New Yorker Rejects #8

Can you feel Fall in the air? I certainly can. Much like the dropping of withered leaves, my rejected cartoons are suddenly piling up in the gutter, asphalt-soaked and ripe for decay. Except

Pant Pant Sigh

The x-rays were really bad. Much worse than expected. When I had picked Wrigley's chart from the rack of veterinary emergency patients, I have to admit, I wasn't in

Let's Be Honest

This must be terrible for you, I'm so sorry. I have some guesses about how you're feeling: anxious, fearful, lost, pained. I would be too, if I were in

New Yorker Rejects #7

Every now and then, an informal meeting of Portland-based, professional cartoonists takes place here in town. And I get an invite. It's not like it's an official thing, but

Belly of the Beast

About a month ago, my seven-year-old son jumped into the ocean for the first time. Jumped in, not waded in. Not got up to his waist and then ran back squealing away from