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readingwebcomics · 5 years

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Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 1-50

And so it begins.

The very first comic of Questionable Content, posted way back in 2003 and what would eventually be Jeff Jacques’ claim to fame, the reason why everyone remembers his name and what has made him a wealthy man today.

…’s alright.

Of course, by modern standards it’s not very good. This was the early 2000s, the wild west of online artists who had nothing more than an art creation software and a dream. The Webcomic Review has a VERY good post about it right here, which explains what the landscape of webcomics were like around this time and why exactly Marten has a pet robot (tl;dr, EVERYONE had a pet robot in ye early days of webcomics because Megatokyo).

But aside from the… awkward art, this comic at least serves to set up the protagonist (as far as we’re aware right now, we’ll get into the roles of protagonists in QC later). He’s a lanky, assumedly average guy who hates where he is in life but doesn’t know what else to do or even where else to go…

…as he goes on to spell out two comics later. He’s unassuming, not really much you can say for or against him, miserable and stuck in a rut in his life that he’s too scared to escape. Sooo basically, freshly graduated college students – the exact kind of audience a RomCom like this would go after.

Oh, did I forget to mention?

Yeah, QC started off as a RomCom.

This young woman is Faye, and she immediately cuts through the bullshit with an aggressive but to-the-point introduction of herself and her intentions.

While aggressive and to-the-point, she’s also set up as someone who meshes with Marten and Steve’s interests well enough and quickly makes friends. This is probably best exemplified in the seventh page, which serves two purposes:

Purpose the First: Showcase Marten and Faye have a shared niche interest, immediately establishing chemistry between the two of them. Be it platonic or romantic, they’re quickly hitting it off and, being a RomCom, will serve as the first rope potential shippers can grasp onto.

Purpose the Second: Jeff is a MASSIVE indie music nerd and he wants the fucking world to know it.

Also Pintsize is there doing funny robot things because 2003 webcomic.

It’s not long before this initial relationship is set up that two issues serve to sew the seeds of initial conflict:

This, likewise, serves two purposes: To show where Faye works and create a believable life for her to exist in when she’s not in the story with Marten, and as previously stated to sew potential romantic conflicts in the future. Jeff employs this tactic many-a-time throughout the course of Questionable Content, beginning a conflict and letting the implications sit with the reader while life goes on in the regular comics. Is this good writing? I honestly can’t say. Is it always done well? Oh good God no, some plot beats are outright dropped or left to sit for so long the reader straight-up forgets it’s there with this method. But does Jeff make it work? It’s all on personal taste I’d say, but personally it sits well with me.

Also, for those of you wondering why it looks like the word “hump” is just pasted onto the text bubble in post… well it was. The original comic implied sexual assault much more overtly, using the R-word instead of “hump.”

*Away from mic* Wait, can-can I say [NOPE]? Better not to risk it? Alright, fair ‘nuff.

But yeah, this was pointed out by readers to be pretty fucked up and it was swiftly changed, for good reason.

Later that night, Faye asks Marten to dinner with her. Platonically, of course. And here I believe I should point out the dynamic of their relationship as it stands – Faye is the aggressor. Marten is basically a doormat. Whenever something happens, Faye is always the instigator, be it going out to dinner or tagging along with him when he’s getting shopping done. This will feed into their relationship dynamic and sets up a decent inter-personal conflict: Marten is far too passive to reach out to Faye and make the move to start something, but Faye, despite how openly and quickly she attaches herself to Marten’s life, never takes that step into making it romantic. The two clearly have the hots for each other, but their respective personalities make it so neither one crosses that threshold.

Yes I know this is basic character writing for a RomCom 101, but the fact that so much about these characters are said in 12 four-panel comics says a lot. It hooks the reader quickly and gets them on the page Jeff wants them to be, and I respect that.

And in the next page, Faye’s aggression takes on a new level, albeit extremely briefly.

This is an isolated incident of actual physical aggression rather than implications and threats in these first 50 pages, but it becomes a trend as we go along – one that feeds into Faye’s character, mind, so it’s not just physical abuse for humor’s sake – so just keep it in mind as we go along.

Also on a personal note the actual restaurant they go to is simultaneously the worst and best idea I’ve ever heard of:

This is horrible. I should not encourage this. And yet some dark part of me finds the concept utterly hilarious even though I know I’m a piece of shit for liking it.

Actually, now some part of me wants to do the exact opposite – advertise a place as a steakhouse only serve an all-vegan menu. It feels less mean but just as funny to me.

