cwisnia

Every now and then, I would be at a comics shop or local Sacramento Comic-Con, and see a flier for Super Con. I’d been to it a few times in Oakland, just to go through comics bins, and now I saw a flier for a new venue. I thought this was a pretty small convention, but I was excited to see Ryan Sook and John Romita Jr. would be there. I was also interested to check in with Bill Morrison again, since I’d met him at a local Sac-Con.

I got to the con, and it was in a pretty small hall. Felt like a gym, actually. John Romita Jr. had a huge line, so I found Ryan Sook. I’d just read his Arkham Asylums, which I really enjoyed. I told him so, and he was appreciative. I asked if he was doing sketches, and he said he’d do one for me. I told him to draw anyone he liked, and he said he enjoyed drawing the Egghead from Arkham Asylum, and it was a nice sketch, but I wondered why I didn’t just ask for Batman or the Joker. Let that be a lesson, fans: If there’s someone you’d like a sketch of, don’t say, “Draw whatever you want.” Just ask, or else you won’t get it.

I showed Ryan copies of my Dick Ayers-inked Kirby-style monster stuff, and he got a kick out of them. I offered to give him copies. By this time I had maybe half a dozen pin-ups to show off as well (Mike Allred, Thomas Yeates, Gene Colan, Sam Kieth, Irwin Hasen, Bill Sienkiewicz, Mario and Gilbert Hernandez), and he was impressed with who I had so far. I was feeling pretty good about it myself.

Sitting with Ryan was Mick Gray, and Mick was really friendly too. He also got a kick out of the monster stories, and was impressed with the pin-ups. I found myself going and hanging out with them, throughout the con, whenever I ran out of things to do.

I told them how the last stories Dick had inked for me (particularly the second story, “Terror Lurks Deep in the Heart of Africa”), I was surprised what a thin line Dick had used. I had penciled with thin lines, but assumed Dick would go in with a nice fat brush and bulk things up. It made me realize that often, comics foreground and background isn’t delineated with line quality, to the degree I thought. Color has more of an effect on depth than I realized. This was interesting to me, since I’d only seen my own work in black-and-white, and began visualizing it in this way, and using line-qualities accordingly. But I hadn’t necessarily communicated this to Dick. So now, as I was working on the pencils for my fourth Doris Danger story, I told Mick I had begun drawing really thick lines in pencil, so that Dick would know exactly how I wanted the lines drawn.

Mick said he thought this was essential as a penciller. He said if he doesn’t talk to the penciller, all he has to go on, for getting the art done right, is the penciling he sees. If the pencils give directions, then he can make it work accordingly.

This discussion led me to pencil more specifically than I’d yet done for Dick’s pages. When I sent them, I also included a note that I hoped he could use lots of nice thick brush-lines, to give it a real retro, authentic 1960’s feel. When I got these pages back from Dick, he included a note with it. He said that when he inked the King, Stan would tell him to be sure and make the work jump out. To emphasize it. Then he said my pages really shined this time, and that he practically just had to trace them. He said he just wants to make my work a little more dynamic. What a rewarding note! See how you learn as you go!

The John Romita Jr. line never died down, so I finally got in it and waited. It moved really slowly, but everyone in line was saying, it’s worth it, because he’s giving free sketches to everyone. We watched a lot of people coming out of line with Spider-Man sketches, and wondered if he was just doing Spider-Man only, but it turned out he’d do a sketch of anything you wanted. For whatever reason, everyone wanted a Spider-Man sketch, which I thought was kind of funny, because he would just do a head shot, and it seems to me you can’t really do so much with a Spider-Man head shot, you know? It’s just the shape of a head with some web-lines on it. If you ask ten artists to draw a Spider-Man head shot, they’ll all look basically the same, won’t they? It’s like asking for an Iron Man head shot. Anyways, that’s what I thought.

I wanted a Hobgoblin sketch. I assume he created or co-created the character, since that first appearance was under his name. I thought that would be really special.

As I got close enough to hear him talking with other fans, and interact with him, I heard him talking about a new book he was going to be doing for Image. I later saw it advertised for promotion at San Diego’s Comic-Con.

I began trying to visit before him before I reached the front of the line, since there were often dead periods where he was just sketching. I joked that people in line just wanted a sketch of Galactus fighting the Fantastic Four and the Avengers.

