Sketch #2 (Below Sea Level)

A drawing for my graphic novel

I grew up on a lonely hill in Oklahoma, a state that is famously flat. I remember with particular clarity one afternoon when I was a little kid, standing next to my dad who had just introduced me to the concept of being “above sea level.”

“We live on a hill above sea level,” he told me. The term intrigued me. It felt illustrated. Being in a landlocked state, I was obsessed with the mystery of the ocean, the hugeness of it. I wanted to be a marine biologist when I grew up. My middle school guidance counselor gave me a sheet of information about it and everything. It had drawings of starfish and shells as decoration.

“So if the ocean came,” I said, “we would be okay?”

A very “me” question to ask. I was and still am a person with debilitating anxiety, the kind of anxiety that robs minutes from every single day and keeps me from a good deal of things I’d like to do. One of my trademarks is asking ridiculous questions, apocalyptic questions, questions so far afield of any likely outcome that the other person has no choice but to dismiss it, to say, “of course not,” and comfort me.

My dad remains deft at answering these. The other day I asked him, “do you think I’ll lose everything and have to move back to Oklahoma?”

“No, no,” he said.

But also in that question about the sea, I think, was a certain magical realism that appealed to me. The ocean coming straight up to our front door, rays and sharks and jellyfish. I still think of that visual whenever I hear about something being above or below sea level.

This sketch is the first I’m sharing that’s related to my graphic novel project. It’s all still conceptual, but I thought it would be fun to show people a little of what I’m working on. This chapter is about the main character’s first big romance with a guy he meets at a house party in Geronimo, a tiny town in Oklahoma even smaller than his own hometown of Cache.

Unlike me, our protagonist didn’t have a father who was willing to dismiss his son’s wild scenarios to comfort him, telling him instead that if the ocean did come, it would be a disaster for the town, which would be underwater, and even if they did seek refuge in their house, there would be sharks. He cries, which is something I did a whole lot of as a kid as well.

In this drawing, the main character is really falling for this guy, stargazing with him out on his family’s hill. It’s an undercover mission. His parents are asleep inside. Often, in new and passionate dynamics, there’s an eagerness to share every last detail of yourself with the other person.

You want to show them where you grew up. You want to drive by the school you went to and say, “there it is.” Your past, dull and regular, becomes lore. It becomes fascinating. Of course, you want to take them to that hill you know so well, that hill that might as well be you.

But even in the the throes of a wonderful new thing, there lurks a sense of danger. Another human being, despite our best efforts, will always remain a stranger to some degree. Another human being is an ocean. Another human being can never entirely be explored, can never completely be known.

There will always be, in becoming involved with another person, the possibility of apocalypse. The two lovers stargaze at the base of that familiar hill, right where the sharks would be if the ocean really did come. Disaster is never off the table.

I’m really looking forward to sharing more art from my graphic novel. This drawing doesn’t show everything, as there’s a key visual element missing here to the main character that will make more sense later, but little sense out of context. I’m mostly focused on making the proposal at the moment, illustrating and scripting out two chapters so that I can sell the project before finishing it.

Just a reminder that as I work on this, most of the ¡Hola Papi! columns will be for paid subscribers only. I’m publishing one on Wednesday that will be only for paid subscribers, but I will still be publishing at least one free one every month! Your support means the world to me as I further immerse myself in the world of this graphic novel. I won’t be able to pursue many paid writing opportunities like articles or essays while I’m doing this, so signing up for a paid subscription to my column is the best way to do that.

Also, paid subscribers can leave comments and give requests for drawings they’d like me to do or questions they’d like me to answer.

Thank you again, and I can’t wait to have more to share about the graphic novel! I’m spending this week working on fundamentals, like, “drawing realistic knees.”

John Paul