…oh right, the comic.

After sharing dinner, exchanging banter that establishes good chemistry and parting ways, we come to this comic that I’m only showing because I’m a slut for good puns and I will take any and all opportunities to share with people.

(Pintsize totally won that round with the John the Baptist zinger by the way, if I’m allowed to judge this.)

And one page later, we get the biggest shake-up in the comic thus far:

It’s established Faye herself ended up burning down the apartment because she burnt toast, but that’s not really important. I know, the fact Faye BURNT DOWN A BUILDING isn’t important sounds completely ridiculous, but follow me here – the important thing for this setup isn’t the how, but the why. “How did Faye’s apartment burn down?” isn’t the question Jeff, nor the audience, is intended to be asking, that’s merely a vessel into the situation we’re in – the answer of “Why did Faye’s apartment burn down?” which is, of course, so Marten and Faye can become roommates and facilitate future antics and further their relationship. Familiarity breeds into both affection and conflict, and the obvious case of “Well you two are already living together, aren’t you?” will serve to further the flames of their potential relationship with one another.

…granted, a better reason to create this setup would’ve been nice, and from a writing standpoint it’s ridiculous that Faye never suffers any consequences for burning an entire BUILDING down, one that had many more people than just her in it. If present-day Jeff wrote this plotline… actually. Now that I think about it, Jeff DOES re-do this plot point and make it make a lot more sense and have a lot more impact on everyone involved.

But we’ll get to that when we eventually talk about Brun…. Three thousand and something pages from now.

Either way, my point stands: This plot thread serves mostly to create the situation we’re facing now, one where Faye and Marten end up living together. This shake-up to the early comic settles us into the new status quo, one that we’ll be riding with comfortably for the foreseeable future.

Further evidence of Faye’s aggressive and troll-ish nature… one that may or may not play into future revelations about her, now that I think about it.

Remember what I said about sewing the seeds of drama? Well here we stand now – a misunderstanding, or the beginning of genuine conflict between these two?

The answer is… they talk it out like actual goddamn adults, avoiding a stupid, unnecessary fight.

Honestly? Kind of refreshing. But what makes it better is the following page:

Honestly? This moment never fails to make me laugh. The one-two punch of complete betrayal of the reader’s expectations as well as the utter dismantling and defusal of the romantic interest subplot between these two dorks – while denying some genuine romantic conflict that may force Faye into being more upfront with how she feels about the situation – is a fun denial of the kinds of RomCom clichés that one might expect to find in this story.

Sure, there are other stories that do this better, I’m not denying that. But isolated in a bubble, this stands by itself and, frankly, works well enough for the story Jeff’s telling.

Also say goodbye to Sara, once she walks out that door she goes to join the little sister from Family Matters and the big brother from Happy Days on the twisted Island of Irrelevancy, visiting the story only when she can spare the time to craft a raft out of banana leafs and... where was I going with this?

…okay, personal story time. The Walmart I’m doing contract work for this week has a CD display of new-ish albums, and honest-to-God I completely forgot music CDs were even a THING. MP3s have spoiled us, and I now feel old for some reason.

Right, getting back on track.

I wanted to show this comic to establish three things.

1) Marten is the kind of person who sits on things that bother him and lets them stew for awhile. As established in the previous image I showed with Marten and Steve at the music store, it’s been at least a day since what happened with Sara and Marten’s still thinking about it. This, for better or worse, becomes a core part of Marten’s character moving forward.

2) Faye, for all her faults, is a genuinely good friend who cares about Marten and knows when to channel her natural aggression into support rather than ribbing.

3) This is another comic that always makes me laugh whenever I read it. Yes I know that’s much less of a real reason than my other two points but let me have this dammit.

This particular page itself isn’t terribly important to the ongoing narrative but I wanted to include it because it introduces QC’s unquestionably best character, Jim. Hi Jim! I like Jim.

(He’s a minor character at best but he’s just so earnest and fun and every time Jeff brings him back he just gets better and better.)

Oh, and for those who were skeptical that the more-than-platonic interest was mutual between Marten and Faye, the next two issues serve to showcase that… yeah, both parties TOTALLY have the hots for each other.

The first of those two comics, by the way, gets called back to much later down the line. And the fact that Faye speaks in a southern accent is more than just a joke, it’s going to be touched on more later.

Jeff says in the description of this comic that this is based on personal experience, and it shows – this is the most backbone Marten displays to my memory.

And in the very next page, we’re introduced to a new character – although you wouldn’t guess it from her appearance.

