If there was ever a bigger pansy than my father, it was Marcel Proust.
Even drawing gray hair at all is difficult to render in black and white.
Autobiographical comics, I love them. I love them.
It was not a triumphal return. Home, as I had known it, was gone.
Nancy Drew was always changing her outfits. I despised girls' clothing, I couldn't wait to get home from school and get out of it. The last thing I wanted to read was minute descriptions of Nancy's frocks.
Partly I resented being perceived as weak because I was a girl.