cwisnia

So, as he’s told me such, I’m assuming Sam and I will do some as-yet-undetermined book at some as-yet-undetermined point in the future. And every time it gets brought up, it gets set back farther in time, because Sam is running so far behind schedule for Ojo, and that’s setting back his schedule for the filming of the Ojo movie. And so naturally any future projects are getting pushed so far back, he can’t even think about them for maybe a year or so, realistically. And every time he talks to me on the phone, he’s stressed out about all this, and telling me how our project is just getting set back farther and farther.

Imagine my surprise when my wife called me at work one day and said, “Chris, there’s a message on the machine from Sam, and he said he really needs a big favor from you.” At that point I realized he’d left a message on my cell phone as well. I somewhat anxiously called him, and he told me that Alex Pardee, his artist for Ojo, had just been asked to do the artwork for the Used’s new album. They were just signed to a major label, and were going on a major tour, and would be on MTV; the whole works. So they also wanted Alex to do the video, touring set designs, t-shirts – everything. This allowed Alex a nice hefty payment and a lot of work, but no time or monetary incentive to finish Ojo. And Sam had always been impressed with me and how dedicated I was to plugging away and getting through a job, and he knew I had assumed we’d work on one of the other projects some time in the future, but what did I think?

I wasn’t sure I understood exactly what he was asking me. But that’s how I ended up doing the art with Sam for Ojo.

We discussed what tactic we should take with the art. Sam had had conflicts with the art with Alex, who at first was trying to draw like Sam, but eventually decided to draw in his own style. Sam had been going over many of the pages afterwards anyways, adding his own artwork, to help add a consistency to the pages he had drawn in the book. We finally decided it’s difficult enough for a reader to get through a story when the artist changes, let alone with three completely different artists with completely different styles and sensibilities. So I would draw as best I could in the style the book had already established. I had one and a half issues of Ojo to use as my reference material.

The key with the project was speed, as the first issue was already at the printer, and the filming dates for the Ojo film were being set, and none of the actors had a script. At first, Sam sent me layouts of pages, but his layouts were so detailed, he felt it would have taken him just as long to draw completed pages. Add to this I was basically just copying his layouts, and since they were layouts, Sam felt much of it was sloppy, and got frustrated to see much of the same sloppiness he had presented in my final pages. He tended to redraw these, over my “finished” inks.

Eventually he stopped sending me page layouts, and I just drew all the pages from his plot descriptions. I never knew what was going on or being said in the pictures except what he described, because he never sent me dialogue. He would just write that this character talks to that character, and then walks over there. So I never knew for sure what expressions characters should have. I was trying to draw in a Sam Kieth style, but I felt concerned most of the pages were pretty evident who did what.

When I finished my pages, Sam went into them and added his textures, speckles, and chicken-scratches. Also, if he was unhappy enough with a panel, or just envisioned a different angle, for example, he would redraw it on my page. When I saw the finished pages, I was surprised, comparing them to scans of my originals, the things I thought I had done that he redrew, or vice versa.

Sam told me that it was a tough job for me, because I am a no-name and he is Sam Kieth. I’ll have some books on my resume, but no one will realize my contribution to the project. Everyone will assume all the bad drawings are by me and all the good ones are by him. Ah well…

I learned a lot from this project. When I drew from his layouts, I realized how easily he captures details with so little. He just draws a squiggle, and it’s so obvious it’s a shoe and a pant leg. And when I tried to redraw it, I thought, “Well I guess it’s kind of a shoe, but how did he get it to look so much like a pant leg? It’s just a scribble.” Amazing. And his line quality. I learned even more when I looked at how he chose to alter my pages. When I look at my artwork in Ojo, I can’t help but wince, and all the more so when it’s facing a page of Sam’s.

I finished all my portion of the art on August 14th, 2004, only just over three months after Sam first sent me the script, and with a fair amount of waiting throughout.  A few fans and reviewers said the art didn’t flow, or that they could tell when one page was mine, and one was Sam’s. I suspect they assume that a “bad” page was by me and a “cool” page was by Sam, and that in reality it would surprise them to learn who did everything. Sam’s art is so inconsistent from panel to panel, with one photo-realistic and detailed, and the next practically a stick-figure, or a cartoon. Whenever I spoke with Oni about the book afterwards, they always seemed happy with the end-result. They said most everyone thought things blended together nicely. They said they weren’t sure exactly who drew what. That’s the nicest compliments they could give, since that’s all I hoped to accomplish.

But as humbling and humiliating as it all feels, I’m very proud to have been a part of this book, and to have been able to help Sam when he was in a serious crunch.

Now I have three issues of Tabloia completely finished, including covers, letters pages, and title pages. I have pin-ups to cover the first four issues, from some of my favorite artists. I have begun the process of self-publishing. Wheels are in motion and I cannot stop them.

I had picked up a very helpful submissions packet from Diamond Comic Distributors, and it said that they only accept about a third of all proposals asking for distribution. They recommended for my initial submission that I submit two or three issues, so that they can get a better feel for the overall quality of the book, and for the direction the book is going to go. Also, it shows commitment on my part, and it gives me, a new publisher, some lead time for the issues that will come out afterwards. I wrote up a cover letter, listing Dick Ayers doing partial inks, and all the pin-ups artists I had lined up. I sent them full copies of the first three issues. I also told them I planned on doing some advertising to try and get some interest.
It took a few weeks after I submitted all this, and then I received a personal phone call, where they told me they had accepted me for distribution, and I would be listed in the next catalogue. That was a nice feeling, knowing the books would be coming out. We set up an account on the phone, and I had to send in all these forms and information for credit. My first comic would be in stores June, just in time for San Diego’s big convention. My business partner, Wayne Jones, and I put together a cover image and description of the first issue, which would be listed in Diamond’s Previews catalogue.

I knew I wanted to do some promotion, and went through all the various possibilities that Diamond had to offer. I decided two of them sounded like good ideas. I decided to run an ad in the catalog that my issue would appear in. I also decided to print mini-posters (11″x14″) of the ad, and to have Diamond send them out to the top six hundred shops that buy indie comics.

I had been impressed when I heard Diamond had something like four thousand accounts with stores. Then I thought about it, and talked with people about it, and we decided, that’s probably not shops that buy comics every week. We suspected that’s basically how many shops have ever bought something from Diamond, and who they have on their record books. All the rest of Diamond’s clientele either buy the toys and statues and t-shirts and other comics-related merchandise, or else they only sell X- and Bat- and Spider-books.

