CONVENTION FOOT TRAFFIC AND SALES

 

Every year at San Diego, I’ve tried different locations, in the hope of finding the place that’s right for me.  This is no easy task, since I believe the convention hall is like two miles long.  The first year, we were in the cheap “bigger” tables, but it seemed like the bulk of people there were unknowns who were able to spend a little better money than the really cheap “small press” area.  The following year we decided to upgrade, by sharing a table, and I had us placed between artist alley, and what I term the “area of studly artists,” where I assumed people would be walking, to get from one of those great areas to the other.  And I assumed that since my comics contained tons of pin-ups by artists in the areas on either side of us, people would WANT to stop at my table, when they accidentally stumbled onto me during that walk.  But that didn’t work either.

 

So this year, I decided, there is an area called “The Small Press Pavilion,” and I am small press.  Rather than try to be a little fish in the big pond, where people are only interested in big fish… Rather than depend on the trickle down theory, trying to glom onto and basically eat a carcass that’s already been feasted on by the successful hunters …  rather than indulging in whatever little I could of the “sloppy seconds” of passers-by…   This year I tried yet another technique.

 

Because the convention is so large, I decided, Hey, there must be people who come to the convention who are actually there to buy indie comics.  And if they are, where are they going to go?  They’re going to go to the area that’s labeled “small press.”  But I still had my pride, and decided I would rather be in the expensive, more glamorous “small press pavilion” than that cheap, shoddy “small press” back-alley, by the bathrooms and behind the garbage cans (which I would try to great success the following year).  I wanted to show, “Even though I’m small press, I’m the BIG-SHOT small press.”  And the table cost a fortune, but this was my year.  If it didn’t work, I would be reduced to the small press next year (to great success, it turned out).  But of course I hoped the showy, glam-sparkled, expensive area would be a huge success, with that bigger, more prestigious exposure.

 

Well…We heard how busy the convention was.  When we walked through the hall, we could see how packed it was.  If we looked down the aisles on either side of us, we would see hordes of people passing by in mobs.  But then we would look down our own aisle, and it was almost always empty.  What the hell??!  We were in an all-small-press area, so you would think people would come to a convention knowing they wanted to see small-press books, and wander up and down the area, and buy stuff.  We didn’t see any of that.

 

I know I feel like I make excuses every time we don’t do very good sales, get foot traffic, whatever.  But it’s gone on long enough, and maybe I just have to acknowledge the certain, sad truth…either about myself, or about the comics industry.  If I’m unwilling to admit that it’s my work, then I can argue people go to conventions because they like certain artists, and they hunt down those particular artists, and wait in line to see them.  But I’m not one of them yet.  People don’t really seek me out, or seek my books out, because I haven’t reached that heavenly celebrity stage yet.  And even if I work pretty hard doing pitches, I only get moderate sales.

 

And of course this is minimizing, exaggerating, and focusing on one tiny aspect.  Some people at the con just want to watch anime.  Some people just want to get the exclusive Star Wars toy.  Some people actually looked for me, and told me they couldn’t find me afterward, because the con is just so damn HUGE.  And so damn overwhelming.  And there are tons of great artists all around me, small press and fan favorites, and there’s just SO MUCH.  Who can say what the secret is?  Who can say what the formula is for success?  I’m still learning and working on it.

 

A clear sign that I don’t just have a shitty book is that even Matt, the master salesman in my opinion, was not having particularly good sales at our booth.  So I ended up making about the same amount of money I make at every convention, even though this time the con was twice as many days as the usual con, and I spent three times the usual cost to be there.

 

I popped over to the small press area throughout the con, because so many of my fellow self-publishing friends and acquaintances had wound up there.  And looking at it, I thought, the con folks really made this a nice area.  It seemed to look better, and more inviting this year.  And I heard the guidelines were actually quite strict for being allowed in the area.  Talking with my friends, they all said they were actually doing great there this year.  Tons of foot traffic, tons of sales.  Could it be?

 

Lesson?  The convention is too important from a professional standpoint to stop coming, so that option is out.  The connections I make with editors and publishers, and artists, is too invaluable.  Everyone attends this con.  I have tried enough locations (three years’ worth), and none of them have been successful yet.  So from now on I will spend as little as possible on a table at this convention.  It’s one more thing to try, at least, and you never know.  Maybe that will turn out to be my magic spot, after all (and it did).