One kid brought his portfolio and asked Mr. Romita Jr. what he thought. John didn’t go into a lot of detail, but was supportive. He said it looked great, but pointed out, “unless you’re going for realism, because obviously this stuff isn’t realistic.” I couldn’t read from the kid if he was going for realism or not. I had been thinking to myself, This kid’s art is not the “Marvel Way.”

I heard someone ask him how much time he spends on a page. John said eight hours, then qualified that he can go longer, so it’s not uncommon to go ten or twelve hours a page. But at least eight. He said he drinks a lot of water, to force himself to get up periodically. The kid asked what his page rate is, and he didn’t answer, except by repeating, “What’s my PAGE RATE??!” When the kid left, he kind of rolled his eyes to the rest of us in line, to say, “What’s my PAGE RATE??” again.

I finally got to the front of the line, and asked if he could sign a couple books and do a sketch. He signed the comics and waited to hear what I wanted a sketch of. I tried to kind of show him my monster book and ask him about doing a pin-up. I opened by saying I’ve got kind of a tricky one for him, and he looked like he didn’t want a tricky one. He said, “Uh oh,” like he didn’t like the sound of this. “Don’t say tricky,” he said. “I don’t like tricky.” I showed him the Dick Ayers-inked pages, and explained I’d like a pin-up of a giant monster, and told him he could draw something in any style, in any setting, and I showed him some of the other artists. I told him, So it would just be a giant monster. It can look any way you want, it just has to be big.

So he was sitting there and listening very intently this whole time. When I was through, he said,”Okay, I understand. Just don’t say tricky. This I can do.”

He started drawing my sketch, and I asked him about getting contact info from him, and at first he started to give me his wife’s email, but then he thought twice about it, and said just go to the Spider-Man message board. I asked if he looked there and read everything, and he said, Oh yeah, he would definitely get any messages I posted there. And so in trying to describe what I had in mind for the pin-up, and trying to fill the otherwise empty space while I waited for my sketch, I was re-telling him what I had in mind for the pin-up. That it could be any giant monster, as long as it’s big. He seemed to me as if I confused him, and he didn’t know what to make of me. I felt as if I was one of those annoying freaks that the artists are polite to, but whom they would like to leave them alone.

He handed me the sketch, and said, “How’s that? It’s a monster.” I thanked him, and moved on.

As I left I realized two things:

One. I didn’t ever ask him for a sketch of Hobgoblin. I just asked for a sketch, and then I started showing him my giant monster work, so he thought I was asking him for a sketch of a giant monster.

Two. Because he thought the whole time I was talking about the sketch he was working on, and didn’t make myself clear, he misunderstood when I was asking for his contact info. He completely missed that I was trying to commission him for a pin-up. So as a result of my inability to communicate my desires:

One. I wound up without the sketch of Hobgoblin that I wanted, and

Two. I had no way to contact him about the pin-up I wanted.

This business of trying to contact him by message board, I knew, wouldn’t work. It would mean posting a note amongst all the Spider-fans, who would be asking questions about which villains Spidey could beat up, and what issue did this happen, and who has the cooler costume, and how they found a continuity error that they couldn’t believe. I didn’t plan to leave my email there and try to explain what I was doing again, so I knew I was out of luck for trying to get a pin-up from John Romita Jr.

Kind of frustrating.

Overall, I had an all right time at the con, quiet though it was. I really enjoyed Mick and Ryan, and even had a chance to talk with Bill Morrison a bit, who was friendly as always, drawing portraits of fans in the Simpsons style. What fun that is!

Having access to Sam through email or phone, I wanted him to see the work I’m doing, and get his opinions and advice. I sent him some pages I’m working on, and at one point during all this, he calls to talk about my art. Of course I’m pestering him and trying to get a monster pin-up from him, all this time, and he says, okay, I’ll draw you a monster. But he’s busy this week making this deadline, and maybe next week. But when the next week comes he’s going to be busy for another month, but he definitely wants to do it. And so the weeks drag on like this. One day he finally says, “I know, I know, I telling you I’ll do it, and then setting the date back. I’ll just have to sit down and do it.” He promises he’ll draw me an Easter Island Monster.

He said it a couple times, this Easter Island business. I realize after finally inquiring, he plans to draw the many-headed Easter Island monster I drew in the second Doris Danger story, which I had sent him a copy of. And I tell him, No, no, draw your own monster. I don’t want you to copy my monsters. And like I tell everyone, I have to explain that I don’t want him to draw in Kirby’s style. I want him to draw in his own style. So he says he’ll come up with something.