While getting ready to self-publish, I’d spoken with a few self-publishers. A very few. But the advice I’d gotten was that, in their experience, advertising money is basically never worth the cost. They all said, you pay for that advertising money, and then that money is gone. I listened to this advice, but I didn’t really hear it, and here’s why. I assumed, since I had some pretty cool big names who had done pin-ups from me, that if comics fans only found out about all the great pin-ups in my books, they would buy the book. I looked at my pin-ups as my advertising. People would say, “Oh, I love Mike Allred,” and that would at least convince them to flip through the issue. And from there, I naively assumed, when people saw my work, they would enjoy it. They would enjoy it so much, I naively assumed, that then they would continue picking up every issue I do after that, because they would become so taken by and impressed with my work.

So I decided, if I ran a full page color ad in Diamond’s Previews, that would give people the chance to see all these great artists who would be doing pin-ups of my book, and then they would pick up a few copies for their store. And then they would get my poster, and they would put that up in their store window or at their counter, and then their clients would see it and say, “Wow, that sure looks good. I can’t wait to check that out.” I naively assumed that there should be at least a thousand Mike Allred, Thomas Yeates, and Gene Colan fans out there (because that’s whose pin-ups would be in issue one). I hoped I would sell even more, but kind of stupidly assumed I should get 1000 at least. And once the book came out, everyone would love it, and they would tell all their friends, and all their friends would want to pick up copies, and everyone would keep buying the following issues, and before you know it, I’d have a successful comic on my hands!

The reason I hoped for a thousand sales is that, one of Diamond’s requirements for continued distribution is that you make enough sales that they can justify continuing to try and sell your book through their catalog. If you don’t, it’s honestly kind of a waste of everyone’s time to keep trying. The store can’t sell the book, so they don’t buy it. The distributor isn’t making enough money, and they could be using the space they list your book on someone else. And you the publisher certainly aren’t making the money. So it’s quite practical. I figured out, based on the amount of money Diamond expected, and based on my first issue’s cover price, that a thousand issues is what I needed to sell to be safe with my new distributor. And why shouldn’t I be able to make a minimum like that?

When the orders came in, I was disappointed to see they were at 613. Considerably under a thousand. Now I had to decide how many comics to print. Here’s how printers work. If you buy a thousand 32-page books, it was about $1300 (including shipping). But if you buy 2000, it’s only $1500. If you buy three thousand, it’s only $1600. So the more you buy, the less each book costs you, per unit. The reason for this is that the printer’s set-up is what costs so much money. Paper and ink cost nothing. So if you think you can sell a lot of books, over time, it’s definitely worth it to go with that extra.

The problem is, you have to remember, a thousand extra books is a hell of a lot. That will take up a hell of a lot of space, and you have to keep them from getting banged up or moldy or ruined in other ways until you manage to sell them. And if you don’t ever sell that extra thousand, then you’re out two hundred bucks more than you could have been. Then you also have all the pain-in-the-ass grief of storing them all those years you didn’t sell them, and eventually having to make the painful decision of how you’re going to wind up dumping or destroying them all afterwards.

So when I told my business partner, Wayne, about the numbers, he thought I should be proud of that, and he thought I should print a thousand.

But since I was still hopeful the book would catch on, I for some reason decided not to print two thousand, but to print three thousand books! What in the holy hell I was thinking I don’t know. I had too much faith. I assumed more people would hear about the pin-ups, and realize they wanted the book if they only heard about it, and sales would be like a snowball down a cliff, and the word would spread, for three thousand issues.

I would say it took me until the third issue’s order numbers to come in, before I had to admit just how terribly wrong I was about my hope for everything.

It was official. The comic would be coming out. I wanted to have a place people could go and learn everything they wanted to know about my book, and as little as I knew about the web, I knew I should have a website.

First off, I had to decide if I should buy the domain “chriswisniaarts.com” or “chriswisnia.com.” What the hell I was thinking I don’t know, but I went with “chriswisniaarts.com.” (Although I do own “chriswisnia.com” now, so I can always change it, or use both.)

Actually, I’ll tell you what I was naively thinking. I had decided that any story I might tell in the foreseeable future could fit under my umbrella title of “Tabloia.” Because I was new and fresh in the industry, I assumed that my stories were good enough that people would buy them, and my career would just get better and better, and my sales would go up every issue as I built a readership who learned of me and respected what I was doing, and the “Tabloia” comic would go on as long as I felt like publishing it. So I wanted my website to be about the book. I thought my book would have a better chance at survival than myself, an unknown comics creator. I thought my work should be more interesting than the person who created it. I wanted the book to be the product, and not me. It also fit in with the whole fictional world I was creating of Tabloia as an actual non-fiction tabloid magazine.

Along these lines, I didn’t even plan to put my name on the cover of the book, let alone as the introductory phrase (“Chris Wisnia’s”) to every title. Another side note: To this day, people assume my last name is “Wisnias” as a result. When Stan Lee wrote a blurb for my Doris Danger treasury, he called me “Chris Wisnias.”

So that decided, we had to come up with a look for the website. In addition to it being an advertisement for my work, I wanted to have fun features there, so that people would want to check out the website, and hopefully spend some time there. I wanted things that seemed so fun and witty and entertaining that viewers would have an exact idea of what the book is like, and they’d hate themselves if they didn’t support us and buy my comic.

I discussed things with my helper and “business manager,” Wayne Jones, who basically executed whatever crazy hair-brained ideas I had in mind as I got them. We decided to stick with the black-white-and-red theme that Damon Thompson had chosen for the comic’s covers.

Of course, the most important thing was to show what the book was, and what was in it. I decided I wanted people to come to the site and have a nice big image of my current issue’s cover there on the index page. So we did that. And when you clicked enter, you came to a page listing the four stories in the comic: The Lump, Dick Hammer: Conservative Republican Private Investigator, Dr. DeBunko, and Doris Danger. When you clicked on one of the story’s images, it took you to that story’s main page, with a description of the story and a couple images from the current issue. This meant I was posting eight images of each issue (two for each of the four stories). That’s quite a bit to give away, I thought, but it just made the most sense.

Since this was still so early, we were still working out Wayne’s roll as “business manager.” We decided I would finance everything, and he would help me for free, just for the fun of the experience. So I wasn’t sure just how much, or what kind of help he wanted to do. I remember telling him to read through the issue and pick his favorite two panels for each story. And he said, Oh no. I’m not doing that. You have to pick them. You pick them, and I’ll post them. So I was learning that I should make the decisions, and it was probably better that way anyways, because I’ve realized about myself that I do have specific ideas in mind, even if I don’t realize it right off.

