The beginning of any journey is often an enigma, an unfolding narrative that seems to have always existed in the periphery of thought. My journey with the Derry Bears was no different. The idea took root on October 17th, my wedding day, when my wife’s simple yet profound suggestion – “write about what you don’t know” – set the stage for exploration. What do any of us truly know? In stepping forward, I embraced the unknown, allowing myself to be sculpted by the process rather than merely being its architect.

New Hampshire, three years in, had become more than just a place of residence. It was a philosophical space, an ecosystem where my ideas found fertile ground. It is fitting that the journey began here, as though it was destined to. The bear and boy concept had emerged organically, a creative offspring of this place, just as thoughts emerge from the vast subconscious. When I officially began this endeavor a month later, the timing felt right – not because I willed it, but because the natural rhythms of life had conspired to make it so.

The creative process is a dance between structure and spontaneity. In the midst of life’s obligations – work, family, daily responsibilities – I found stolen moments to create. Planes, car rides, hotel rooms between softball games – these became the sacred spaces where ideas took shape. The philosopher Nietzsche once spoke of the “eternal recurrence,” the idea that life’s moments repeat in infinite variations. Perhaps creativity follows a similar pattern: a cyclical return to the same impulse, yet rendered anew each time by circumstance and perspective.

Criticism is an inescapable shadow in any creative pursuit. The comparison to Bill Watterson is inevitable, but in many ways, it speaks more to the universal patterns of artistic evolution than it does to imitation. Art, like philosophy, is a dialogue across time and space. Two artists may arrive at a similar aesthetic through vastly different means, shaped by their own constraints and inclinations. My need for a repeatable, efficient style is a practical necessity dictated by time’s limitations, while Watterson’s loose, expressive linework was his own necessity, shaped by the demand of daily strips. We are not identical, yet we share a common lineage of exploration. Art, after all, is not about differentiation for its own sake but about the pursuit of an authentic voice within a greater chorus.

Initially, I set out to create small comic strips celebrating New Hampshire’s wonders. I meticulously drafted over a hundred ideas. Yet, like the flow of a river reshaping its own path, my work evolved. When an independent comic group invited me to contribute a few pages of horror or sci-fi, I embraced the challenge. The Derry Bears, inherently cute and endearing, found themselves juxtaposed with psychological horror – an interplay between innocence and the uncanny. This departure not only broadened the artistic scope but also reduced the comparisons to Watterson. More importantly, it reflected a truth about creation: the journey itself dictates the destination more than any preconceived plan ever could.

This month, in particular, has been an exercise in surrendering to the current. There is a philosophy in allowing readership to shape the brand, to let external forces become part of the internal evolution. Adam Smith spoke of the “invisible hand” in economics, but the concept extends far beyond markets. A creator, like a fisherman casting his net into an ocean of reception, must recognize that art is not solely self-expression – it is dialogue, an intricate dance between creator and audience.

Like the fish that swims with the ocean’s current, the bird that lets the wind lift its wings, I find myself surrendering to this movement. The readers, their voices, their feedback – they are now part of this journey. The Derry Bears are not merely my creation; they are becoming something greater, something shaped by a collective force beyond my own vision.

And so, with open arms, I welcome this evolution. I embrace the unknown as I did at the start. The journey is no longer just mine – it belongs to all who engage with it. And that, in itself, is a revelation worth pursuing.