“But Pen & Ink is a small business,” I explain. “That’s why Bev paid me in pens.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed your twenty pieces of silver!” says Tammy dramatically.
“Thirty,” says Dad.
“What?” says Tammy.
“Judas betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, not twenty. If that’s what you’re on about.”
Honestly, whose side is he on? I didn’t betray anyone. I don’t think. Certainly not on purpose, anyway.
“Does it matter?” asks Tammy.
“What’s all this noise?” My mum enters the kitchen through the back door carrying food shopping. “I can hear you outside.”
“Accuracy always matters,” mumbles my dad. Then, more brightly, “Anyone for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” says Mum.
“No pieces of silver changed hands,” I say. “It was really more of a favour if anything.”
“Have you heard about this?” Tammy demands of Mum. “Your middle child is selling her soul. She’s advertising.”
“I have heard about it,” says Mum, starting to unpack the shopping. “And I do think you were a bit foolish, Jessica,” she tells me.
“Thank you,” says Tammy smugly.
“Really?” I ask Mum.
“Yes,” says Mum. “You didn’t even try to negotiate. You should have spoken to me or your dad. Never accept a first offer.”
“What!” cries Tammy, outraged. “I’m not complaining that she didn’t get adequately remunerated for her endorsements. I’m saying she shouldn’t have done them at all.”
“Oh, right,” says Mum.
I hate fighting with Tammy. It doesn’t happen very often and I’m suddenly worried I might cry. I don’t know if Tammy notices my face change, but she suddenly says, “Look, Jess, I’m not having a go at you.” Which nearly makes me burst into hysterical laughter.
“Well, you could have fooled me,” I mutter.
“Look, it’s just…” Tammy pauses, evidently thinking carefully about what to say. “I’m against the entire ethos of advertising. And it’s important for you to think through how what seem like small decisions you make on the spur of the moment can impact on lots of other, bigger, things.”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I yelled at you. I just felt so disappointed at the idea of you using your talent to go against everything I believe in. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. And ultimately it’s up to you what you do.”
“OK,” I say, still a bit confused. I mean, I hadn’t completely thought of it like that before.
“But please don’t grow up and go and work in advertising,” Tammy adds.
“Unless it’s advertising for charities,” says Dad jovially.
Honestly, the modern world is a minefield. So it’s OK to advertise a good cause but not stationery. But I think stationery is a good cause. I really like stationery.
“Is that why you came over here, Tammy?” asks Mum, putting shopping haphazardly away. “To rain on Jessica’s parade?”
“What? No, and I’ve just apologised to Jessica,” says Tammy indignantly.
Huh, has she? Well, I suppose she sort of has. I guess I’ll take it.
“Just come to spend a nice family Sunday with us then, have you?” asks Dad, chuckling.
“Good one,” chuckles Mum, as Dad hands her a cup of tea.
“No, actually I’ve come to tell Mum about developments with her food blog,” says Tammy.
“Oh yes?” Mum sits at the table with her tea and Tammy sits down opposite her. “I’ve been looking at the stats, the way you showed me,” says Mum. “They’re going up all the time.”
“Yes, it’s going really well,” agrees Tammy. “Just like I said it would.”
“I’ve been updating it with more recipes, and replying to comments and questions,” says Mum. “There’s been quite a lot of them too actually.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” says Tammy. “Would you be interested in giving a talk?”
“What kind of talk?” says Dad. “Your mother isn’t into rabble-rousing, as you well know.”
“Says Tree Man!” I can’t help but refer to Dad’s time as an activist.
“Don’t be cheeky, Jessica,” says Mum. “Yes, what kind of talk?” she asks Tammy.
“It’s a support group for single parents and low-income families,” says Tammy. “At the community centre. There’ll be other speakers as well. You’ll just have to talk for fifteen to twenty minutes about cooking and eating healthily on a reduced budget.”
“Is that not a bit … patronising?” asks Mum carefully.