Regarding my own work, he says he enjoys it, but that I’ve got to build more confidence in my line work. This is the only advice I remember him giving me about actually drawing. He said when you do enough lines, you can just draw them, swoosh, and they’re nice and smooth. He said, You know what you need to do, is just take a piece of paper, and just go from one end to the other, and just draw lines. Fill the page with lines. Just keep drawing lines, so you’re not so worried about them. If you worry about drawing them while you’re drawing them, they’ll be imperfect, and shaky. You can see the worry in the lines. That’s good advice, but of course it’s always hard to hear when people pick out and nail exactly what your weaknesses are, because it makes you realize, yep, not only do I have weaknesses and I know these are my weaknesses, but people can pick out my weaknesses.

Sam talks a little about how he got into the industry. He really wanted to get into comics, and finally he and his wife worked out that she would work and he would stay home and draw, and they’d have enough money for him to really give it his all for maybe a year or two? And he was able to land work.

He told me his earliest paying gig was doing the inks for Matt Wagner’s Mage. And Matt would send him these pencils that were so simple and sparse. And Sam always wanted to spice them up, and add shading and cross-hatching. But it hit him one day, that everything Matt needed to convey was already in those simple pencils. Sam often wishes he could pair his art down to those essentials. Simplify. Clean. Now it’s a skill he really admires.

In the early days, when he was still learning and honing his craft, he would take a page, and if there was an area of black, he wouldn’t just cover it all over with black ink. Instead, he would practice drawing his lines, practice his control. He would draw lines over the area, then cross-hatch over the first layer of lines, then again and again and again, until the area was completely blacked out. So he was taking a lot of time to fill in the black areas, but he was getting experience and practice, and really learning his control for his lines.

After Sam had called me that night, I really wanted to do some inking exercises and get better. I knew my linework was pretty unsteady and I didn’t have a lot of control, but I tried to go with it, and just make that a part of the artwork. Now, with Sam calling me on it, I realized I’d better do something about it.

I had just bought an inking book from Steve Rude, called “The Art of Comic-Book Inking.” It was by one of his inkers, Gary Martin. To be honest, at that time, I couldn’t have cared less about inking comics. I bought it because it was a Steve Rude book, and I had bought it from the artist.

But now that Sam was giving me inking advice, I pulled it out and read it. Overall I enjoyed the book. BUT…I REALLY enjoyed two things in it. First, it had some GREAT inkers, all inking the same page, so that you could compare how different inkers tackle the same problems, and what they come up with. I’m talking GREAT inkers. Dave Stevens, Brian Bolland, Tom Palmer, Terry Austin, P. Craig Russell, Kevin Nowlan You could see the different inking techniques each one fell into, the styles of cross-hatching or shading. I loved looking at these, and just studying the minute differences. What a comic-nerdy thing to do.

The other thing I thought was great was that it had a couple pages of inking exercises. So when Sam told me to practice lines, I broke out this book and immediately started practicing my inking exercises. And they put me to shame. Doing the exercises really makes you see how bad you are, and how much you need to practice.

But I practiced my exercises every time I picked up a brush. I would take a piece of paper and fill it with lines before I moved on to my work. I did it for maybe a few weeks, and sure enough, I saw leaps and bounds in the improvement of my control. It made me proud, looking at the jump in quality I saw in my art.

So after a time, getting to know Sam Kieith, he calls me one day and says to me, “Now I wanted to tell you that I approached Tim (our mutual friend) about doing a book together, but it in no way means I don’t think you’re a good enough artist. Tim has a particular style that I thought would go well with this particular story I had in mind. I plan to work with you at some point. I’m just waiting for a project that I think your art would suit.”

He was afraid I felt jealous or upset or unfairly treated, but 1. I hadn’t even heard about him asking Tim and not me to do a book, 2. I wouldn’t have cared if I had, and 3. He had just said he might like to work with me some time.

I had pretty much stopped collecting comics right when Sam had made his hit on the comics scene, in the early nineties, so I had missed all of his work. I also knew that his style of art, and his story themes and sensibilities, were very different than mine, so I hadn’t expected this at all.

Sure enough, over the next few months, he started telling me some story ideas he had, and asked which ones I liked best. He went so far as to give me some sketches of characters, and talk about the art style he envisioned. Of course, he always warned that these projects could be pretty far in the future, because his plate was full. In addition to his Marvel books and covers to pay the bills, he was trying to get this book called “Ojo” completed, because he planned to use the comic as the script, not only for the actors, but set designers, cameramen, etc etc etc. The film was getting close to underway, and it was his top priority, followed immediately after this by the film. He said he wouldn’t be able to even think about our project until Ojo was behind him.