On Doris’s main page, I made sure to list all the contributing pin-up artists. I hoped this would cause people who looked up these artists to wind up on my page, and then realize they couldn’t live without the book, and then try to order it. To emphasize it, we soon decided to create a different “contributors” listing page. Here, I described all my favorite projects by all these great contributors, and made links to their websites.

We then did a page of “FAQs,” which was fun to make up important, not-so-important, and absurd “questions” people were allegedly asking. We made up a history of Tabloia, and we made up a history of Salt Peter Press. And all this just played into the attitude that we embodied in the comics themselves, with their letters pages full of fake letters, and fake “news” segments and editorials.

It was a natural progression to give every character in the book their own email, because we were pretending that each character is a real person and contributor to the magazine. So Dr. DeBunko and Doris Danger, as well as bit characters like Professor Pardi all are available to their public online. And of course, the most important one is Rob Oder, imaginary editor-in-chief of Tabloia Weekly Magazine.

We posted the site, and got a few hits, primarily from all my personal friends, who I called and asked to check it out. I occasionally saw a couple hits to the site from people who typed in one random word or another on Google or Yahoo. When the comic was listed in Previews, I saw a couple more hits to the site.

At this point, I was getting pretty excited, so every day, once in the morning and once at night (and sometimes more), I would check my emails to see if there were any potential fans out there. I got a fair amount of spam mail, and a few kind emails of support from friends. And every day I would also check the website stats to see how many people had popped over to my website, and for how many minutes they were there. And if people stayed on the site for more than two minutes (or even more than five! Wow!) then I would think, that’s great! That’s a potential fan! (And I would rarely think, “That’s probably another of my friends.”)

Looking at the very small number of hits per day, Wayne and I realized that the title page didn’t contain any text. It just had the cover image. So I discussed with Wayne how, perhaps it would make a difference if we put descriptions, book title, whatever we can get, on that title page, so that search engines would acknowledge it. And I mentioned that it’s too bad, because I would prefer to just have the cover image. That’s when Wayne suggested the “Secret Messages.”

What we decided is that, below the cover image, we would implant a black text on a black background, so that no one would be able to see it unless they happened to accidentally highlight it with their mouse. We would put the names of all the pin-up artists there, and we would also list random words that tend to generate interest and get hits from the general public. Names of celebrities, words people use to try to find porn sites, current events. And then, to make this “secret message” special, we would make all these random hit-generating words into an actual message to fans, and then tell fans in the book where the message is and how to access it, so that they could feel like they were special, and in on an in-joke that no one else knows.

So that taken care of, now our site was ready, with plenty of fun for people unaware of the book or curious, or who would read it and want to learn more. And sure enough we began slowly generating additional hits to our site.

When I had shopped around my Dick Ayers-inked pages at San Diego 2003, all three Hernandez Brothers were sitting together at the Fantagraphics table. They each said, individually, they would be interested in doing a pin-up. All of them had their emails posted in their Love and Rockets books, and said to contact them that way.

I sent emails to all of them at once, and I believe Mario was quickest to get back to me. He was really friendly and fun with his correspondence, and excited to do the project from the start. It took him a few months to do the piece for me, and he even apologized for taking so long, although it was really a very reasonable time he managed to get it out. I wasn’t in a hurry, because I was planning to have it in the third issue, and I hadn’t even gotten the first issue out, and I knew I would be putting the books out quarterly.

Gilbert was much quieter with his emails, and basically just named a price, and then I didn’t hear from him for a while. In my typical paranoid fashion, I began to think that the reason I didn’t hear from him is that I accidentally mistyped his name in my email. And I really did spell his name wrong. It read “Giblert.” Then one day, a plain white envelope with my own address listed as the return address came in the mail. I opened it, and there was a Xerox copy of Klogg: The Thing from the Sink, the pin-up he had done for me. He said if I liked it, send him a check to his address, and he would send me the original. So I basically never corresponded with him. I just told him I wanted the piece, and then he did the piece, and then he sent me the piece.

So at this stage I had two out of three Hernandez monster pin-ups, and Jaime had yet to write me back. So I emailed Gilbert and Mario, and asked them to be sure and tell Jaime what a nice guy I was. Mario warned me that Jaime doesn’t even return his (Mario’s) emails — his own brother. He’s just reclusive, and hard to get in touch with. And still no word from Jaime.

Ape-Con came around again — so this is six months or whatever later, and Mario and Jaime were sitting together. Jaime had a line, so I re-introduced myself to Mario, and Mario was real friendly and cool. He seemed genuinely excited to visit with me, after doing the pin-up for me. He told me I paid him better than Fantagraphics, and definitely seemed appreciative. I told him that I feel the artists who’ve given me such pleasure over the years deserve that much, at least. While I was talking to Mario, Jaime glanced over and realized who I was. I introduced myself, and he seemed honestly embarrassed that he hadn’t written me back yet. He pointed out that he’s always busy, and he’d be keeping an eye on my emails in his inbox, but they would just work their way down the stack of them before he had a chance to get back to me. He said he would definitely get in touch with me if I wrote him again.

I went home from the con and wrote him again, telling him to let me know how much he’d like as payment, and when he thinks he could have a piece done.

Finally he wrote a short, concise letter saying how much he’d like, and that if I wanted to keep the piece he wanted more. But he didn’t say how much more he’d like. The amount was quite a bit, though. He ended the note with, Bet you wish now you hadn’t heard from me.

So I wrote back to find out how much extra he would want if he let me keep the piece, and I suggested a price I could afford. He had asked for the high side of what I had paid for all the other artists I’d gotten up to that point — and he hadn’t added in his “keep the piece” fee. I told him if he wanted more money than the numbers I was looking at, it might take me more time to get the money saved up. And I wished I hadn’t made an offer, because it made me wonder if I’d insulted him, or if he felt like, oh, just forget this. He didn’t write me back again, and I got more nervous the longer I waited. So I finally wrote yet again, telling him to please write and let me know how much he would like, and I didn’t name a price this time. And he still didn’t write. So finally I wrote and told him, “I am in agony. I AM IN AGONY! Write me back and tell me how much you want, and I will send you a check.”

What else can you do, when you’d love a pin-up from this guy, and you have two Hernandez Brothers pin-ups and want to be able to include all of “Los Hernandez,” and the last one starts playing hardball? O, how he had me in his snare! …Or was he legitimately just not much of an emailer?

When I began the process of self-publishing, I designed an ad for my Tabloia comic, which I would use in Previews magazine as well as for a poster to send to shops. I was still waiting to confirm whether Jaime was going to do the pin-up or not. I had listed Mike Allred, Thomas Yeates, Gene Colan, Bill Sienkiewicz, Irwin Hasen, Sam Kieth, Mario and Gilbert Hernandez, and Russ Heath (who it turned out, I wouldn’t get a pin-up from for over two years!). I really wanted to include Jaime on this promo, but didn’t feel comfortable, since I couldn’t really get in touch with him in any way. I thought it might be risky if he saw his name on this ad before we had officially set it up, and opted not to list him.