That’s Raven. I like Raven. Her personality changes a ton once she’s properly introduced as a character and not a nameless employee, but for posterity’s sake: Here’s her very first appearance in the comic.

There’s only one more important comic to touch on in this batch of fifty, and it’s about both Marten and Faye’s families:

While this could be as simple as a “har-dee-har, my family drives me up the wall,” this comic serves to say a lot about both characters once we know more about their families. Both Marten and Faye actually have very good reasons why they don’t want to see their respective families or go back to their hometowns… Faye especially so. We’ll touch more on that when we get more into her backstory.

Before we wrap things up, I’d like to do a quick comparison between page 1 and 50 to see in what small, subtle ways Jeff’s artistry has improved:

There’s not a LOT of difference, but the small details really showcases just how different they look. Small changes from the placement of everything on Marten’s face, to the size of the eyes, the width of the eyebrows… It’s good shit.

Overall, what did I think of batch 1? Well… for an early 2000s webcomic, it’s engaging. The characters are likable, the plot is progressing at an enjoyable pace, and I’m already on-board to see if Marten and Faye will get together. I mean, I know the answer, but my point stands.

Also because I’m a freak or something and like data compilation I went ahead and kept track of who showed up in what comic and made some numbers for it:

Not counting the one guest comic and two non-canon pages, Marten showed up in 45/50 pages, being in 90% of the comic so far.

Faye was in 38/50 pages, taking up 76% of the comic so far.

Pintsize comes in third place being in 15/50 comics, taking up a paltry 30% of the comic thus far when compared to the screen time Marten and Faye have taken up.

Likewise, Steve has been in only 8/50 pages, making up 16% of the comic up to this point.

Sara was in 5/50 pages, making up 10% of these first 50. That percentile will grow smaller and smaller with each update, believe you me.

Jim was in 2/50 glorious pages, making up 4% of the comic up to this point. And that was the best 4% this comic had to offer, let me tell you.

Raven, although still unnamed, I’m counting – she’s in 1/50 of the first batch of pages, making up 2% of screen time.

Tune in next week as we continue onwards to pages 51-100 where we’ll be introduced to the next major character in the series, who’s mere existence will further the plot more than anyone we’ve previously met. See you then.

#Questionable Content #Analysis #Long-form analysis #Faye #Marten #Pintsize

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heyellejaye · 5 years

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A History, of sorts.

There are so many factors that go into the person we become, and how we behave.

(This is such a long post, filled with hella real real life story, so hang with me here. I promise there’s a sweet little golden nugget of encouragement at the end. If you just want the nugget, scroll down - I won’t be mad if you do that)

**CW: drug use, neglect, suicidal thoughts**

For as long as I can remember, I was picked on for something.

Everything.

Anything.

Being fat (I’ve always been fat, unless I was sick)

Wearing clothes that were too promiscuous

Wearing clothes that were too christian

Being too sexual

Being a prude

Being poor

Having money

Wearing old clothes

Wearing new clothes

Being too loud

Not speaking up enough

Having normal hair

Having crazy hair

Listening to weird music

Listening to top 40 music

Eating kale and mushrooms and nutritional yeast and other vegan lovelies

Eating mcDonalds

Having only a dad at home.

Having only a mom at home.

Literally the broad spectrum of nonsense garnered ridicule from early on.

Those used to bother me, but I learned to kinda brush them off. Of course, it still sewed something of an awareness in my fabric of how “not enough” I was.

When I was little, I remember one night in particular, my mom making a comment about my “thunder thighs” and how I shouldn’t dance too hard because my belly and legs wobbled too much.

I was 9, she was 35.

To be fair, she was high as fuck with her friends and I was up at 11 pm watching TV on a school night in the 3rd grade, so there was far more wrong with that picture than just being mocked by my mom for being a chunky kid.

I looked at her that night and committed her image into my head. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t end up as ugly as her. She was 35, and weathered already. She had worn herself down... tired eyelids hung heavy over vacant, wild eyes, lined all the way around in messy black eyeliner, making her blue-green irises something of an oasis in the whole mess, soot smudges from her pipe or whatever she was smoking that night on the side of her lip. The image is burned in my mind with incredible detail.

That night shut me down. Vulnerability became a struggle ever since. I still don’t really dance, because of the wobble. I’m working on that.

I wasn’t in her care much longer after that. I saw so many really horrible things that addiction brings to users and the people in their wake. I can go into that another day, but there are a lot of things children shouldn’t have to deal with, and substance is the catalyst for a lot of that.