“Well, it might be if you hadn’t lived through it yourself,” says Tammy. “Believe me, people want to know this stuff. You must have noticed you get the same questions coming up again and again on the blog?” Mum nods. “Well, you’re just going to answer those questions all at once to a room full of people.”
“So it’ll be a Q and A session?” asks Dad, enjoying bringing some management-speak into the conversation.
“At the end,” says Tammy. “If you could just condense your best tips, your cheapest or easiest meals, and chat about those for ten minutes, then we’ll open it up to the floor for questions. I’ve been to these things before, Mum. They’re nice, honestly.”
“Hmmm,” says Mum. “I’m not sure.”
“You can do it,” I say to her encouragingly. “You can teach a room full of strangers how to eat gone-off kidney beans.”
“There was nothing wrong with those kidney beans, Jessica,” says Mum huffily. “I sniffed them and they were fine. None of us got sick, did we?”
“That’s the spirit,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing they want to hear,” says Dad.
“Actually it is,” says Tammy. “That will make everyone feel loads better about themselves. Definitely mention any disasters too. That’ll be funny and break the ice.”
“I can write you a list if you like?” I offer.
Mum laughs and tells me I’m cheeky. Then she affectionately ruffles my hair. “OK, I’ll do it.” She really is in a good mood these days.
“Let me know if you need any tips on public speaking and the fame game,” I tell her. “I’m a dab hand these days.”
Later, as I’m helping Mum put the bins out, we bump into our next-door neighbours, the VanDerks, tidying their front lawn. I’m worried this will seriously impact upon my mum’s good mood.
“Hello there!” Mr VanDerk waves and turns off his leaf blower.
“Get ready for a lot of hot air!” Mum says to me, just as the noise of the machine cuts out. I fight a mad urge to giggle.
“Sorry?” says Mr VanDerk, frowning.
“Your leaf blower,” explains Mum. “It must be full of hot air.”
“Well, no,” says Mr VanDerk. “It’s cold air, actually.”
Mum and I laugh. I love this happy side of my mum. She’s carefree and cheeky, and doesn’t care what the neighbours think. She’s basically Auntie Joan. I can see how they’re sisters now. (Other than because they both like shouting so much.)
“So how’s things?” Mum asks obligingly, as both VanDerks step over to us.
“Oh, very good, thanks,” says Mrs VanDerk. “I’ve been baking cakes to help raise money for the Anti-Graffiti League. They’ve been going down a treat. Of course none of them are green.”
Both VanDerks look at me and chortle. Honestly. My green cake fiasco was two years ago. Move on, people. I’m an Internet sensation now. Please react accordingly.
“Yep,” smiles Mr VanDerk, putting his arm around his wife. “She’s quite the domestic goddess,” he simpers.
“How lovely,” says Mum. “Me too!”
“Sorry?” Both VanDerks look a bit cross.
“I’ve become a bit of a domestic goddess myself,” explains Mum. “I’ve got my own website with recipes I invented. And people seem to be going nuts for them.”
&nb
sp; “You?” Mrs VanDerk can’t quite seem to hide her disdain.
“That’s right.” Mum nods. “I’m doing a talk about it soon at the community centre.”
“How extraordinary,” says Mr VanDerk.
“You?” repeats Mrs VanDerk, apparently discombobulated by this turn of events. Mum nods again, smiling.
I notice Mum has neglected to mention the budget angle of her new-found cooking fame and success. It definitely sounds more glamorous that way, more domestic goddess-y. But then she blows it.
“Well, must be getting on,” says Mum. “Those soya chunks aren’t going to soak themselves in lightly salted water.”
The VanDerks both pull slightly disgusted faces as they are forced to picture our dinner.
“Cheerio,” manages Mrs VanDerk.
“What a world,” says Mr VanDerk.
“Good news, everyone!” I greet Joshua, Tanya and Lewis by the comfy chairs in the Quiet Reading Area as usual.