Finally, he wrote back another brief, succinct note, and named a price, and it was of course more than the price I had asked, making him my most expensive pin-up yet. I would later learn that there are other artists who are worth more, or who ask for more. Of course it depends on the value of their name as an artist, how big they work, how much detail or work they care to put into the piece, what other projects they have going at the moment, how much they really want (or don’t want) to draw something for me, and how much drawing it is worth to them. Lots of factors. I try to pay an artist what they ask, but the simple truth is I can’t always afford what they ask. Every now and then I’ll try and negotiate, and see if they can afford to do something less expensive than their estimate. I ask if we can factor in any variables (size, amount of detail, or even the fact that I’m a lowly self-publisher who loses money every issue I put out). But in the end, they have to decide what it’s worth to them to draw me a picture of a monster that will see print.

So when he named his price, I ate it and wrote out a check, and soon his piece came in the mail. But when it came in the mail, it came COD. That bastard, I laughed. Even at that price, it wasn’t high enough to include the goddamn shipping??! He just had to stick it to me one more time!

After my first and memorable experience with Steranko at a store signing, you can imagine how much I was looking forward to another leisurely friendly attempt to get a pin-up from him at Wondercon. I don’t think I was quite shaking or perspiring, but I was definitely nervous. Here’s what happened at this convention:

He was right by the entrance and easy to find. There were already a dozen people in line, so I immediately joined the line and waited. While I’m waiting, the guy manning the booth is bustling up and down, working really hard, addressing everyone in line, pointing at all the books on the table, saying, “This one has two never-before-published pages of Steranko pencils. This one has a cover that was rejected by Marvel because it was too racy. This reprints his story from…” etc etc. I asked him, “How’s the convention going?” He kind of groaned. I inquired, “Not so good?” He replied, “HE (using his head to gesture in the direction of … STERANKO!) is in a bad mood.” Apparently, Steranko was complaining, “Where is everyone? The line should be four deep!” And I’m thinking, great, this should prove to be a soothing meeting.

I finally got up to the front of the line. I learned from my previous mistake with him. I didn’t try to show him my art, and give him an opportunity to tell me he didn’t have time to look at it. I immediately asked up front if he does commissions, and I tried to explain my book a bit. He said he does commissions on occasion, but told me I wasn’t talking about a commission, I wanted work for hire to publish, which is different. He understood what I was looking for, so I didn’t bother to argue semantics with him. He said, how much? I said I wanted to know what he thought would be fair. He said, How about ten thousand. I tried to stutter that that was out of my price range. No? he laughed. Then how about twelve thousand? I just tried to stay on track. I told him the pin-up would be a back page in the book, and he said, “BACK page? BACK page!!!??”

The woman in line behind me was shaking her head, so Steranko said, much, I think, to his amusement, “My agent (pointing at this woman) says no.” Her thinking being that the great Steranko only accepts cover work. No one should dare to push him to the back pages.
So I’m trying to explain my position, and I began blubbering like an ignoramus that I admired his work, and would do what I could to get anything I could from him. In the midst of my fawning, he stood up, and said, “Chris, Chris. SHUT UP! Here’s what I want you to do. You’ll be here all day? Come back later, and you make me an offer, okay? And take off that tie! That thing’s awful!” And he sent me on my way.

I wear ties to every convention. Partly I like to show my respect for the medium, but also I know that there are so many faces that everyone sees throughout the day, I want any edge I can get to help people remember me. I’ve been doing it since I first started going to portfolio reviews.

So I’m sweating all day. My friends think I should screw this guy. They think it’s bullshit that he’s treating me like this. But I really do admire his work, and in the end, I’d really like to try and get a pin-up from him. And deep down, perhaps in a perverse way, I’ve always kind of enjoyed, not being treated like shit, but just the whole attitude he’s giving off. I think it’s just his way of being funny, and I do find it pretty funny, in an outrageous way, when I step back from the shame and embarrassment it causes me. So finally at the end of the day I go back and wait in line again.

While in line, I realize one of the guys working the table is someone I had showed my monster stories to at San Diego last year, so I get talking with him again and showing him my stuff, and he’s real friendly and interested. I get up to the front of the line, and I say to Steranko, “I know you said to take off the tie, but I wanted to make sure you recognized me.” So he immediately lays into me about the tie.

“That thing’s terrible. Take it off!”

I said, “Oh, I assumed you were just kidding earlier.”

“TAKE IT OFF!”

“If you’re serious, I’m happy to take it off for you, because I respect you that much.”

“I’m serious. Take it off! Where did you get that thing?”

I told him, “It was my Grandfather’s. He passed away.”

Finally he settled down a little.

I offered him a payment that caused him to look me in the eye and finally listen.

“I am self-publishing a six issue comic. I already have the covers commissioned, and they have a cohesive look between all of them. It’s a pseudo-anthology with four different stories in each issue. The final story is the monster story inked by Dick Ayers. Following the monster story is the pin-up section, and each issue will have three pin-ups.” I realize I’m leaning on his table, and my hand is shaking, I’m so nervous to make this proposition. Sometimes I’m stuttering, and I apologize and tell him I’m really nervous.

He grabs my arm and bellows, “Chris! Chris! We’re all friends here!”

As I’m about to go through my usual list of what I’d like for mt payment, he booms, “I KEEP THE ARTWORK!”

And I’m thinking, shit.

He continues, “I KEEP THE ARTWORK, AND YOU HAVE FULL PUBLISHING RIGHTS!”

I tell him I was hoping to keep the artwork, but here are some other things. “Go ahead!” he shouts.

I’d like to announce your pin-up is in my book, for advertising, press releases…

“DONE!” he shouts, and I jump back a little. “What else? NEXT! NEXT!”

I want the payment to be in full.

“FINE! WHAT ELSE?”

“Well, I offered that price assuming I could keep the art.”

“NO, I ALWAYS KEEP THE ART. THAT’S MY POLICY!”

“If you keep the art, is there a price you could work that’s lower, and still put out a nice project?”

So then he goes into his sell-mode:

“Chris, I’ve helped out other artists in the past, helped them get their start. For the price you’ve offered, I give you a monster pin-up that’s pretty ass-kicking. It’s in black-and-white? Good, good, then we don’t have to worry about color. You’ve got a good project, and so I’m happy to do it. If I didn’t think it looked very good, I’d just tell you I’m not interested. You can bill me as the top pin-up if you want. You can really push my name any way you want, as long as you don’t make it look like it’s a Steranko book.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to anyone.” I showed him how we’ve handled pin-up names on the book cover and ad.

