So what happens when you know early on you don’t fit into that?

Liz Prince reflects on growing up as a girl who always identified more with the boys in her sweetly hilarious graphic memoir Tomboy (Zest Books, 2014), taking down gender norms along the way and making her own, more interesting path.

It’s not necessarily a rare story: as a child, Prince shunned dresses and preferred The Real Ghostbusters to playing dress-up. But this caused problems on both sides — elementary school boys rejected girls on principle and Prince didn’t really relate to too many of the girls.

Along the way, Prince makes some friends (boys and girls!), joins Little League and Girl Scouts (she has range!), develops crushes on boys and has her heart-broken a few times. But through some kind and caring girls and women, Prince discovers zines and punk rock.

The book’s pace is episodic and heavy on playful anecdotes and asides about society and growing up, often addressing the reader directly. There are a few darker moments that deal with bullies and cruel friends, but the tone is light overall. Prince has an incredible ability to find honesty and humor in her own life and it shines through in the stories she’s telling.

Her loose, casual art has an airiness to it, like a cool friend telling a funny story in an effortless way. As deceptively simple as her style is, Prince is a master at conveying emotion, movement and places with a few lines. This book is full of life as she jumps from cartoonish sequences to silent, personal moments.

One of the most touching parts of Tomboy comes toward the end, where Prince reads Ariel Schrag’s Definition and says “For the first time I saw myself reflected in a book.” I don’t think it’s too much of a leap to imagine this book doing the same thing for some other girl. This may be Liz Prince’s specific story, but it’s one many of us can see ourselves in.

Copy of Tomboy provided by the publisher.

Portland-based zinester and artist Nicole J. Georges was told just that during a visit to a psychic. Her graphic memoir, Calling Dr. Laura (Mariner Books, 2013), deals with the aftermath as she journeys through her family history and her own place in the world. And yes, her story does involve her calling into the Dr. Laura Program.

Georges is pretty frank about herself and her honesty makes her incredibly likeable and fun to follow. She’s sweet and sensitive — a vegan who’s happy to take in abandoned chickens and care for her beloved dogs — but she does show that her caring nature lets people take advantage of her, including a couple of girlfriends. The intimacy works for the story — it feels less like reading a comic and more like listening to a story being told you by a friend.

Georges structures the book beautifully. Scenes that take place in the present feel cinematic with close-ups of faces and complicated ink-washed backgrounds. She renders flashbacks to her childhood in a much more open style. Everything is a bit looser and less detailed, as memories often are. While Georges hops around between present and past, the differing styles make the transitions clear. All the details and memories feel relevant.

As much as Georges’ search for her father drives much of the book, it’s actually her mother that is at the book’s core. Their complicated relationship — from Georges’ chaotic, stressful childhood to the present — seems to inform most of her relationships with other women, from sisters to friends to girlfriends. It’s even important she felt the need to call Dr. Laura for advice rather than a man.

In the end, Georges does find the answers she’s looking for, but she gets a lot more than that. She gets understanding — not only of the other people in her life but also of herself.

It’s almost impossible to finish Calling Dr. Laura and not want Nicole J. Georges to be your new best friend. It’s a beautiful, powerful book by an awesome woman.

Nicole J. Georges, Cassie Sneider, Monica Gallagher and Sally Madden will be at Atomic Books in Baltimore, Md., from 7to 9 p.m. Feb. 21 (tomorrow!).

Promoting her new book, Are You My Mother?: A Comic Drama, Bechdel’s presentation was delightful but much too short. She said this was not a sequel to Fun Home, even thought that was about her father and this is about her mother. Still, she said it’s about quite a bit more than just her mother — it’s also about her experiences with psychotherapy and psychology.

She gave a quick glimpse into her process of creating comics. She does a lot of sketches before drawing the final page, experimenting with angles and layouts. She also works quite a bit from reference photographs, most of which she takes of herself. She also said she’d “not be able to do what I do without Google Image Search” since she also looks up places and brands for reference. She showed several of these with the final comic image for comparison and it was really fascinating how much work she does before she even starts drawing.

She laughed about all the scenes in the book that take place in her therapist’s office — she said the abundance of these images was “inexcusable” and finding a way to make these images dynamic was “problematic” but they were necessary to the story she was telling.