“Oh yes?” says Tanya.
“Um, hang on, shouldn’t we finish what we were talking about before Jessica interrupts?” says Lewis. He definitely dislikes me more than he used to. But I think the feeling is probably mutual.
“Nah.” Tanya waves a dismissive hand at Lewis. “If Toons says she has good news, I wanna hear it now.” I knew there was a reason Tanya is a great friend. Stuff like this.
“OK.” I sit down, nodding my thanks to Tanya. “I’ve been invited to be part of an event at the comic shop in our town. Which means we’ve been invited. Let’s plan a strategy to launch the comic there!”
“Oh my God!” Tanya actually hugs me. And she’s really not a hugs kind of girl. She must be super-pleased about this. I knew she would be.
“Whoa!” Joshua is impressed. “You’ve been invited to take part in this?” He pulls a leaflet out of his school bag. It has “Comic-tacular” written on it in comic-type lettering.
“Yeah, cool,” I say. “You already know about it?”
“Of course I do,” says Joshua. “I’m a regular at Big Dave’s comic shop.”
“Excellent,” says Tanya. “You’re our man on the inside. What’s the lie of the land?”
“Big Dave hates children,” says Joshua. “He blanks anyone who even looks under the age of twelve. He just won’t answer your questions. Sometimes he points by way of an answer. I think he’s been forced to start staging kid-friendly events because of the recession. He won’t be happy about it.”
“Interesting,” says Tanya. “Let’s see this leaflet. Who else is going to be there?”
“Some quite good people, actually,” says Joshua. “Big Dave does know everyone. They’ll definitely be queuing to get this guy’s autograph.” Joshua points at a name on the leaflet as he hands it to Tanya.
“I can’t see you in this, Toons?” Tanya studies the leaflet, turning it over.
“I’m other guests yet to be announced,” I say. “Someone called Miriam, who is helping Big Dave, said they want to do a quick interview with me about why I like drawing cartoons, how I got into it and what it was like to go viral.”
“I wonder why they booked you?” says Lewis.
“Excuse me?” I say. Did I not literally just explain this?
“Well, I mean, you just drew a dolphin. It’s not like you’re a big comic person.”
“Two dolphins,” I correct him. “Talking to each other with a speech bubble.”
“And she is a big comic person,” corrects Tanya. “We’re launching our comic, you daft wally.”
“And,” I add, “Miriam said it’s because lots of the kids who buy comics want to draw comics too, and it might be nice for them to hear from someone successful near their own age.” Do I sound a bit haughty? Hmmm.
“Anyway,” says Joshua, clearly thinking I do. “We need to think about how we do this.”
“I have an idea,” I say.
“All ears, Toons,” says Tanya. “You’ve got the floor.”
“OK,” I say. “At the moment our comic is – understandably – very school-focused.”
“Obviously,” says Lewis.
“So if we were to try to, for example, sell it in a comic shop, most people wouldn’t get half the references.”
“True,” agrees Joshua.
“My solution to this problem,” I reveal, “is we should make a best of.”
“A best of?” asks Lewis, screwing his face up unnecessarily.
I ignore him. “We’ve got loads of brilliant jokes and comic strips that don’t mention the school at all. We should make a compilation of the very best ones, like a calling card. It will be our sales pitch and our product in one. A best of.”
“That is brilliant, Toons,” says Tanya, clapping me on the back and making me cough.
“It’s a really good idea,” agrees Joshua.
“Hmmmm,” says Lewis thoughtfully, though he can’t seem to find fault with it.
“Right,” says Joshua. “So what goes in?”
“Definitely Roland the slightly rubbish superhero,” says Lewis. “That doesn’t mention school at all.”
“Good call,” agrees Tanya.
“We’ll have to decide on two or three of the best Rolands,” I say. They nod.
“Jess, that cartoon you did of the bee and the wasp having an argument is perfect,” says Joshua.
