The "New Yorker" years

In the early 1980s I was starting to feel more and more confident about my cartooning and less and less confident about my marriage. I was looking for some affirmation so, like every other cartoonist I took a shot at getting published in prestigious magazines like Playboy and the The New Yorker.

I was pretty systematic. I targeted six publications and drew twelve cartoons and did a big round robin. As one got rejected it immediately got mailed back out to the next magazine on the list. I kept a big chart on the wall to keep track of which one had been where and what the results had been with each. I did this for a year and, like most cartoonists, I collected a cool set of rejection slips. What suprised me was how much the experience didn't bum me out. It was really fun just doing it. I ended up with rejection slips from about ten different magazines, each with distinctive logo letterhead. They're called "slips" for a really good reason; each one is about the size of an index card.

Rejection aside, this was a pretty affiriming experience. I wasn't aware of the term "self-actualization" back then...I just found that it felt good to be doing something creative and a little bit scary.

Here's a selection of the cartoons I submitted, if you don't like them, you are in very distinguished company.

I was going for the "absurdist" crowd


An early, wintertime, appeal to cubicle bound wage-slaves...Y'know, sophisticated New Yorkers.


Calling Doctor Freud...my slip was showing.






Speaking of Freud...
creepy, huh?













Here's that bald guy again, sort of a chunky Art Pembroke (remind me to keep my beard and ponytail).


Survey sez...

"I've been throwed outta better joints den dis!"



Here's this week's installment of Pembroke from 1985...note the rotary telephone.





Stay warm, and check in again next week.

Mannie