After reading two segments from the book, she took questions from the audience. One asked, in reference to a Virginia Woolf quote that appears in the book, if Bechdel felt she’d “put her mother to rest.” Bechdel said she doesn’t know yet — yes, the book was an attempt to do that, but it’s still too soon to say if it worked.

Going back to her process, another question asked how much she plans her layouts before drawing. Bechdel said she writes in Illustrator and while she doesn’t draw there (except for maybe rough sketches or a few placeholder images), it helps her figure out the pacing and the rhythm of her book first. I wanted to hear her talk more about this and I hope I get to one day.

A few questions concerned her family’s reactions. She said her mother isn’t exactly pleased with the book, but can separate the content from its existence. She’s happy to support and defend Bechdel even if she’s not delighted that her daughter wrote a book about her. Bechdel did remark that her mom said “Please, I hope you’re done now.”

Bechdel said she hasn’t heard from her other family members and it’s likely they haven’t read it yet and implied that they mostly know it’s just kind of what she does at this point — tell stories about her family.

In conclusion, she did joke there’s one reaction she’s worried about. “The big thing is, I’m waiting to hear from my therapist.”

(I know that’s not a great photo of Bechdel, but it’s the best one I was able to take — I was far enough away and there were too many heads in the way. But it was a good thing it was crowded. Bechdel absolutely deserves that.)

To me, more than any other medium, there’s an immediacy and an intimacy to comics. At their best, comics feel less like something I consume and more like something I experience. It’s not just words and pictures on a page — it feels like a conversation between me and the creators.

And because of that, I think Dotter of her Father’s Eyes (Dark Horse Comics, 2012) is either a conversation you want to be having or one you’re just overhearing. If it’s the latter for you, you’re still going to get something out of it, but for me, it was absolutely the former. This is a book where I find it impossible to pull my own personal experiences out of how I reacted to it. And to me, that’s why this book is so powerful.

One part memoir, one part biography, the stories that Mary M. Talbot and Bryan Talbot are telling aren’t unique on their own, but there’s a grace and thoughtfulness to the way in which they tell them. There’s light and humor to balance the darker moments.

But let’s be clear — while this book is credited to both Mary and Bryan, this is Mary’s story. Even when the book recounts Lucia Joyce’s life, it still feels like it’s absolutely Mary’s voice telling it. Bryan just seems to be along for the ride — he’s less the driver and more the vehicle. That’s not at all to discount his art. This is Bryan Talbot we’re talking about, after all, but he does have the good sense to use his art to compliment Mary’s story. It’s a charming and loving collaboration (of course, lest you forget that it is Mary’s tale, she points out in a footnotes some of the things Bryan got wrong in his artwork. That’s pretty adorable).

Bryan’s art does give the stories told here some structure. Colors help place the action — full color for the brief modern-day scenes, sepia tones for Mary’s childhood (and neatly, as Mary gets older, more and more color is added into the scenes) and cold blues for Lucia’s life. Except for the scenes in the present that frame the book, panel borders are usually soft or nonexistent as images flowing into each other much like memories.

The stories are both told in a mostly lineal fashion. Mary starts off with her childhood and Lucia’s childhood and progress forward from there, but the shifts between Mary’s life and Lucia’s life feel natural and give the book a strong pace and a sense of drama.

While there are obvious parallels between their lives — they were both daughters of troubled fathers who were looking for their place in the world — Mary doesn’t necessarily push the connection. She clearly relates to Lucia, but she also understand Lucia’s story isn’t hers. It was just one Mary wanted to tell so she could better understand her own life.

I wasn’t left with the impression that Mary necessarily forgave her father, but I don’t know if she needs to. More, I think she just accepted that he was a part of her life.

And that’s where it did get personal for me. Mary’s story isn’t mine, but it’s still one I relate to all too well. I admire her strength and honesty in telling it. When I finished the book, I knew someone else in this world understood what all of this feels like. I know don’t spend all my time thinking about these things, but I also know I still carry it with me.

I’m glad that Mary (and Bryan, let’s not forget!) shared these stories with me. Through this book, I feel like I have a new friend.