“That looks fine.”

“So is there a lower price you could work at?”

“No, that’s my starting price.”

I told him that was a lot of money, and I’d have to think about it. He gave me his email. “Now that’s my personal email, goes straight to me.” I told him it would be great if we could work something out, because I’d love to get a pin-up from him. I realized, though, that for the money he was asking, I couldn’t afford not to own the art as well. And that was that, and I left feeling exhausted.

Was really excited that Steranko would be there. Walked in, immediately scoped out where he was, but he had a fair pack of admirers, and it was early! I was too intimidated, so I walked through artists alley. Saw Tom Coker, a local friend-of-a-friend, who looked over my stuff and said it looked good. Asked him about doing a pin-up, and he said he was probably up for it. I wondered if I was a little rude, because I just flopped my portfolio on top of all his stuff, and took up space that fans could have used to approach him and buy his stuff. I hoped I didn’t scare off his business.

It’s a long story, but Steranko said he’d do a pin-up! STERANKO! But there are plenty of catches to that story, and it’s all outrageous and painful and crazy and too big to tell here…

Ryan Sook spotted me and immediately said, “Hi Chris.” I had given copies of my Dick Ayers-inked monster stories at Super-Con earlier, and new he said he read them and really enjoyed them. That was nice that he not only recognized me and was friendly, but remembered my name as well. It really meant something to me.

I bugged Russ Heath again. A younger woman (daughter?) was sitting with him. I think she was shocked when I let drop I commissioned him a year ago, and the check I sent him had expired. She sounded like she would help me hound him to get the goddamn thing taken care of. I planned to call and bug him some more, now that I had support from inside his fortress.

Michael Kaluta was as friendly as ever. He acted like he remembered me, and still expressed interest in doing a pin-up, and acknowledged he hadn’t written back to my emails. Funny, friendly guy. Said he charges differently for projects, based on how much work he does, and that he charges the going rate. I’ll be sure to continue to bother him.

I approached Sergio Aragones, showed him all the monster pages and pin-ups, and he basically said he isn’t interested. I thought he would be interested, since his response the year before was that he likes to wait for someone to have a few issues out, so that he can make sure it’s something he wants to contribute to. Even though I didn’t have the issues out yet, I had three issues completed, and a bunch of cool artists involved with my book. Made me a little sad. I hadn’t realized how much I thought he could really do a great pin-up. He was an important comics artist for me, during my formative comics-reading years as a kid.

Art Adams says he’s “under exclusive contract with DC and can’t”. It was too bad, because I’ve heard that from a few other artists, and always kind of take it to mean…He’s not interested. What was especially too bad, is that I’d bugged him at earlier cons, and he hadn’t been exclusive at those times, but we hadn’t managed to work anything out. Shucks.

Dave Stevens said he may have time! Well, specifically, he said, “You never know.” That would kick ass! I think now that I’ve bugged him the last three conventions he’s starting to recognize me. He laughed like hell at the stories this year, even though I’d shown him basically the same stories the year before. He seemed impressed with some of the pin-ups I’d gotten. This year, he said, “You know what would have been brilliant?” He said, “This is good, but what have been great is if you’d had different Kirby inkers each ink a story.” And then he listed a bunch of Kirby inkers who were still alive and going strong.

In previous years I had noticed JH Williams III at the cons. I had asked to buy an issue of Promethea I was missing, that he had out at his table. He had replied, with perhaps some embarrassment, that they were just out as displays of work he’s done, and not for sale. Another time I had brought my copy of Promethea #1, and he had signed it. Now this year, I showed him my monster stuff, and he said he would be up for doing a pin-up.

When I saw Matt Wagner listed, I managed to hunt down his email. I wrote him beforehand that I’m a fan, and was doing monster books. I sent a couple of my favorite pages to him, and he immediately wrote back. He said it looked like “a buttload of fun.” He was very sweet at the convention. He signed a couple books I brought, and got a good laugh out of all the monster stories. He liked that all the monster names sounded borderline dirty, but didn’t quite cross the line.

Bruce Timm was listed to be doing signings for some cartoon-related thing. I spotted where he was at, and kept my eyes peeled. It was a strange set-up, though, where you had to pay ten or twenty dollars or something, and that allowed you the privilege of walking up where he was and getting a photo or something signed. I just wanted to go talk to him, but it was too intimidating a set-up.

By chance, I saw him leaving the booth at one point. I said, “Bruce,” and he kind of turned and winced, like he was hoping to sneak out, and didn’t want to be bothered. I just told him I was a fan of his work, and he thanked me, and we parted. I continued on to the escalator, and turning around, realized he was right behind me. He had a cigarette, and was obviously heading out for a smoke. I had the whole escalator ride up with him, but was too scared to say anything. He gave such a vibe of, “I don’t want anyone to talk to me,” I felt too intimidated to turn around.

Overall, it was about as fun a Wondercon as I tended to have. Plenty of potential for some new pin-ups from some great artists, and the peace of mind knowing that certain ones weren’t necessarily interested.

I had created Dr. DeBunko and written a few of his stories before I learned of the Skeptics Society.

I always enjoyed books that questioned, or looked critically about, claims people have made, whether it involves witches, the existence of monsters, UFOs, conspiracy theories, or literal interpretations of religion. I just never knew where to look for information to fuel my interests.

One day Elizabeth called me while she was driving around town. She had been listening to National Public Radio, and she said, “Honey, I think you better turn the radio on right now. There’s a guy on from this organization called the Skeptics Society, and he’s talking about debunking UFOs and things.”

That was all I needed to hear. I turned it on as quick as I could find a radio in a box in the closet and get it plugged in. Michael Shermer was the guest, and listening to him made me feel like I’d found my home. He made me feel like I was an orphan, and at last I’d found my family. He was putting into words all these beliefs I’d held and never been able to express.

Soon Elizabeth bought me a couple of Dr. Shermer’s books, and now I was really hooked. I visited their website and got myself a subscription to their magazine. And I noticed there was a “contact” for Dr. Shermer. So I wrote to him and told him I had written these Dr. DeBunko stories, and could I send him some copies. I wrote that I thought it was important for both of us to try and gain acceptance in other mediums and spread each others’ messages. His message is for people to try and use common sense and analytical thinking. My message is maybe less bold, but that comics can be a valid artistic medium. I said, if comics readers can learn to become skeptical thinkers, and skeptics (comprising of scientists, doctors, professors) can … well, who the hell knows? read comics? At any rate, to try and cross-pollinate, and support each other. I told him my only disappointment joining the Skeptic Society was that they didn’t send me a card, so that I could say I was a card-carrying Skeptic. I told him I was going to make a card myself, just so I could say it.

