Day One and the Comic Begins
And at the time these initial photographs are taken, the images are without words. There are no "talk bubbles" or "thought bubbles" attached. However by the time the students turn in their first two-page comic, the students' will have created a story of some sort because we are homo narrans, people who tell stories. The students will have learned how to drag-and-drop photos into panels within pages of various comic book templates.
In order to get students into the creative spirit of the comic, I snarl, I growl, I throw up my hands in the shape of claws. I give them "the finger." I explain to them "panels," "talk balloons," and "thought balloons," and I draw examples on the whiteboard at the front of the class. On Friday morning I lay their comics on a table and they gather to look. No surprises here: some are good; others suck.
Why comics? Maybe because we live in a visual world, and that being able to tell a story using words and images will be a valuable skill for students after college. Maybe because I want students to have some fun in the course. Maybe because comics might improve my teacher evaluations. Maybe because students need something to offset the pain and drudgery of doing academic writing. So I let the students know I'm game, and that I'm okay with their use of profanity in the comic. What the fuck!? I mean, they're creating comics! Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, I am bringing something into the students' world—"the dreaded literature review"—that will throw them into chaos (George & George, p. 263). And I'm also bringing comics.
The class ends in confusion, pandemonium. On the one hand, I have announced that the class is faced with a Herculean task: the writing of a paper unlike any other they have ever attempted. And then I have announced that they will be creating a comic about the writing of this very difficult paper. And to accentuate this point, I have told them to create a short two-page comic by the end of the first week.
