Evidently the German troops thought the British plum jam was a delicacy.
The British despised it; it was a food joke in their army. On the other hand, the Germans got tired of their sausages and hard bread.
In North Africa, believe it or not, the German rations often consisted of sardines. Or spaghetti. As a side-note, the Russians use caviar as army rations. Or they used to. I don’t know if they still do.
It’s kinda fun drawing tanks and stuff.
And having enemies talking to each other. I really love culture clash.
There are times when we just want to be part of any family but our own.
I was using Rotring® pens back then, fine and medium drawing points. I need to find the same ink, again — or finally break down and get an IPad. But I’ve just never found anything that can keep up with me. ‘puters are just so SLOW.
I spent hours trying to find a term for this sort of rock. This was in pre-internet days, when we had to thumb through books we’d guessed at, at the library. I think this one was in Rommel’s diary. Or — no, wait – Lawrence of Arabia. But don’t quote me. Can imagine the terms for soil I could find now?
I’ve been arguing about what makes genre vs. novel with a reader; perhaps it’s the amount of copy-work in a book. Is research genre? A true novel is all out of the writer’s experience.
Fap. I always said that if I started talking about writing instead of doing it, shoot me in my little head. These blogs are about talking about it. Which is annoying.
What’s nice about looking at these lines is I’m trying to draw on the Wacom Bamboo, and it’s almost making me want to go ahead and get an IPad. No, it’s NOT the equivalent of a Cintiq, but for linework? People say, “How do you transfer files from an IPad to other devices?
Gmail.
(Who else thinks the inability of an IPad to transfer with a cheap USB cord is DISGUSTING? I mean, little mettle points? PLEASE).
The guy I feel sorry for is Erwin’s adjutant, there.
This is just so militarily — IMPROPER.
Most armies were like Victorian debutantes, until the American model became the steroid-junky sports jock.
Sorry if I have my preference.
Ooh. I really love the line in this one. I used to think this was a bad one.
This is why I don’t like straight-edges; no emotional quality. And what ARE humans but little bundles of emotions?
I think the tank is thinking about chugging backwards.
Sometimes you have to chew things over with yourself before you can reconcile both sides of your own mind. Comics are so much fun — it lets us illustrate this literally. With our little bottle of ink or pixel stylus, we are masters of the universe. Bwa ha ha.
I have to admit I was thinking of Ray Bradbury’s bone short story when I showed the Peach munching calcium.
Re the anti-French comment: I was delighted to hear David Simon on the Treme commentary warning viewers that characters don’t always express what the writer believes. Characters lie, harbor prejudices, gossip, get confused, get it wrong. You have to watch what they do, not what they say.
I’m glad I don’t have genre readers — you people GET this. You’re just smarter. But you don’t herd. Note: Now everybody go tell the editors at Simon and Schuster you MUST have these books collected!
OOh he is mad. OOOH he is so mad.
The “tiny” thing is a writer game — once an idea gets into a writer’s head, s/he start playing with all the levels.
A Sherlock Holmes genre book I’m reading got going on the idea that somebody is as agile as an orangutan, and started adding all kinds of simian references, even to the point of dragging knuckles. This was the kind of game Doyle played himself, including, as in this book, wild use of verbs. Kids think Doyle was a serious writer; as we get older, we begin to realize he’s one of England’s funniest — and dryest — comedy writers.
Sorry about no blog for yesterday until today. Centurylink in Washington State down again; while WordPress has a tendency to wipe entries, I’ll have to keep a couple in ahead of time, for contingencies. We don’t scream at technology any more; it can’t hear us anyway, and it has no feelings to be hurt.
Pointing is rude. And leads in magic, good or bad.
Saw a Makah girl near the Neah Bay beach, watching eagles gobble up fish leavings, slap down a friend’s pointing hand and hiss,”Don’t point at an eagle!”
I like the drawings in this issue a lot better than when I did them. I always do.
The Peach is tough. He can take a hit.
This was fun to draw. Really fun.
According to those who ride around on ‘em, a working battle tank stinks of everything that runs it — and that it’s run over or had splat against it. After awhile the lines go all soft and squidgy, from collisions, filth, and junk strapped aboard. Add glop and slop. Throw away the straight-edge.
My dad said you should never use a straight-edge for an airplane in flight, either; according to him, EVERYTHING bows out of line. He liked my airplanes. Was very proud of that.
