What appears to be notes and syllabi for several different in-person classes Barry has taught in the past. Because it's from several different, it felt a little unfocused and disjointed.

Not nearly as good as Making Comics or What It Is, but still good with some great ideas about daily practice. ( )

Fascinating, even for (especially for?) a person who thinks of herself as drawing-disabled. ( )

I admit that I'm biased and went in with an abiding admiration for Lynda Barry already in place, but hot damn. This book is brilliant. BRILLIANT. Get thee to a bookstore and buy it. You can check it out from the library, but that is only postponing the inevitable. If it wasn't 9:30 at night, I'd go out and buy a non-photo blue pencil right now. As it is, I'm starting my 4-panel daily diary tonight--I've been bummed that I haven't been able to write as much as I used to, and this method is perfect. BRILLIANT. I covet Syllabus and found an even deeper love for Lynda Barry than I thought possible.

So how soon can I go up to Madison for a semester with her? ( )

I can't remember the last time I gave up on a book, and it isn't always that I do so on one of the most important books I've ever seen.

How to describe this book? It's apparently syllabus notes, perhaps private course notes from a professor trying to teach her craft, alongside some anecdotes to try to explain these teachings to the outside reader (and some sketches which might exist for the author to explain things to herself.)

Most writings on creativity in art wind up talking about creative writing. If they aren't (perhaps they are about a visual art) they at least use some kind of sequential linguistics to explain the praxis and whatever teachings the writer would like to impart.

Not so this book. It is a reproduction of a sketchbook, that yellow-lind paper people use to write their rough notes, and almost everything is drawn. There are stories written on the page, but it's clear that the primary communication is some form of drawing.

This enhances the book's feel. Is is one of those books of which pleasure is encoded in its tactile construction. The paper is rough and delicate, like those onion-skin notepads, feeling wonderful to the touch while also threatening to rip on every turn. It's the kind of book you want to protect, to hold at night.

What are the drawings about? Beats the hell out of me. The course the author teaches appears to be on creativity, but it appears that it was not designed for the professionals, the practitioners, or perhaps even the inclined. The book suggests that I, a software developer (an older type, a furtive type, not the kind who invents in his head the next idea to hit it big on Y Combinator or 'disruptive' innovation tech news sites, the type of software developer who loves to solve problems but is incredibly afraid when dropped in the middle of a blank canvas) could gain something if I could go to the class, perform the exercises that make no sense, eat the supplied candy that the class promises I can 'have all I want' of as long as I draw the candy I've eaten (no matter how well.)

Something in this book explains how to think creatively. You can see it in the anecdotes, the author wondering about how a once-favourite assignment become a bore one year, and realizing that she had accidentally suggested a short-cut that removed the whole experimentation aspect. You can see it in how she encourages you to, whenever idle, draw spirals on any blank paper within reach ...

But what I can't see is what the heck the rest of the book is about. What are all these sketches for? What are all these assignments for? Why does the author show me page after page after page of her students' drawings? I'm supposed to be learning something from them, but this is denser than any theoretical or philosophical mathematical book I don't have the acumen to grok.

--

I struggled with this book for two library checkout periods, trying to struggle my way through every page, and eventually gave up less than 50% through. Instead I found all the straightforward bits, read them, understood something that is still novel to my non-creative mind, and moved on. The rest I accepted as something I'll only get when I'm at the right level to get, even if I never actually get there. (As someone who has brute-forced his way into programming language, I am not unfamiliar with this struggle :D)

--

This isn't a book I can read in one go, or rent from a library. This is a mind-process so above mine in this aspect and yet so clearly trying to portray their mental process that I will need to own it, repeatedly go over it, try out some of the stuff, figure out what exactly I want _if anything_ out of it (why do I need to become a more creative personality? What am I going for?) and read it until slowly the onion skins of not-understanding are layer-by-layer peeled from my mind.

--

I feel this is a good gift for humble artist friends. I feel this is a great book for people who like nonconventional graphic novels. I feel this is a good book for people who love Ivan Brunetti (who is mentioned and taken as inspiration often) ( )

I've never managed to overcome my inner editor and Lynda Barry totally gets it.

Her workbook is built up from her own notes as a student and her original drawing diary. She now teaches students ways of creating artwork through the medium of caricatures, imaginative drawings and comics, which evoke less constrained experimentation.

I can't say I was fully liberated with working along the lines of this classroom curriculum, but that lies mainly with having borrowed the book on a 3-week, non-renewable loan. It was definitely inspiring. Now my own copy is in the mail and I will continue working on LB's approach to art and creative freedom.

My "minus one star" rating is a purely personal difficulty. Often the author's message was lost in such a visually-saturated book: the pages are so busy that the high-energy impact takes a lot of acclimating. I had to absorb the information in small bites and then take my time just scribbling and drawing with the book shut. ( )