premise a lot.
I haven't worked on one story this much. It's been literal years. I hope I can craft a final product that shows the time and consideration. But I am hobbled by constant internal comparisons. "It doesn't look like this artist or that artist." It makes me question the work, but I can't redo the story infinitely. It has to be released into the wild. And then I can work on the next story.
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