He received my stories, and wrote back that until he’s made into a cartoon character on the Simpsons, this was the coolest thing anyone had ever done to honor him or his work. He asked if he could post my letter at his website, which gets a readership of 10,000 hits a week or something insane. I thought this was the greatest.

At this time, I was just getting ready to go to the printer with my first issue of Tabloia, featuring a bunch of stories, and also Dr. DeBunko. My website was up, and the book was ready to order. I started fantasizing in grandiose ways about possibilities with this new union between intellect and schlock pop culture.

I had the gall to resend my original letter, with my website and other printing info in it, so that it would be a better advertisement of my book. He didn’t write back, but he did post the updated letter, and I got an extra thousand hits to my website. WOW! Stars were in my eyes. I couldn’t believe my luck. I couldn’t believe the exposure I was going to get. Stardom, here I come, I was beginning to think once again.

I wrote Michael Shermer and asked if he would mind if, in my comics, I recommended readers visit his website. I asked if I could print t-shirts that said “Dr. DeBunko wants you to join the Skeptics Society.” I even asked if maybe I should redraw the Dr. DeBunko stories, and have Dr. DeBunko look like Michael Shermer.

In the end, I decided against this. I began to realize that my excitement about this union was considerably more than the Skeptic Society’s. And why shouldn’t it be? Dr. Shermer is a bestselling author, and he edits Skeptic Magazine and directs the Skeptic Society. He’s got shit to do besides all this stupid comics junk. That’s how it should be, too.

Amongst the thousand extra Skeptic hits to my website, a few people asked about subscriptions. I had to explain I was a self-publisher, and the first issue wasn’t out yet, and I didn’t have anything to sell at my website, and I would only be putting the issues out every three months or so, but that they could get them at their local comics shop. For some reason, I assumed everyone would be excited to put in this effort, and would regularly check in at my website, and rush down to their comics shop every few months and order my comics, and tell all their friends, and the fire would spread!

Most of them, I just never heard from again. Who knows if they figured out the complicated way of ordering comics at a comics shop. (The way of ordering comics at a comics shop is that they were supposed to order them two months before the book came out, and if they didn’t, the shop probably wouldn’t be able to find the issue, and certainly the book isn’t popular enough that they would carry it.) Most likely, if they tried at all, they couldn’t find it, and just forgot about it. And even if they did find it, Dr. DeBunko was just one of four stories in the comic, and the rest weren’t very skeptical, so they might not have enjoyed them anyways. If by some complete fluke, they picked up the first issue, they probably realized it wasn’t their thing, and didn’t bother to look for any future issues.

I sent twenty or so copies of my first issue to Dr. Shermer, which he said he planned to spread and share. After the first issue, he said it would be fine to just send him one, which I did. I also sent him a t-shirt, which he said he really enjoyed and wears. So eventually things kind of fizzled out with the Skeptics Society … for now …

I carpooled to the APE convention with my friend, Tim Foster, who had introduced me to Sam Kieth a few years ago, and who went to APE with me last year. The surprise was that Sam wanted to go this year, so we all made the hour-plus drive down together, with another couple of their friends.

When we got down, he had some sample pages of his new project, Scratch, which he shared. He also had a few sketches of a ditsy female that he wanted me to look at. This was his character for the project he wanted me to draw.

I felt so cool to be sitting in the food court with Sam Kieth, and him showing me his artwork and talking about the project we’d be working on together.

To finance the book we’d do together, we knew he had to get some work from a big company. He had three suggestions for possibilities. One would be a Batman story of his choice. He told me he planned to make it a Batman/Joker story. This was offered to him, because Batman was a character in his latest project, Scratch, but only on the first page of the first issue, and for a few more pages in the last issue. The other projects were some real-world version of Marvel superheroes, and some other similar, lesser project. Sam was asking my advice, about which project I thought he should accept. It’s weird, because I find, when I’m talking to Sam, he’ll be asking me something, but I don’t realize he’s looking for my advice, and he keeps poking around it, and then suddenly says, So what do you think? It always throws me off guard. I told him the real-world thing sounded the least interesting to me, at least as far as something fans could get excited about. I told him, for myself, I’d want to go for the biggest, coolest, most popular heroes around, because that’s what everyone will buy. Maybe his fans will try out the other stories, but no one will remember any of them. He said, Really? He thought for sure I’d like the sound of the real-world thing, since he knows my noir sensibility. At that moment, his friend Tim came up, and agreed that you’ve got to go for the big gun stories.

We split up. I went and found Daniel Clowes over at Fantagraphics, with only a moderate line to wait in. I made my usual pitch, showing him all my Dick Ayers-inked monster stories and pin-ups. Of course I made sure he knew the Hernandez Brothers had contributed pin-ups (I had ones from Gilbert and Mario by then). He seemed encouraging, and like he might be willing to do one at some time in the future. He said check back next year, because he’s really busy right now. That would be a real treat, to get something from him.

Likewise, I met Adrian Tomine, who seemed a little less interested. That’s what I expected from him, though, based on his non-monster work. I don’t suspect he’s ever even thought to draw a giant monster.

I saw Jaime and Mario Hernandez. I reintroduced myself to Jaime, and told him I was the guy who had kept emailing him about a monster pin-up. He had never written me back, and he looked pretty guilty about that, and told me he gets a lot of emails, and sometimes they just work their ways to the bottom. But he said to write him again.

Mario was friendly as can be, and actually hung out and visited with me. We talked about mainstream comics, and how DC had approached him about doing some DC characters, but Mario had his own ideas for stories he wanted to do at DC. He pitched an idea for a revamp of someone weird and obscure in the DC universe, like Prez or the Goon or something, but DC told him they were finished doing revamps. They just wanted him to do a superhero story, and he wasn’t interested in just doing a superhero story, and the potential work fizzled out. While we were visiting, Sam Kieth walked up and listened, and then made some comment and wandered off. I told Mario, “That was Sam Kieth.” And Mario seemed surprised, like he didn’t realize he was talking with a well-established professional.

I think Gary Groth was listed this year as a “featured guest” at APE, so I looked for info about him online. I didn’t know if he wrote or drew, but for some reason I really liked the sound of his name. “Gary Groth.” Somehow there was a mystique to him, before I even knew who he was.