 

Every year at San Diego, I’ve tried different locations, in the hope of finding the place that’s right for me.  This is no easy task, since I believe the convention hall is like two miles long.  The first year, we were in the cheap “bigger” tables, but it seemed like the bulk of people there were unknowns who were able to spend a little better money than the really cheap “small press” area.  The following year we decided to upgrade, by sharing a table, and I had us placed between artist alley, and what I term the “area of studly artists,” where I assumed people would be walking, to get from one of those great areas to the other.  And I assumed that since my comics contained tons of pin-ups by artists in the areas on either side of us, people would WANT to stop at my table, when they accidentally stumbled onto me during that walk.  But that didn’t work either.

So this year, I decided, there is an area called “The Small Press Pavilion,” and I am small press.  Rather than try to be a little fish in the big pond, where people are only interested in big fish… Rather than depend on the trickle down theory, trying to glom onto and basically eat a carcass that’s already been feasted on by the successful hunters …  rather than indulging in whatever little I could of the “sloppy seconds” of passers-by…   This year I tried yet another technique.

Because the convention is so large, I decided, Hey, there must be people who come to the convention who are actually there to buy indie comics.  And if they are, where are they going to go?  They’re going to go to the area that’s labeled “small press.”  But I still had my pride, and decided I would rather be in the expensive, more glamorous “small press pavilion” than that cheap, shoddy “small press” back-alley, by the bathrooms and behind the garbage cans (which I would try to great success the following year).  I wanted to show, “Even though I’m small press, I’m the BIG-SHOT small press.”  And the table cost a fortune, but this was my year.  If it didn’t work, I would be reduced to the small press next year (to great success, it turned out).  But of course I hoped the showy, glam-sparkled, expensive area would be a huge success, with that bigger, more prestigious exposure.

Well…We heard how busy the convention was.  When we walked through the hall, we could see how packed it was.  If we looked down the aisles on either side of us, we would see hordes of people passing by in mobs.  But then we would look down our own aisle, and it was almost always empty.  What the hell??!  We were in an all-small-press area, so you would think people would come to a convention knowing they wanted to see small-press books, and wander up and down the area, and buy stuff.  We didn’t see any of that.

I know I feel like I make excuses every time we don’t do very good sales, get foot traffic, whatever.  But it’s gone on long enough, and maybe I just have to acknowledge the certain, sad truth…either about myself, or about the comics industry.  If I’m unwilling to admit that it’s my work, then I can argue people go to conventions because they like certain artists, and they hunt down those particular artists, and wait in line to see them.  But I’m not one of them yet.  People don’t really seek me out, or seek my books out, because I haven’t reached that heavenly celebrity stage yet.  And even if I work pretty hard doing pitches, I only get moderate sales.

And of course this is minimizing, exaggerating, and focusing on one tiny aspect.  Some people at the con just want to watch anime.  Some people just want to get the exclusive Star Wars toy.  Some people actually looked for me, and told me they couldn’t find me afterward, because the con is just so damn HUGE.  And so damn overwhelming.  And there are tons of great artists all around me, small press and fan favorites, and there’s just SO MUCH.  Who can say what the secret is?  Who can say what the formula is for success?  I’m still learning and working on it.

A clear sign that I don’t just have a shitty book is that even Matt, the master salesman in my opinion, was not having particularly good sales at our booth.  So I ended up making about the same amount of money I make at every convention, even though this time the con was twice as many days as the usual con, and I spent three times the usual cost to be there.

I popped over to the small press area throughout the con, because so many of my fellow self-publishing friends and acquaintances had wound up there.  And looking at it, I thought, the con folks really made this a nice area.  It seemed to look better, and more inviting this year.  And I heard the guidelines were actually quite strict for being allowed in the area.  Talking with my friends, they all said they were actually doing great there this year.  Tons of foot traffic, tons of sales.  Could it be?

Lesson?  The convention is too important from a professional standpoint to stop coming, so that option is out.  The connections I make with editors and publishers, and artists, is too invaluable.  Everyone attends this con.  I have tried enough locations (three years’ worth), and none of them have been successful yet.  So from now on I will spend as little as possible on a table at this convention.  It’s one more thing to try, at least, and you never know.  Maybe that will turn out to be my magic spot, after all (and it did).