New Yorker Rejects #6

The Death of Ivan Ilyich is a story about a guy who falls off his chair and dies. But he doesn't die right away, it actually takes him several months. There's some vague internal injury that slowly gets worse and worse. He's in agony by the end, screaming and railing against his misfortune and begging to get out of it and all that. But then he dies.

This isn't a spoiler, Tolstoy pretty much says the same thing in the first little chapter of his book.¹ It's the difference between what the man strove for his whole life, and what he asks for in the moment just before his death that makes this one of the greatest novellas ever written. Now giving away that would be a spoiler, so I'm just going to let you experience it for yourself if you'd like to.

Besides, what's the point of trying to recreate Tolstoy? I mean, he was a good writer, but could he draw? Did he ever get a cartoon into The New Yorker?

I'm in no position to speak, I haven't either! In fact, I've just had my sixth batch of cartoons rebuffed. Each time I announce my rejections, people express disappointment on my behalf, which is so funny, because it's the opposite of how I actually feel. If I'm being very honest, I don't actually care if I ever get a cartoon into The New Yorker. Drawing cartoons is one of the most fun things I can possibly do, and the fact that I get to do it at all and share them with my small audience of Squatchheads is a tremendous gift already.

So look, I hope you do like them. My guess is that if you're reading this far you either have a boring job or are one of my aunts. In either case I appreciate you so much that I'm going through all the trouble of submitting these silly drawings to The New Yorker over and over again so that you can say you were one of the early believers. Cartooning is a wonderful art form, but it takes someone reading to make it worthwhile. Thanks for being part of it.

Now, onto the cartoons.

Do you ever just feel like a blip?

Or like you should probably be slowing down a little?

Maybe you find yourself self-diagnosing some mental health disorder.

Or noticing a lack of impulse control?

Because if your hard work doesn't seem to be paying off as fast as you want it to...

I'd just like to tell you that I appreciate you being here with me. Your time is worthwhile.

Blip.

This post is in honor of my father in law, David Judkins Weaver, one of the first to publicly announce support for my cartoons, something I consider a great honor based on the inferiority of my early work. He passed away last week, but not before reuniting with his beloved family at a wedding. He also delivered this message, when I asked him what advice he might want to give to the newlyweds: calmly and confidently, he answered, "don't miss out." Thank you David, for being here.

1. I mean, it's called The DEATH of Ivan Ilyich. And it came out 138 years ago, hellooooooooooooo!