I found an interview of him online, and learned he had been an editor at Marvel, but quit because he hated mainstream comics. I realized he was in charge of Fantagraphics, and the Comics Journal. Over the years and months I would start noticing the Comics Journal, and how intellectual it looked for a magazine about comics. How it looked more like a prestigious art magazine than a Wizard Toy and Price Guide, for example. And it was so big and heavy. And so dense with text. And artsy, and expensive.

At this time, I knew nothing about who the editors or reviewers were. But now I began hearing more about the Comics Journal, and how it would dissect an individual comic, or page of a comic, and just tear it apart. And people would argue for pages and pages about way-too-theoretical, pseudo-intellectual abstractions. How pretty much anything that got reviewed in the Journal was strongly disliked and belittled. It made me want to be a part of this elite, snobbish community. I’ve always wanted to be part of these snobbish in-crowds, for some reason. Always been attracted to them.

After spending some time alone poking around, I found Sam, who was talking with Gary Groth. He introduced me, and I just followed them around. Gary was putting together a sketchbook full of artists, which I believe was going to be given to someone important or auctioned for something important, and Sam drew a little sketch in it.

Sam was telling Gary he’s been in the industry for so many years. He got his start at Fantagraphics. He’s done mainstream art, but he’s always edgier than most of what they put out. He likes the sensibility of indie, and he’s trying to do more personal projects, and no one will give him any attention. Gary hadn’t heard of Sam’s Four Women or Zero Girl. Fantagraphics put out the Comics Journal every couple months. Could Gary please think of Sam if he ever needs to fill space with an interview or something.

Sam asked Gary about books Gary liked, and artists he liked. First Gary only admitted to liking books Fantagraphics puts out. Finally he admitted he was a big fan of Barry Windsor Smith, loving his work when he was younger, so that love has kind of remained. He and Sam got talking about all the other indie comics companies, and Gary smiled and sarcastically said he really liked having all these other companies in the market, because it meant that all these shitty artists who used to send Fantagraphics all these shitty proposals could send their shitty proposals to all these other companies and leave him alone. That’s why he liked all these new companies. He basically suggested that the only books he liked were Fantagraphics books, and that he didn’t even like everything Fantagraphics puts out, and Sam pressed him to try and name a book published by someone else that he thought was okay. Sam asked him about a specific graphic novel that he thought was very good, and that everyone seemed to be talking about, and was getting very good press and critical attention. Gary said he didn’t think it was any good.

Sam basically made Gary look at my monster pages. Gary was very polite about going through all the pages. He seemed impressed Dick Ayers was inking, and asked if Dick had an autobiography. I told him Dick was currently working on an autobiography in comic form, and Gary kind of snorted, and I wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

I told Gary I had shown my stuff around, and didn’t really get any interest, so I was planning to self-publish. I told him I’d sent stuff to Fantagraphics. He said, “Fantagraphics? Not these pages.” Which was a tremendous boost to me. To me, it suggested he thought if I had submitted these monster pages, Fantagraphics would have taken notice.

Sam bought my lunch. I think he felt guilty, knowing he wouldn’t be able to pay me much on our comics project, and this was the least he could do.

It was a really fun con for me. Great to spend so much time with Sam. I really enjoyed getting a chance to hang out with Gary, too. I had heard general feelings people sometimes have of the Comics Journal, being so snooty and conceited and scoffing at anything that isn’t “art”, and picking work to pieces until it’s nothing but cowering, humiliated fodder. Gary had this personality that could be negative and opinionated, and kind of condescending, but in a funny, entertaining, and even non-threatening way. I’ve met a lot of people like this, who I always find intimidating. I understand how they may be judged “assholes”, but I don’t feel that way at all. I find them to be a real hoot, and I can’t get enough of them.

Figuring out the Publishing Side

My college friend, Damon Thompson, had agreed to make the cover images for Tabloia. Years before, we had talked about doing a comic together, and it never panned out, but I thought of him again come time for the covers, and he came up with gorgeous images. So at this stage, I had a few issues of art completed, some great covers, and some nice pin-ups.

I was getting to know a friend, Wayne Jones, who had published a few books, and when he heard I was doing comics, he said maybe he’d enjoy helping me to publish. I gave him some copies of my stories, and we got together over lunch. The first thing he said was, he had a chance to read them, and he thought they were good. He just thought I needed to work on my stories and characterization a little bit, and I may have something.

That blow really shocked and hurt. I couldn’t really look at him as I tried to ask, “Like what do you mean? What do you have in mind?” And he immediately said, Just kidding. Man, though, that comment stuck with me and kept me insecure toward him ever since.

That lunch, we talked about me doing all the art and editorial, and him just keeping strictly to the publishing. That’s exactly how I wanted it. He talked about seeing if there were a way I could get a business loan, and use the loan not only to pay for the publishing, but to give myself a salary, so that I could work on the comics instead of needing a job. He said if he was going to be the publisher, he would pay a salary, but then he would get rights to the work, and we’d have to work out how much, and things like that.

All this was interesting and exciting to talk about. I kept working on my drawings and thinking about how I wanted to do this. It was a lot of pressure in one way, because if the book didn’t do well, I would have the guilt of knowing this guy was going to lose his own personal money.

Finally, we decided we would prefer for me to finance it myself, and he said he was happy to give his help, however I needed it, without paying him. By this time, we had tried to crunch some numbers, as far as how much the books would cost, running ads, etc. And it was evident very early on that even if the book sold all right, it would take a lot to make all this money back. Of course I kind of hoped it would sell pretty well, and had no conception of just how much money I would soon lose.

While we were making these plans, I was getting ready to submit a request to the Xeric Grant, for the third time. I had been showing Wayne everything I wrote and drew, and so now I showed him my previous two years of submissions to the grant. He said, You’ve got to learn to write a grant. And he helped me put together my third proposal. The plan was that we would begin the publishing process after the winners of the grant were announced, whether we were awarded or not. When we weren’t awarded, Wayne told me that he never thought I had a chance of getting it anyways, and was surprised I even bothered to try at all. I assume he thought I just made too much money, having a wife that makes a decent living, and making a decent living myself. But he never specified exactly just what he meant.

I bought a huge, expensive 12″x17″ scanner and scanned all the images, and then got copies to Wayne. He would clean the images up, size them, and get them ready for the printer. He laid out and formatted all the text pages for me. He got in touch with our printer. He helped me put a package together to submit to Diamond, containing the first three issues. He told them we wanted to run an ad and send out promotional posters, and Diamond agreed to distribute our book. He helped me get the account together with Diamond, and we were ready to begin publishing.

Of course, I thought it was just a matter of time now, before I became an instant, overnight superstar. I was proud of the book. People had told me they thought it was good. So why not? That’s what you always hope, you know?

