I recently read the assertion that my work has benefited from a moderating guidance by fans.
I blew a portion of just-imbibed coffee out my nose – fortunately it was tepid – and thought to myself, upon recovering, that the statement, if nugatory in all other respects, did contribute toward a good nasal wash.
There is one reason why I would as lief submit, lashed to a telephone pole, to hernia surgery with a crochet hook, than subject my work to husbandry by any group: Those who gravitate to my comic art, day after day, do so impelled by a desire to see what my mind has produced for entertainment. It is an issue of trust that I must provide my own ideas, executed my own damn way, for good or bad, undiluted, uncorrupted by any other voice. Art by democracy – other than being a disastrously jejune and fatuous idea – would amount to a dereliction of duty to my reader.
When you seek out my work, you will receive my efforts – mine always and only.
If you want something produced by a herd, expect manure.