By February 21st, 2000, working on a script, I had also written a proposal for “The Lump,” and even sent it to Vertigo Comics. I of course didn’t get any form of response. With all this continued lack of interest for any scripts I tried to show, describe, or send, I started thinking about drawing. So I pounded through and finished 24 drawn, inked, lettered pages completing “The Lump #1,” (the first of an envisioned three issues, and the story portion which ended up being the first two of six chapters in the later-redrawn and extended, published version). This I mailed myself, certified, on January 19th, 2001. The package also contained finished scripts for issues two and three, which completed the story. That’s practically a year it took me, between sending out a proposal, completing the scripts, and finishing the first issue. That’s a long time, but to my credit, I drew the first issue twice, once as 8 1/2″ x 11″ fully-realized layouts.
So now I had the first chapter of the Lump, twenty-four pages, and a convention to show it off. San Francisco’s APE.
Talking with friends, I had been told there are tons of indie companies who I should talk to, and try and see if anyone would publish my stuff. At the con, I realized, sure, all these people are “self-publishers,” but they’re not really “publishers.” It became clear they were all basically just guys like me who drew a full story, but then they took money out of their own bank account to print their own stuff. They’re not looking for people with stories and art. They can’t even afford to print their own stuff. So walking through the convention, I found myself passing by pretty much everyone there, and looking for companies that actually put out a number of books by a number of different people. I was familiar with all the names of the bigger companies. I also looked for a few other companies, who it turned out had gone out of business. I just assumed they must be based on the East Coast, and kept looking for them at the next few conventions.
I spoke with a nice younger-looking guy with Fantagraphics and left a package with him. He said they don’t look at work at conventions because it’s too crazy and hectic, but that if there’s a self-addressed envelope included, they will respond to the package. I would later learn this kind fellow was Eric Reynolds.
Also at this convention, I spoke with Slave Labor. I asked about getting a portfolio review, and someone pointed to the person I should speak with, who was busy. I waited and checked back, and finally this person said, Come on, let’s just do it now. He gave a kind, thoughtful review, and basically said I need to vary my line quality. He knew I was using sharpies, and thought I should be using brushes or pens. This was Dan Vado who gave me this review.
Fantagraphics actually sent me a rejection letter for the package I had left with them, which I very much appreciated. They hand-wrote a little note that, although they thought my art was just okay, they thought the story was good. They recommended I submit it to the Xeric Grant. I was encouraged by this small act of kindness. I had heard that if an editor takes the time to send more than a typed form letter, they saw a little something in your work.
I had also heard of the Xeric Grant from a friend, and it sounded like a very generous opportunity, but I had no interest in self-publishing. Although this letter probably planted that first self-publishing seed…
Jaime and Mario Hernandez were there. I listened to an interview they gave. What fascinated me was their description of each having their own projects, and deciding to end Love and Rockets to do their own things. But sales on all their individual projects paled compared to their Love and Rockets books. They attributed it to name recognition, especially from bookstores, who would see the “Love and Rockets” name and just order a few books. That’s why they decided to bring the book back, in its new, smaller format. But within the pages, they all just continued to do their individual projects. It got me thinking about an umbrella title, which I could use for years and years. A title that could epitomize any story I might want to tell. Daniel Clowes did it for Eightball. I eventually decided I liked the name, “Tabloia.”
I went to Oni, but they were too busy and not doing portfolio reviews. I was intrigued that they seemed to be a young, hip company, and their work seemed most like what I was doing, since they had just put out a film noir-looking book, Whiteout.
I showed my pages to Scott McCloud. I considered him the sort of Guru of How To Draw Comics. I don’t know why. He politely flipped through, and seemed to enjoy two sequences. For the three of you out there who have read my comic, “The Lump,” it was the Lindsay-Lance exchange through the chained-closed door, and the Morelli-Gomez exchange in the police station with all the blinds. He recommended trying to add more texture to images. I explicitly remember him discussing this topic in his book. Somehow, I expected more comments and advice from him.
I was too intimidated to try and go to Top Shelf or Drawn and Quarterly.
I felt I was well-treated by everyone, despite basic rejections. I appreciated Slave Labor for taking time to look at the work right there and speak with me. Maybe I was getting used to the process now. Just the same, it was frustrating, not really knowing how to approach companies, or how to try to get work, and afraid to try.
I recognized Brent Anderson wandering around, looking at all the indie books. I had met him at a local Sacramento convention, and a local Sacramento store signing. I stopped him and introduced myself, and mentioned I was having trouble getting anyone to look at my stuff, and he said, “Well open it up. Let’s see it.” And he took the time to go through my work, and give me some words of encouragement. He gave me more attention than any of the editors at the con combined, and it was very empowering. He talked about his latest book, a hardcover, self-contained Green Lantern story, that Bill Sienkiewicz would ink. He and Bill used to share a studio, and he told me how Bill’s work at that time looked a lot like Neal Adams’s work.
He asked if I knew what caused Bill’s art hitting the stage that it became “Sienkiewicz.” I told him I assumed it was drugs, similar to how the Beatles reached that place when their music really reached new heights. Brent said that Bill didn’t do any drugs, and that drugs were not what caused Bill’s art to blossom, as far as he knew. I felt pretty embarassed blurting something inappropriate out like that, but he continued his story.
Brent had told Bill, if you don’t want to look like Neal Adams, start looking at a LOT of art (something I learned in art school from Wayne Thiebaud), and incorporate ALL your favorite artists and styles into your comics work. According to Brent, Bill’s next comic was the issue of Moon Night where Bill’s art really began becoming its own, I’m guessing around number fourteen, but it may have been later.
Brent kindly gave me his contact info and asked me to send him my stuff, so he could look at it in greater detail and offer some advice. I thought he was so kind to give me so much of his time, and to be so friendly and talkative and supportive. It was a great, important gesture for me, and I really appreciated it. And especially that it would come from an established artist, whose “Astro Cities” were such a hit.