I Made a Comic After 3 Years of Procrastination. The Secret Was Surprisingly Boring.
- JP de la Rama
- 1 day ago
- 8 min read
Zamora Volume 1 happened. Cagayanime happened. And now, after three years of silence, a new episode is finally out.
“You don't become the artist you dream of becoming in one giant leap. You become that artist one panel, one page, and one small habit at a time.”
Introduction: So… What Happens After the Convention?
Cagayanime is over.
Zamora Volume 1 is published.
The Lorebook exists.
People actually bought the thing.
And somehow, after all of that...
I released a new episode of my main series.
After three years.
Yep.
Three years.
There was a time when I would look at that and feel embarrassed.
"Why did it take me so long?"
"Why couldn't I just finish it?"
"Why do I keep starting things and not completing them?"
"Why am I always behind?"
For years, procrastination wasn't just something I occasionally dealt with.
It was part of my creative workflow.
I'd have an idea.
I'd get excited.
I'd start.
Then client work would come.
Deadlines would come.
Family responsibilities would come.
Life would happen.
I'd get tired.
I'd lose momentum.
Then the project would sit there.
And sit there.
And sit there.
Until months became years.
I knew exactly what I wanted to create.
The problem was...
I wasn't consistently creating it.
Then something changed.
Not some magical burst of motivation.
Not a productivity hack.
Not a new drawing tablet.
Not a new software.
Not even some inspirational speech.
I started reading Atomic Habits by James Clear.
And I decided to try something almost embarrassingly simple.
Do a little bit every day.
That's it.
No grand transformation.
No "I'll finish 20 pages this weekend."
No "I'll work until 3 AM until this thing is done."
Just small, repeatable progress.
And somehow...
That boring little system started doing something motivation never could.
It started compounding.
The Deep Dive: The Artist's Biggest Enemy Isn't Laziness
I think there's a misconception about procrastinating artists.
We often assume we're lazy.
I don't think that's always true.
Sometimes we're overwhelmed.
Sometimes the project is too big.
Sometimes we don't know where to start.
Sometimes we're afraid the finished work won't be good enough.
Sometimes client work consumes everything.
Sometimes we're waiting for that magical day when we finally have enough time.
And sometimes...
We're simply trying to attack a mountain with a spoon.
That's what I was doing.
I'd look at a graphic novel and think:
"I need to finish this entire book."
That's a terrible task.
My brain sees 100 pages.
Hundreds of panels.
Characters.
Backgrounds.
Lettering.
Color.
Layouts.
Editing.
Printing.
Marketing.
Distribution.
My brain basically says:
"Nope."
So I changed the question.
Instead of:
"How do I finish Zamora?"
I asked:
"What can I finish today?"
Maybe it's one panel.
Maybe it's a sketch.
Maybe it's part of a page.
Maybe it's one hour.
Maybe it's fixing one scene.
It didn't feel heroic.
It didn't look impressive on Instagram.
Nobody was going to congratulate me for finishing 20% of a page.
But something important happened.
I kept moving.
The Artist's Compound Interest Principle
This is what I've started calling my version of Atomic Habits:
The Artist's Compound Interest Principle
One drawing doesn't change your career.
One page doesn't change your life.
One hour doesn't make you successful.
But repeated consistently...
They start becoming something else.
One panel becomes a page.
A page becomes a chapter.
A chapter becomes a comic.
A comic becomes a graphic novel.
A graphic novel becomes a published book.
A published book becomes a convention table.
A convention table creates readers.
Readers create conversations.
Conversations create opportunities.
And suddenly you look back and realize:
Holy crap. I actually made something.
The individual actions were tiny.
The result wasn't.
That's the part I didn't understand when I was younger.
I was always looking for the giant leap.
But most creative careers aren't built through giant leaps.
They're built through accumulation.
Emotion Commits the Crime. Logic Does the Cover-Up.
There was another problem underneath my procrastination.
I wanted to feel motivated before I started.
I thought productive artists woke up inspired.
They sat down.
They created beautiful things.
They finished their projects.
They were disciplined.
Meanwhile, I'd sit in front of my computer thinking:
"I'm not feeling it today."
So I'd wait.
And wait.
And wait.
The problem is that motivation is a terrible project manager.
It shows up whenever it wants.
Sometimes it disappears for weeks.
Sometimes it arrives at midnight when you should be sleeping.
Sometimes it appears after you've already wasted three hours scrolling through your phone.
I eventually realized:
I didn't need to feel like drawing.
I needed to make drawing easier to start.
That's a very different problem.
Instead of relying on motivation, I started relying on routine.
The habit became:
Sit down. Open the file. Work on the comic.
Even when I didn't feel particularly inspired.
And once I started...
The resistance usually became smaller.
The hardest part wasn't always drawing.
It was beginning.
I Didn't Wait for Divine Intervention
I've spent enough years as an artist to know that there's always going to be something.
A client deadline.
A new project.
A family responsibility.
A financial problem.
A technical problem.
A printer problem.
A bad day.
A lack of sleep.
A broken computer.
A convention.
Another convention.
And then another thing that somehow becomes urgent.
If I waited until everything was perfect...
I'd still be waiting.
So I stopped waiting for divine intervention.
I stopped waiting for motivation.
I stopped waiting for a giant block of free time.
I stopped waiting until I felt confident.
And I definitely stopped waiting until I felt like a "real" artist.
I just started stacking small actions.
And that's how something I had been struggling with for years started moving.
