Henry here, editor of the Platform section and guy in charge of illustrations and comics.

I’m always pleasantly surprised whenever someone comes up to me and tells me that DILLIGAF made them chuckle. I think this is partly because of the process that goes into making each strip.

FIRST, a funny thought must pop into my brain. This can happen anytime, anywhere.

SECOND, I have to write down said funny thought in at least three places, lest I forget it and spend the rest of my life lamenting the Comic that Never Was.

THIRD, I need to wait a day and re-read my funny thought to make sure it is still funny.

FOURTH, I need to re-tool the funny thought to make it funnier and/or coherent, then write it out in panels.

FIFTH, I need to draw stuff, often over and over again to get it right.

SIXTH, I scan it and edit it in Photoshop.

SEVENTH, I publish it in a seeeeecret location on the interwebs to test how funny strangers think it is.

EIGHTH, I send it off to the Torch server so it can actually get printed.

Throughout this process, I read through the same comic over and over again, upwards of ten times. Repetition makes things lose their funny (kind of like overused memes on DartChan, oh yes I went there). So, by the time the comic actually gets printed in the Torch, I’ve pretty much convinced myself that it is the least hilarious thing in the universe.

So, in conclusion, thanks to all you guys who remind me from time to time that every once in a while, I am amusing. You make me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff.

ALSO! If you would like to submit your own comic to the Torch, just email it to me at jhenry at umassd dot edu. (High-resolution files are best for printing. All comics are black-and-white.)

  Do you ever wonder why a heart is so fragile? Do you ever wonder why, over time, the heart hasn’t evolved? I image it could have evolved into something tougher – the skin could be thicker, the surrounding ribs could be harder. After so many breaks, a heart can never be fully mended. So what happens when the heart breaks so much so that it becomes nothing more than a pile of gray ash? Can it be put back together again? It’s not like anyone has invented such a glue. And the people who break your heart, sure as hell aren’t going to become that adhesive.

                And why should they try to glue your most precious piece back together? If they broke your heart in the first place, they certainly don’t care about you or your center piece much at all. If you love someone, you do all you can not to break that person’s heart. You do everything to keep their smile shining and their energy radiating. But, I guess, sometimes you make a mistake, and in attempt to cover that mistake and cushion that person’s heart, you lie. You, for some reason, think that lying will solve everything, that if you lie then whatever mistake you made in the past can be covered up, buried, and forgotten.

                Does that make the liar the bad person? Or does it make the believer the bad person? If you fall for the lie, if you believe what you want to, and only see what is beautiful, then perhaps you are the one who needs to change. Because you’ve been lying to yourself all along, which is much worse than the one lie the other person told.

It’s funny. It seems like just a few months ago I was walking down Centennial Way for the first time and swiping into Maple Ridge with my brand new UMass Pass. And now, I’m taking my last jogs around Ring Road, my final steps to the Liberal Arts building (still Group I in my eyes), and preparing to walk to the center of the amphitheater for the big finale.
Yes, senior year is here and it’s started off quite rocky. But I’ve been battling the crushing waves, hoping to calm the angered sea surrounding me. I survived without hot – or even room temperature – water for over a week. I’ve been lucky to wash my clothes each week in one of the two working washing machines in Hickory, even though they come out feeling dirtier than before. I’ve been challenged by this new position as Editor-in-Chief and am fumbling to fill the oversized shoes; my feet are too small, I blame it on that. My beautiful boyfriend and I have had our hurtful fights and I regret many of my actions, but in the end I know I was standing up for myself. And I am lucky to still have him at the moment; I’m still trying to figure out if we’re the right fit. Deep down I know my little shoes match perfectly with his giant ones, but does he know that? Will he ever feel that? And now classes are tougher than ever before, as I am taking two graduate level courses simultaneously. But it’s all pushing me forward, closer to achieving some of my many dreams. Each step I take in these size four shoes takes me one rung higher to the top where my aspirations lay waiting for my grasp.
So I’ll keep climbing, and I’ll graciously add another year to my twenty. That’s right, twenty-one comes for me this Wednesday, September 16. Who would have thought getting older would feel so good. After this, I vow never to add another candle to the cake again. But sometimes I wish I could go back, back to sixteen, seventeen; not to relive the happy days, but to fix the bad and sooner learn from the mistakes. And then I wish I could back, back to five, six; so I could remember how the world used to look so beautiful, so glorious through those kindergarten eyes. I want to remind myself of that beauty that seems so deeply hidden now, so far away that I cannot see it even in the daylight.
Until a time machine is invented, I’ll try to reconnect with the world and refocus my once optimistic views. I will reinvent the pretty colors I once saw – the reds, oranges, and golds of autumn leaves; the shimmering yellows of the stars; the orange creamsicle streaks of the evening sky.
And I’ll never let anyone tell me that my feet are too small to fill the several pairs of shoes that I have placed before me.