My dad got custody of my flock of siblings, and my mom spiraled into her own personal hell. I didn’t see her very often after that, and when I had a chance, I kinda avoided the opportunities. The mom that I remember when I was little was gone. Burned away by substance, and replaced with a shaky, tongue-chewing shell of her former self, at best.

Going through my adolescence and teen-years without a mom didn’t seem weird to me, because the years leading up to it were largely mom-less too. She was there, but kinda only on paper. Never really in practice. Except for the one time she told me that if I ever wanted to try drugs, that I should do them around her and not alone.

(looking back I just have to laugh at that statement, because again, I was 9 when it happened. bless’er tweakerass heart.)

When we went to live with my dad, we almost immediately started going to church. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t really know what to do with all these dang kids, and my Grandma who was and still is in constant devotion to a loving Jesus, told him to get us in church, so he did.

When you come from a place of neglect and trauma, surrounded by drug abuse, attending little conservative baptist church is like jumping into an icy lake after a hot shower. It’s a shock to the system, and takes some pretty intense adjustment in behavior. You get used to it, but there’s a process.

So, while I know the shift from my previous life to church was beneficial, every time someone said “we don’t say those things here” or “you can’t wear that here” or “That’s not how we behave”, “you should”, “you shouldn’t” was a little icy stab into my person. Another patch sewn into my cloak of expectations, placed on my shoulders by outside individuals.

Going through middle school and high school and beyond I was given a whole collection of “You should” and “You shouldn’t” patches that would make any Girl Scout chartreuse with envy. Peers, adults, teachers, well-meaning relatives, church clergy, employers, boys who liked me, girls who liked me, boys and girls I liked... all sewed expectations into my personality that felt less like adornments and more like restraints. It was rare (and not until high school, really) that someone poured into -me- specifically, and made me feel like I can be/do/think bigger than my circumstances. There were four people that come to mind, two of whom have now passed.

(** NOTE - If you’re an educator and maybe you feel like you’re not getting through to the kids, I promise, I PROMISE, you are. You might be the reason they believe or even know that it’s possible to rearrange their stars**)

Somewhere along the way, I developed a chameleon soul.

The shoulds and shouldn’ts were so much to carry on one person, and so limiting, so the cloak became whatever the next person wanted it to be. It’s hard to shake the tendency to accommodate everyone else’s opinions and preferences for who I should be, but I’m working on that, too.

Take all of that life... All of those experiences, and mix media into that screwy little cake. Media that tells us that we need to be skinnier, blonder, taller, have better hair, better makeup, cooler activities, perfect boobs, plumpier lips, brighter eyes, better skills, whiter teeth, perfect mental health, three college degrees, a great job, sunny shiny happy days all the goddamn time. This part has been beaten to death, but in case you haven’t heard it yet... that’s not attainable.

I was FOREVER apologizing for who I was. I would always make excuses for why I wasn’t good enough for praise for anything. “You look so pretty” “yeah, but my hair is a mess” “I love this picture you took” “yeah, but the lighting was weird, sooo...” Gosh, Always excuses.

I didn’t really learn that lesson well enough early on though.

I tried. I did. But my chameleon soul tried so hard to be everything to everyone and eventually won.

Seasons came and went life happened and I met a boy. We went from zero to 60, right away.

I got pregnant fast. I got married fast. I lost the baby a week and a half after we got married. I convinced myself that it was God’s will that we lost the baby because we got a fresh start. I played house a while, had a couple more babies, I was attacked by depression, but still pretended to be happy. I did so much battle with my body. Not really for any reason, either.

I was married to a man who didn’t care how I looked, like... ever.

He didn’t care that I was getting pudgier after babies. He only ever made commentary when he was drunk. Which wasn’t super often, but it wasn’t super rare, either. And that’s not to say he was an alcoholic or anything, he was just more prone to poking fun when he had a few, and I was usually the target.

He wasn’t big on compliments, and never had favorites, so the only “feedback” I got from my husband was negative. It kicked me deeper into the need to look better to get positive affirmation, but also... I was SO depressed. I had two babies under two and I was drowning in my own life. I couldn’t let anyone know though, because a not-ok version of me was not who anyone wanted me to be. I apologized for the space I took up. I apologized for my chubby cheeks and post-baby tummy flab, and my armpit fat, and my wonky boobs and my tired eyes. I didn’t feel like I was worth compliments, honest hugs or good sex... but I pretended to be happy.

God, I worked my ass off to show everyone how happy I was.