Part of my decision to self-publish was the knowledge that there was a grant out there that could potentially give me up to $5000 toward getting my book out. A rejection letter from Fantagraphics recommended I try applying. I strongly felt that the quality of my work would be high enough that I had a real shot at getting it. So by the time I was growing tired of waiting in portfolio reviews, I had enough artwork to basically put a book out. I started imagining applying for the Xeric Grant.

I recommend that anyone who plans to self-publish should apply to this very generous Grant. I think it’s a great experience, and teaches you a lot, even if you don’t win it. It throws you into the process of self-publishing. It forces you to sit down and write a comic, and then to draw it. But on top of that, it asks for your strategy, your game plan. So you have to know or learn how to make a comic out of these pages of art you’ve drawn, and how to get it out into the world. You have to learn how the comics market works. You have to figure out a way to scan your images, and clean all those blemishes and smudges, and then load all the pages, in the right order, onto a disc. Those pages have to be ready for the printer. Then you have to find a printer, and figure out how much the printer will charge, and how many copies you will get. You have to figure out how many issues to print (or what the printing minimum is, in which case you’ll wind up with extras), and where and how you’re going to store all those extra issues. Then you have to try and get a distributor, and get your books from the printer to the distributor. You have to figure out if you’re going to try and advertise, and if so, where you’ll get the most bang for your buck. Who is your audience, and what are they reading, and how much is it to get an ad there? Do you want to try and call as many stores as you can, or go into stores, or send flyers or posters to the stores? And how much will posters or flyers cost, and how many do you need?

I was not awarded with the Xeric Grant. You may apply twice per year, and I applied for it three times in a row, and I never got the grant. But just the same it was invaluable.

I applied with my first issue of Tabloia. Then, for that year’s second semester, I applied with my first two issues of Tabloia. Then the next semester, I submitted the first three issues of Tabloia. I wanted to show them I was working hard, and consistently. I wanted to show them I was getting work done. I was progressing. And that I had lead time now, so that when I began publishing the comic, I’d be ready a few issues in advance.

Each time, I submitted the completely finished books. I had the covers, I had the pin-ups, I had the letters pages, I had the editor’s comments. I had the pages numbered. Everything. It was ready for the printer each time. I forced myself, with the pressure of applying to the grant, to have finished books, ready to send to the printer and be distributed.

It forced me to understand the entire process. What you need to do to get a book self-published. What you need to do, who you need to get in touch with, how you need to do it. And it forced me to do it on a schedule. Very important lessons.

While going through this process, another very important, helpful source for me was Diamond Comics. Whenever I asked comics people about Diamond Distributors, they said the same thing. If there’s any way you can, get distribution from Diamond. They will deliver you better sales numbers (I would learn they were better by ten times – seriously, ten times!) than any other distributor you find.

I spoke with Diamond at the San Diego Con, and they mailed me a packet full of great information. All that info I had, and more, can be accessed at their website, www.diamondcomics.com . This is their “vendors” page, with a goldmine of thorough info. Click on every link they list at the left. You’ll learn about the market, what you need to do as a publisher, how to put together a submissions packet to try and get distribution through them, and it even has a list of printers that specialize in comics printing. It has a list of comics magazines that write about comics, and may be able to review your books or interview you. It has a list of marketing strategies they can offer to help you get your book known out in the industry, and how much the different strategies would cost, and what you will get out of it. The packets explain that Diamond is always getting submissions, and they accept about a third of the applicants for distribution. Those aren’t great odds. They explain their expectations of you, as your distributor. They expect you to deliver your books on time, in decent quality. They will pay you a month after they receive your books. They were always very kind and helpful on the phone to me.

Another great resource of information for self-publishers, which I didn’t become aware of until after I had started publishing (unfortunately) is http://www.coldcut.com. This is the “info for publishers” page, where they have a lot of the same stuff, but also their own distribution guidelines, as well as links to info for self-publishing, distributing zines, indie-friendly stores, and printers that will do runs of only 20-100 copies, versus the five hundred to a thousand minimums a lot of printers require.

Okay, beginners and aspiring comics self-publishers. How does a distributor work? They pay you 40% of your cover price. You may think, what a rip-off. But here’s why. You get forty, and Diamond only gets ten percent. The store buys the books at 50% off, and can make double their money back. So you think, that’s such a rip-off. But here’s why. You will make your money whether your book sells in stores or not. However many books get ordered, you are guaranteed you’ll make that money. The distributor makes their money no matter what, because they are distributing the book, whether it sells or not. The store is the only one taking a real chance, because if that book doesn’t sell, they’re stuck with your shitty, useless book. They’re the ones who suffer the risk, not you. If they don’t order enough, they won’t make money they could have made that month. If they order too many, they’ll never sell it, and they basically threw away their money. All you – the publisher – have to do is get a store to take a chance on it, and you’re covered. A store can go out of business if they buy too many of a particular book that doesn’t sell. I know store owners who have misguessed what books would sell, and it’s practically ruined them. Well, it’s hurt them pretty good, anyways.

With bookstores selling actual books (and not this trashy, junk medium called comics), the stores get a very small discount, but if a book doesn’t sell, the store can send it back and get a refund. So if you write novels, you may think you’ve made all these sales, but six months later, you have to pay the stores back for all your books they didn’t sell. So that’s the difference. In my opinion, it’s actually a very fair system. The one who takes the risks should be potentially rewarded the most.

With comics, the self-publisher has another advantage. You don’t have to go to the printer until you know exactly how many copies you’ve sold. That means you don’t have to pay money to print until you know how much money you’ve made selling your book. That’s a hell of a nice advantage. You can figure out exactly how many you can afford to print, and make a decision as to how many extras you think you can sell.

So if you want to take the route I tried, you apply to Diamond with your book, and if it’s accepted, it will be listed in Diamond’s Previews catalogue a couple months later. All the comics shops around the nation get Diamond’s catalogue, and they have a month to go through it and decide what books they want to buy. They’ll order twenty copies of Batman, and fifteen X-books, two copies of the latest Vertigo comic, and if you’re lucky, they’ll see your book and give it a try with maybe one copy. There are maybe a few thousand comics shops out there, but only maybe six hundred actually buy indie (or non-Spider/Bat/X) -books. So then Diamond gets all these order sheets in from all the stores, and they tally up how many of your issue sold, and then they tell you, and you have a month to get them printed and sent to Diamond.

These are some of the things I learned through the process of submitting to the Xeric Grant, when I was naive and hopeful and excited, and hadn’t lost my positive attitude and hope. Give it a try, potential self-publishers!