Before Atomic Habits
My thinking looked like this:
"I need to finish the comic."
Which usually became:
"I'll do it when I have more time."
Then:
"I'll do more tomorrow."
Then:
"I have client work today."
Then:
"I'll catch up this weekend."
Then suddenly...
Three years passed.
After Atomic Habits
The question became:
"What is today's small step?"
Not:
"Can I finish the whole comic?"
Just:
"Can I move it forward today?"
That change sounds almost stupidly simple.
But it changed the way I work.
And eventually...
The work accumulated.
The Solution: Stop Chasing Goals. Build the Machine.
This is probably the biggest lesson I've learned.
Goals are important.
But goals don't create the work.
Systems do.
My goal was:
Finish Zamora Volume 1.
But that goal didn't tell me what to do on Tuesday night.
The system did.
Sit down.
Open the project.
Work for the allotted time.
Finish something.
Come back tomorrow.
Repeat.
That's the boring part.
But boring is underrated.
Because the system doesn't care whether you're inspired.
It just asks:
"Did you show up?"
And if you show up enough times...
The impossible starts becoming smaller.
The Same Thing Is Happening Again
And now I'm looking at what's next.
Zamora Volume 1 is done.
A new episode of my main series is finally out after three years.
Cagayanime gave me a taste of what happens when I actually put my work into the world.
And now I have a bigger list.
Volume 2.
The next episode of my main series.
More saleable fan art.
A new series.
More independent publishing.
Animation.
Video games.
And eventually...
the ridiculous bucket-list projects I've been carrying around in my head for years.
Some of these might take a year.
Some might take several.
That's okay.
I'm not interested anymore in pretending I can accomplish everything overnight.
I'd rather build something that can survive the years.
Because that's the real game.
Delayed Gratification Is the Artist's Superpower
We're living in a world that increasingly rewards speed.
Generate an image.
Generate a video.
Generate a story.
Generate a song.
Generate something in seconds.
And I'm not going to pretend those tools don't have their uses.
But there's something I still love about the painfully slow process of making something yourself.
Drawing the panel.
Writing the scene.
Fixing the anatomy.
Redrawing the page.
Learning perspective.
Getting frustrated.
Trying again.
Finishing the chapter.
Printing the book.
Holding the physical thing you made.
There is a different kind of satisfaction in that.
It's delayed gratification.
And for me...
that's the bliss of being an artist.
Not the instant result.
The accumulation.
Knowing that the thing in your hands contains hundreds of tiny decisions you made when nobody was watching.
That's something an instant prompt can't give me.
The process itself becomes part of the reward.
The Next Boss Battle
This is where I think independent creators need to be careful.
You finish something.
People congratulate you.
You feel great.
Then you stop.
And eventually...
You're back where you started.
That's why I don't want Zamora Volume 1 to be the finish line.
It's proof of concept.
Proof that I can finish.
Proof that I can publish.
Proof that I can physically put something into the world.
Now I need to prove that I can do it again.
And again.
And again.
That's harder.
Because the novelty disappears.
There isn't the same excitement as making your first book.
The next project is just work.
And that's exactly where the system matters.
My New Creative Rule
I think I finally have a rule for myself:
Don't break the chain.
It doesn't mean I have to produce something amazing every day.
It doesn't mean I have to work for eight hours.
It doesn't mean every drawing has to be portfolio-worthy.
It simply means:
Keep moving.
One page.
One panel.
One sketch.
One paragraph.
One animation frame.
One design.
One business email.
One tiny improvement.
Whatever moves the project forward.
Because someday...
those tiny things become the project.
Before vs. After
Before
I wanted to finish everything.
I waited for motivation.
I attacked huge projects.
I procrastinated when they felt overwhelming.
I measured progress by major milestones.
And when I failed to reach them...
I felt like I was failing.
After
I focus on the next small action.
I rely more on systems than motivation.
I break enormous projects into ridiculously small pieces.
I measure progress by consistency.
And I let time do some of the heavy lifting.
The goal didn't disappear.
The way I approach the goal changed.
What's Next?
So...
What's next after Cagayanime?
We keep going.
Volume 2.
Another Zamora episode.
More fan art people can actually buy.
A new series.
Animation.
Games.
And eventually, those crazy projects that currently exist only as notes, sketches, and ideas inside my head.
I don't know exactly how long they'll take.
Maybe a year.
Maybe several.
Maybe I'll change direction along the way.
But I'm no longer terrified by the timeline.
Because I finally understand something I wish I had understood 20 years ago:
You don't have to build the entire thing today.
You just have to build today's piece.
Then tomorrow's.
Then the next day's.
And eventually...
You look behind you and realize you've built something you once thought was impossible.
Ask, and You Shall Receive
If you're an artist who's been procrastinating on a personal project, don't ask yourself:
"How am I going to finish this?"
That's too big.
Ask:
"What's the smallest thing I can do today?"
One panel.
One page.
One sketch.
One paragraph.
One frame.
Whatever it is.
Make it small enough that you can't reasonably say no.
Then do it again tomorrow.
And if you've been working on something for years but still haven't finished it, I'd love to hear about it.
What is the project you've been putting off?
Maybe it's time to give it one tiny step forward.
Because that's how Zamora happened.
Not through one massive act of discipline.
But through a ridiculous number of tiny ones.
And now...
we do it again.
The convention is over.
The book is out.
The new episode is finally here.
And the next boss battle has already loaded.
Keep drawing.
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