“Definitely,” agrees Tanya.
“Yeah, it is actually,” says Lewis.
And just like that, somehow we are all partaking in teamwork. Phew.
After a lengthy debate, we agree on two Roland strips, my cartoon about the bee and the wasp, and various other bits and pieces that best represent what we can do, giving all the different flavours. Now all we need to do is get them arranged on the pages and printed nicely.
Oh my God, oh my God, I’m about to step out in front of an audience in the comic shop and talk about cartoons! Oh my God. It’s going to be fine. It’s definitely going to be fine. Definitely.
“Please welcome Jessica Morris!” I hear Miriam’s voice, and step out from behind the little curtain to polite applause.
This is phase one of the cunning plan that Tanya has put together. I’m not completely sure about it. Though, to be fair, phase two is where things get scary.
Phase one is simple: Miriam interviews me for five minutes and I try to mention the comic as much as possible. I’ve been coached in this by Tanya, and I just have to “not take no for an answer” when trying to crowbar in the comic.
Then, once I’ve brilliantly set the scene with constant comic references, comes phase two. Joshua, Tanya and Lewis will burst out surprisingly and reveal that our comic is available to buy NOW! And at such low, low prices.
Like I said, I’m not sure about it.
I sit on the stool opposite Miriam. There’s a picture of my dolphin cartoon blown up on a projector screen behind us.
“So, Jessica, thank you for being here with us today,” says Miriam. “How did it feel when your cartoon got shared by thousands of people on the Internet and went viral?”
“Amazing,” I say. “Nearly as amazing as the feeling of when I launched my own comic with some friends at school.” Miriam nods. Tanya gives me a thumbs-up from the audience.
“Wonderful. And what made you decide to draw the cartoon? Is the environment something close to your heart? Have you been inspired by reading Captain Planet comics? Or Aquaman protecting the sea? Or even Swamp Thing defending the forests?”
There are some chuckles from the audience at these references.
“Um, kind of,” I say. “It was my sister who wanted me to draw it. She’s an activist. But I do care about global warming as well, and we are probably the last generation that can do anything about it.”
I glance across the room and catch Tanya’s eye. She gestures with her hand for me to keep talking, so I add, “But normally I draw funny cartoons about my school, with my friends that I run my comic with.”
Miriam ignores this. “And how do you sit down to draw a
cartoon?”
“Well, if it’s for my comic, sometimes we all sit down together and brainstorm ideas––”
“No,” Miriam interrupts. “How do you come up with ideas? We don’t want to hear about your friends. You’re the star here today.”
“Oh, um.” I can’t help but feel flattered. I’m the star here today. I mean, we all heard the lady. And at least Tanya and the others are here to witness first-hand how difficult it can be to keep talking about something if people aren’t interested in it.
And did I mention, I’m the star? I can’t let my public down. The people need answers. I launch into an explanation about how I sit at my desk thinking, and kind of let my brain go into freefall by asking myself questions about what certain ideas might look like.
“That’s very interesting,” proclaims Miriam. “That will probably be very useful for anyone here today who has ever struggled to come up with new ideas.” We both look at the audience. Some of them are nodding. Wow, I’m interesting. To upwards of three people. But still, three people!
We carry on chatting for a bit longer, and I make a couple more half-hearted attempts to crowbar in the comic, but to be honest, I’m sort of enjoying talking about myself.
As we get towards the end of our conversation, I catch Tanya’s frantic face, so I ask if I can add something, and Miriam says yes.
“As a special exclusive to Comic-tacular, I’d like to announce the launch of the Hellfern comic! Ta da!”
At this, Joshua and Lewis appear from nowhere, holding a small stack of the new best of edition.
“At low, low prices!” I add, trying not to look at Miriam. “A special introductory rate.”
Miriam stares at me incredulously then says to the audience, “OK, we’re going to take a short break now.”
My Great Success and Other Failures Page 7