I don’t find artists who are better than me and younger intimidating or discouraging, I think “Man, you have a better shot at my dream job than I do, go get ‘em tiger” And then I try harder to be a better artist.
…but not being sure if you’re ready to start:
NOT HAVING ANYTHING PLANNED
The Avengers’ Day Off by Illustration A Day
It wasn’t the worst truck stop Connor had ever been thrown out of. He was glad it wasn’t one of the main highway ones though, he liked being able to drive without adjusting the route around his ban status. He dusted himself down in the frosty mountain air and crossed the lot to his rig, wanting to get going before the rest of the brawlers finished picking their teeth up.
The kid from the diner was hanging around the forest that ringed the truck stop, just inside the tree line. Figured, there weren’t many places to run to this deep in the countryside, and walking along the highway would almost certainly put him on the same path as the truckers that had been hassling him. He perked up a little when he saw Connor, but hesitated at the edge of the dirt lot. Connor could hear his heart skipping, could practically read his thoughts. Better the thugs you know or the thug you don’t?
Connor kept his face as neutral and non-thuggish as possible, refusing to crack a grin at the scared-rabbit routine. He might be the kid’s one shot out of town, and leaving him here would be worse that if he hadn’t stood up for the kid in the first place.
“Hey,” Connor answered, not looking back. “You coming?”
“Can I? I mean, uh, yeah, if-if that’s cool.”
“It’s cool. Hop in.” Connor hauled himself up and popped the passenger door open as the kid darted around. A snuffling noise from the back had him frowning. “You’re okay with dogs, right?”
“You have a dog?!”
Guess that answered that.
“Hello! Oh wow you’re a big boy! Look at you with your fluffy head and your waggy tail! Whoosagoodboy?”
“I regret this already,” Connor groaned. “Kid, meet Krypto. Krypto, meet…?”
The kid looked up from where he was pinned to the seat, grinning sheepishly as his face was slobbered on by the giant white dog. “Uh, Bart. Hi.”
“Hi Bart, I’m Connor. Buckle up, we’re out of here.”
“Thank god, I thought I was gonna get murdered and buried in the Canadian outback.”
Bart’s tone switched from ‘enthusiastic conversationalist’ to ‘seasoned chatterbox’ as he strapped himself in and launched into an introduction. Connor could almost hear his voice box shifting gears and braced himself for a deluge of information as he steered the rig out onto the highway. At least the damn dog wasn’t trying to crawl into his lap while he drove, content to stay on Bart’s feet where the pettings were forthcoming.
This could work.
sometimes I use the phrase “headcanon” when referring to my own work before remembering that I control what canon is
Afraid. Definitely afraid. I mean if I’m the only one, what’s so special about me? Am I just crazy? And if I’m not the only one… what the hell is going on?
…I can’t feel my face.
I take it as a positive sign that he’s in the hospital recovering from injuries instead of being dragged out of a cloning tank and put straight into the field.
…I take it as a less than positive sign that he could be recovering from a brain-swapping lobotomy with his clone.