(spoiler alert, I wasn’t. I wasn’t ever fucking happy. I wasn’t even interested in being alive anymore) I didn’t want anyone to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do to be a better version of myself, and GOD forbid I admit that my happy world was less than sterling. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I had a cute husband and cute kids and a cute business and a cute little chunk of land in a cute little town, I attended a trendy church... literally everything looked so perfect. Except for the person I saw in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror and saw those heavy eyelids over dead eyes. I saw the face of a woman I never wanted to become.

I never fell into chemical substance, instead I was addicted to being everything. The cloak I wore was my drug... and it wasted me away. It stole the life from my eyes. I didn’t actively seek deterioration with drugs or alcohol, but every morning, I’d lie in bed and wonder what I could do to end the parade.

I wasn’t ok, and I couldn’t talk about it with just anyone, but I had a couple of far-away friends with whom I could share the heavy thoughts. They were ears and shoulders when I needed them to be. They didn’t know JUST how heavy the thoughts were, but they were there for the parts I was willing to share. They encouraged. They challenged my self doubt and allowed space for me to be proud of myself for small reasons, and then big reasons. They spoke life into my too-tired heart.

I decided in that season of life that I would choose my good self. I would make choices that lead to a healthier mind. I would choose deep-down-in-my-bones joy. I decided that I would live. Not just be alive, but -live-. I decided that I would create things that I loved. I’d hug with my whole self. No ass-out hugs. When someone fell into my arms, they would know that I wanted them there.

I decided to be better for myself and wear a face that my children could remember with fondness and not be ashamed of when they saw the same face in the mirror.

I decided to choose to be a light for the people that cross my path, as often as I can. I can’t build their path, but I CAN shine a light so maybe they can find their own.

I’ve lived a whole life since that season, which is a completely different novel in itself, but the time between has been a healing space. It’s been a big mistake making space, and a growing space and a hurting space, but the forward motion is remarkable.

I’m a week away from 35. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to the significance of this age until lately. I look at my whole self in the mirror and I’m proud of who I am. I like the face I see in the mirror. I like the way my eyes shine in pictures.

I like the life they carry. I like my big soft body. I like that I’m a safe place to land for my children. I like that I can wrap hugs around my friends. I like that my big strong legs can carry me up a mountain, even if I get a little out of breath. I like that I’ve created humans and I’ve eaten yummy food with people I love. I am pretty active sometimes, and sometimes I lose a little weight, and sometimes I gain a little weight, and I can’t complain too much because this body serves me so well. I’m fat, but I also think I’m quite lovely. I don’t see those as opposing adjectives. Fatness and loveliness can hold hands and play happily.

I have shortcomings. I deal with some thick anxiety sometimes, and sometimes I eat too many pieces of pizza, then I feel like I need a nap, and sometimes I still take on too much, trying to be all of the things all of the time to everyone,and then I completely drop the ball and let people down... but I’m working on making better decisions and facing that kooky anxious stuff head on. It’s a process.

I’m a recovering chameleon. I’m trying my best every day to not attempt to be everything to everyone, but I struggle.

The shoulds and shouldn’ts still weigh heavy on my shoulders, and some days I wear the cloak longer than others. Trying to be free of it causes its own issues, but my feet are pointed in the right direction, I think.

(here’s the nugget if you’re just joining from the top)

I am not the words that other people have placed on me.

I am not the opinions of other people.

I am not the expectations of other people.

I am not the tragedy I have seen

I am not the circumstances from which I have walked.

I am not the mistakes I have made.

I am not the successes I have gathered.

I am not my illness

I am not my family

I am not everything to everyone.

And neither are you.

I’m not ok sometimes. And sometimes... I’m so ok.

I’m more than ok, I’m incredible, and I believe that the future is only more brilliant than the already radiant now.

I hope for you, if any of this resonates with you, that you also can see your own radiance. Not the cloak of shoulds and shouldn’ts that other people have put on your shoulders.

I hope you really live, and you do the things you love, and you overflow with abundant joy that spills onto the people around you. I hope that when people hug you, they know that you want them there, and I hope that you only hug people you want to hug.

I hope you know that the body you’re in is a miracle. The odds of you being here are FOUR TRILLION to one. You could have showed up in this life as a toaster. But you’re not. You’re an incredible being, capable of fat tears and belly laughs and loving someone so much it hurts and inspiring hope and surviving really heavy shit. Toasters can’t do any of that.

And I hope upon hope that the person you see in the mirror is someone you like.

#4-4-19

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