I am singing a song from under your floorboards. My melody stumbles. I scrawl words and scribble silly pictures. They strip away my skin. I'm riding out the tempest. In here it's clear, it's safe. I would never know how to say these things in public; I can barely say them among friends. When I'm cartooning, I can talk about it. Here I am, sifting through it, and it's lovely.

"Sing Into My Mouth" is about two little girls out sneaking out of the house past midnight in the warm summer suburban New Jersey air. They don't know who they are, but what they want is creeping up to them whether they're okay with it or not. And they're usually not. But desire is more powerful than that; the need to be around somebody whose ears and heart are open is greater than the safety of a closed-off bedroom.

This story is about me! Petal and Clover, these "fictional" little girls inhabit one of the stories in Mayflies & Slide Guitars, my new comic book. Petal and Clover are not actually real and yet they feel like my daughters. I love them. In this roundabout way, I love myself. I love all the tiring times I trudged through at their awkward age. When I was writing it, I didn't know it was about me. When I was drawing it, I didn't know it was about me.

What a magical thing! To do what I am doing and not know what it is that I am doing. To be cracking an egg and not to know the yolk until it is totally cooked and I am tasting it myself. It is only when I am imbibing the texture of the dish I've made do I realize what it is I have done. This exploring feeds me: it helps me to wrap my mind around things. I am spelunking through my memories. I traverse the questions: What did that mean to me? Why did I feel that way when she said that? It is not straightforward like I thought. Where are these things bubbling up from?

I'm drawing and I'm writing and I'm figuring it out.