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Hi, I’m a book professional-slash-dabbler-in-everything-else in New York City. Thanks for visiting my portfolio. The creations and projects here were created and are copyrighted by me. You’ll find short stories and novels, podcasts and videos, drawings and animation, and, yes, even papier-mâché. On the “Blog” tab, you’ll find the miscellaneous and works in progress (WIP). If you like something I’ve made, why not leave a comment?
Some things about me: I’m about 28-years-old and am from Wisconsin. I like scary stories and good art. I drink Irish breakfast and chai lattes. My favorite color is orange, and not in a passive, adult way. I play the guitar. I collect hats. I wish I had a pet ibex.
Library Journal, Jan. 22
Read It Forward, Jan. 28
Hyperallergic, Jan. 22
Vice, Jan. 14
Slate, Dec. 14
The Globe and Mail, Dec. 18
Print magazine, Dec. 7
The Boston Globe, Dec. 5
I edited this new book trailer.
I put us on Medium.
I tried a new technique this time: using light colored markers rather than pencil and just going darker and darker. I tried to exaggerate more this time, to avoid making a cartoon portraiture, but some of the likeness suffered for that. This is Scottish comedian Stephen Carlin.
I’m excited to announce that I’m working on a sketchbook for the Sketchbook Project, which is a library of 32,000+ sketchbooks housed in the Brooklyn Arts Library in Williamsburg. Anyone, for free, can stop by the library and look at sketchbooks made by people from around the world. Anyone, for a price, can buy their empty sketchbook and fill it out by their deadline to be included in their library. For an additional price, they can get their book digitized where anyone, for free, can browse sketchbooks online from home.
My sketchbook is due in April. It will be a hand drawn collection of British popular science programs, to be used in conjunction with Anglonerd.com. Here is a preview of some of the drawings.
The first draft of the second scene of my new writing project (book? novella?) New York, After All.
Looking back, I suppose the explosion should have been a dead giveaway that something was wrong. It was March 2015. I was working at a newspaper in the East Village. My bagel guy had gotten my regular order wrong for the first time in four years, and I remember thinking that it was a sign of End Times when something went BANG! and some cups fell off a shelf.
At first, no one reacted more than to glance out the window. It was that sort of place. There was always some lunatic shouting outside our front door or a street fair on fire. If you let yourself get caught up in other people’s problems, you’d never get anything done. This was New York, after all.
I checked the Internet to see what the noise was all about, and then there were six Asian men standing outside my window. They didn’t speak much English, but we decided they’d probably climbed out their fire escape and got trapped in our courtyard. We helped them crawl through the window.
Red liquid leaked in from the cracked skylight. One of us had to go up and check for bodies. We drew straws. Actually, we drew stir sticks. They came in every color and size, swiped from different cafes, ever since HR cut our coffee fund in 2013. I drew the short stir stick.
Our upstairs tenant let me onto her balcony. She said she wouldn’t go out herself because of terrorists. This was New York, after all. I looked down over the railing at our red-spattered skylight. There were no bodies, just paper containers and wooden sticks everywhere. I looked at the building across the courtyard. It blurred in a fog, but I couldn’t see the fire from the back.
“What’s that building?” I asked.
“Chinese food place,” our tenant said.
Sweet and sour sauce.
We were sent home because of the poisonous gases, and after a two-week swab by a hazmat cleaning crew, we never spoke of the explosion again. We should have seen the leaky gas lines underneath the Chinese food place as an early symptom of a decaying infrastructure, but that was the sort of place this was. Things broke all the time. It was the sort of place that needed a fuse flipped every time someone made a pot of coffee. It was the sort of place where rain trickled in through the light fixtures. It was the sort of place where all the doorknobs were loose, so we were forever stuck in and out of hallways and bathrooms. Because this had been the normal state of things for years, when the city started to fall apart, we were the last to notice.
Canadian comedian Tony Law
Materials: Staedtler pigment liner, black; Copic sketch markers, grays C-00 through C-10; Drewent Watercolour 12 watercolor colored pencils, black and yellow; Prismacolor Premier art marker, red; Pentel Arts Aquash Brush; Photoshop paintbrush, yellow and fleshtone.
This is the first draft of the first scene of a brand new writing project (a book? a novella?) I’m working on titled New York, After All.
Next, the plunger went missing. This was a problem because of the octopus lodged in the sink. I went to find Daniel in Production because I’d seen him carrying around the drippy plunger yesterday, but when I asked where he’d put it, he said he hadn’t put it anywhere.
“Then that’s the problem,” I said.
Pamela in Pre-press wanted to know why there was an octopus in the drain in the first place, and Daniel thought maybe the ocean had become so toxic that the sea creatures were moving inland. Brenda in Marketing said she’d thrown out the plunger this morning on account of us not having running water anyway. I said what if they turn the water back on, and she said, “Don’t be stupid.”
Daniel told her to go take her anti-depressants, and Todd the Publisher came over to ask why the hell we were all just standing around and didn’t we know if we didn’t go to press in half an hour, we’d miss The Truck and be forced to deliver the magazine to every shop in New York by hand? He threatened to assign us chatterboxes to deliver in Brooklyn. We got back to work. None of us wanted to go to Brooklyn.