I first became aware of this difficult balancing act with Sam Kieth.
I pretty much only read superhero comics, and older ones, at that. Not because I think they’re really good, and other comics aren’t any good. Not even because I think they’re any good at all. It’s just what I gravitate toward. It’s what I grew up with. And as an extension of that, I always imagined that if I got into the comics industry, I would do superhero comics. Sure, the first comic I wrote was a talking heads book devoid of action or costumes or super powers, about an atheist. Then I did the Lump and Dr. DeBunko (more talking heads books). But for some reason I didn’t realize that superhero artists don’t do these kinds of stories. I always assumed this would somehow eventually get me work for a mainstream company, doing mainstream work. I used to spend time thinking about what superheroes I might be good at writing. I know you can’t just suddenly start on Batman or the X-Men. I know you would start on a lesser title and prove your merit, and work your way up.
So I would speak with Sam Kieth, and he would be doing a Venom cover, or a Hulk or Spider-Man story, because they pay so well that he can’t turn them down. And if I ask him what it’s like doing all the greatest of characters, he doesn’t really think much of it. He doesn’t seem proud about it. He practically groans, like he wishes he weren’t doing it. He’d rather talk about his own stories. He doesn’t really enjoy these high-profile superhero gigs. So why does he take them? For Sam, they are a means to help him get by financially while he does Four Women or Zero Girl, or even to finance my paycheck for “Ojo.” Because these are the projects that really mean something to him.
I read an interview of Jaime Hernandez, and he talked about going through basically the same thing Sam was going through, but choosing a different path. He acknowledged that there are comics he could do that would make better money, but he’s chosen not to do these kinds of stories. He does his Love and Rockets book, and it’s critically successful, but the simple fact is he’s making less money than if he were to get into the mainstream. The trade-off is, even if he doesn’t make much, he’s being able to continue doing the stories he wants.
It seems outrageous to me that the people who I assumed were so successful, and who were celebrities of the highest caliber to me as a kid, are simply making a living, to pay the bills.
I heard an interview of the Coen Brothers, whose films I adore. I assumed they were superstars. I assumed actors would be swarming them to be in their films. But it turns out, Hollywood’s the same way, and their artistic merits are highly respected by critics and actors. However, these attributes aren’t as highly respected by the box office. Those Coens could make really good money, if they wanted to do Blockbusters. But they have no interest in it.
It’s the same in the music industry. Bands like the Ramones, who shaped punk rock music and all the bands who followed them, never made a fortune. Music, or acting, or art…it’s all just a job, and it’s a better job than fast food, but we’re all just doing what we do so that we can have an apartment to live in, and some money for groceries.
Each of the Hernandez Brothers has their own projects they do now. They tried to end Love and Rockets, and just have their own books, since each of their stories are so different. But they found their sales numbers just plummeted when they were on their own books.
The comics market is so odd. You’d think if a successful artist did a different book, fans would know that they like this particular artist, and find the artist’s next book and buy it. But whenever artists do this, it seems that oftentimes the fans, or bookstores, or whoever, don’t make the effort to find these projects, or maybe they just don’t even realize it’s being done, or (shudder) aren’t interested in the new project for some reason, even though they liked the one before, and so no one hears about it or reads it. So the Hernandez boys realized the marketability of their “Love and Rockets” title recognition, and decided they’d be better off to go back to it, and continue with the “Love and Rockets” banner. They restarted the title, and then just continued telling their own, separate stories. The stories that as separate books didn’t sell, had perfectly good sales when re-packaged together as “Love and Rockets.”
Tom Coker and Keith Aiken, who I met through my old comics shop haunt, “The Comic Box,” both got into the comics industry, but have moved on to doing movie storyboards or cartoon layouts; that kind of work. They can’t make as much money as comics artists, so they had to get jobs that could pay them a decent salary. Tomm tries to come back to comics a few issues a year, because he loves comics, when he can afford to make less for his work. This industry is such a labor of love for so many people.
Howard Chaykin left comics for fifteen years to write for television. He admits he wrote BAD television, but did it anyways, because he made better money doing bad television than great comics. Also because he knew he couldn’t get benefits or a pension in comics. He finally got his pension, and now he’s finally doing comics again, the medium he loves.
I read Dick Ayers’ autobiography, which was three volumes. The first volume was getting his start, and the second was his work at Marvel during the superhero boom of the sixties. Reading through these, his beginning years looked like a constant struggle to try and get work to support himself and his family. Never knowing if he would have enough jobs to keep himself afloat, and always out hunting down an eight page story here or there, and praying for a monthly or even bi-monthly book, and dreading that it would get cancelled. I read this thinking, Man, he’s going through the exact struggles I’m going through now. But wait until that Marvel craze hits. I can’t wait to hear about the successes he had during that era.
So I read volume two, covering the Marvel years, and slowly it’s setting in on me that the “Marvel silver age” wasn’t that enjoyable for him. He made it sound like he continued to struggle to get work, as much as when he was starting out. He continued to pound out pages as fast as he could, and keep trying to scrape up work. He would think he’d have work, and it would get scooped up by another more famous artist. He always wanted to pencil and ink himself, and maybe write. But he got kind of stuck as an inker. When he finally landed a steady Sgt Fury gig, he was made to get inked by others.
It wasn’t until the third volume of his autobiography that he finally began to get recognition for all his hard work. And this was after getting blackballed by the industry because he didn’t think it was fair that Marvel give him less work, and then reprinting his old work and not paying him for reprinting rights. In the eighties, he was doing janitorial work, until Neal Adams finally helped him get work at DC. Finally, in his retirement years, fans and the industry finally acknowledged all he’d given to the artform.
So I realize I’m going through a shitty, frustrating struggle, just trying to self-publish my own books, but there’s a sort of sick comfort knowing everyone else in the industry, everyone, struggles. Whether they’re peons like me, or superstars and legends. Everyone I talk to says they claim losses for their taxes for the first five years, or the first twenty-five years. There’s just no goddamn money in this industry, it seems, and it takes everyone years or decades before they see any reward for all their hard work and talent. It is such a labor of love.
I go to cons, and I’ll be sitting next to self-publishers, and they’re all nobodies like me. But even if they have great, name recognizable artists, doing covers and sometimes even pencils for them. Even if they’ve had Eisner nominations for “artist most deserving of a wider recognition,” or “best children’s story,” or “best humor publication,” they’re all just struggling, and it seems none of them are able to land work, and we all just continue plugging along and doing the stories we want to tell, and trying to make it.