The clock started ticking and already there was trouble.

My brilliant attempt to save time, handling lettering and panel border chores on the computer, backfired.  The printer was jamming, having difficulty with the card stock.  Precious minutes floated away as I attempted to baby the paper through.  Finally, over 15 minutes in, my first page, prepared with lettering and panel borders, was out of the printer, so I began to draw.

Trouble on that front, too.  I had a last second change of heart on the Sharpies and began with the brush.  No good.  All of my brushes were too thick, with the exception of the liner I used for last year's comic, which was too old and ragged.  Also, the ink decided it didn't want to behave.  After laying down a few strokes, it was obvious that my original thought was the way to go: all pen and marker this year.

Panicking, I rushed to complete page 1 and wound up with a page that looked a bit more like something that I might have produced at hour 20 or so.  That's the way the cookie crumbles, I guess.  No time for re-dos.  Still, I was optimistic.  I had a story to tell and a long way yet to go.  I recorded my video entry and it was time for page 2.

Page 2, same problem: printer jam.  Lost time.  Rushed art.  I was already nearly half an hour behind.

On page 3, I got to the bottom of the problem: the tray was overloaded and the paper was having difficulty spitting it out.  For the first time, I genuinely saved a little time with the computer method of lettering and drawing panel borders.  Things were looking up.

Throughout the first 10 or 12 hours, I experienced something very different from last year: I was actually enjoying myself a little.  Maybe I was slightly better prepared and knew what I was in for this time around.  Maybe the single-page strips I'd been producing the past few months had put me into more of a comics mindset and I didn't feel as if I were duking it out with each and every panel.  Maybe I was a year and a half older and wiser and I'm better at stopping and smelling the flowers.  I don't know.  Whatever the case, I found myself jazzed by each bit of dialog, each new camera angle.  A bit like the old Batman vs. Joker stories I used to do on notebook paper when I was wee, I was enjoying the magic.

Not that there weren't plenty of speed bumps.  There's a bit of a disconnect when doing all lettering and panel borders ahead of time, before a single line of actual art has been laid down.  I was forced to imagine where my characters would live in each panel, how each balloon would connect to each mouth ahead of time.  Every so often, my lettering layouts would produce the old left-right dialogue problem.

(In a nutshell, you typically want the first character who’s speaking in a comic panel to be positioned on the left, associating him or her with his dialogue balloon, also on the left out of necessity.  Sometimes, though, the first character speaking can’t or shouldn’t be on the left for whatever layout reason, causing crossed balloon connectors and confused readers.  These issues are much easier to resolve with a pencil in hand, rather than staring at a blank screen, text tool poised, in Adobe Illustrator.  I wound up sending a few fully-pencilled pages back through the printer with adjusted lettering, then whiting out the old lettering with the opaque.  A time hassle, but whatever.)

The story was a lot to juggle, too.  A 24 hour comic is frenzied enough without having to deal with a cast of seven different characters, all with liquid identities.  Those “introduction” panels I did with the black backgrounds and the names of the characters at the bottom?  Those were as much for me to keep things straight as they were for the reader.  More than once, I had to refer back to page two to remind myself who was Megan and who was Courtney.

Carey, my wife, was a gem.  She brought in a constant supply of meals, drinks and snacks and encouraged me with each page.  She read pages as I finished them and even convinced me that she was excited to see what happened next.  My mom called with well wishes, as did my sister.  My friends, Joe and Rebecca, stopped by with cookies (and they were even kind enough to grab a little video while they were here. Regard below.)

My family and friends are the greatest.

The end approached and, as expected, frustration and panic took over.  I started feeling nauseated and exhausted.  The camera required maintenance, eating much-needed minutes.  Video updates became short and grumpy (“I’m a half hour behind.  I’m really tired.  Gotta go.”).

Before I knew it, it was 7:30 AM and I was only beginning the final page.  “I may not do it,” I thought.  “I may not make it this year.”  I laid down the lines furiously, looking up to my cell phone clock every minute and a half as the minutes slipped away.

And, as I wrote “Jeremy Bear 2006” at the bottom of the page, I glanced up to see 7:59 change to 8:00.

Pencils and pens down, people.  Time for bed.

Inspect the damage later.