Over the previous months, he had talked about his many difficulties with Ojo. He could never decide the style of art he wanted Alex to draw. He would tell Alex to draw in his own style, but then he’d see Alex’s work in Alex’s style, and change his mind, and Alex would draw in Sam’s style. But finally Alex and Sam both were going so crazy, that Alex just told him, look, screw this. I’m going to draw in my own style.

He would talk about how frustrating it was trying to get Ojo made into a movie. He made the comparison that what I was going through as a comics creator, he was going through as a movie writer/producer/director. Even though he was a name in comics, in the movie industry, he was a nobody, and no one would look at his stuff, and it was costing him a lot of money, but he was just going to say screw it, and do it, and hope it didn’t wind up being something he was embarrassed about. And maybe if he did an okay job, someone would see it, and then maybe they’d want to do something with him, and give him more money for the next one.

Sam was constantly frustrated that he had all these projects he wanted to do, but no comics companies had interest in him doing his personal projects. They all wanted him to do Wolverine or the Hulk or Spider-Man or Batman. So he would do one of these popular projects and make a lot of money, and that would get him the money he needed to do Zero Girl or Four Women or Ojo, which wouldn’t make him money. Or he would use the money toward getting his movie started.

And I began to learn that this is how a lot of people in the comics industry felt. I read an interview where Jaime Hernandez was saying the exact same thing. He’s chosen to tell the stories he wants to tell, but in the big picture, he knows that has affected how much money he’s able to make in the industry, as opposed to doing mainstream work.

Every now and then Sam would call and mention more ideas with a potential story he might like me to draw, and share some troubles about Ojo.

He was on the fence between giving me one of two stories. One was about a middle-aged man who had a boring, dismal life. He hated his wife, he hated his job. So then a gorgeous bimbo began appearing, who turned out to be his invisible friend, and she would entertain, enliven, and serve him any way he wanted. Sam said he imagined a sort of dark, film-noir style.

Then he would change his mind and talk about a different story he thought I should draw instead, about a psychiatrist who’s having sexual relationships with six or seven of his clients. We talked about different art styles, and Sam says, The more I think about this, the more I want the drawings to be so simplistic they’re practically stick figures. And he’s laughing that this could be my break-out into comics, and could ruin my career as an artist, because everyone would think my shitty little drawings aren’t worth a shit.

And he keeps going back and forth. No, maybe you’d enjoy doing the other story better. No, maybe the other one is better. He’d ask what I think, and I’d keep telling him, I don’t give a shit WHAT we do, I’d just love to be doing a comic.

Bruce Timm

Just wandering around, I accidentally stumbled onto a sign at a booth that said Bruce Timm would be signing at a specific hour on a specific day. I put that down on my chart of all the artists I wanted to find, and the time and place I could find him, to be sure I could try and get a chance to show him my Kirby-style monster stuff. I thought for sure he would be one artist who would appreciate my Doris Danger stories, because he’s such a great Kirby-style artist.

We noticed early on that a line was beginning to form, and wound up waiting in line for an hour or so before we got to the action. This Bruce Timm line was actually for the Justice League cartoon, so it also had all the voice actors. We didn’t really know any of them, although it turned out we recognized one from a Friends episode, and later realized another was Sidney’s sidekick in Alias.

Got to Bruce Timm and showed him the copies of the Doris Danger stories. He didn’t seem interested that Dick Ayers had inked them. He didn’t seem interested at all, and just kind of carelessly flipped through them. I asked about a pin-up, to which he flatly replied no, and we were rushed the rest of the way through the line, and that was that. I felt so intimidated by him.

Bill Sienkiewicz

Met and spent a little time with Bill Sienkiewicz, who said he would do a pin-up. Watched him draw sketches for a few people. He would use pictures he drew in his own book as reference for sketches he would draw in the books. He had ink, brushes, pens, and weird dental tools that he dipped in the ink. He had a pinwheel-type device that he would roll over the art to leave scratchy lines. Really interesting working style, how he gets all his textures and line qualities.

I had asked Bill whatever happened with his “Numbers” series with Alan Moore. Two of my favorites on one book together. I had enjoyed the first couple issues, and nothing came after that. When I asked Bill, he raised his voice like he might get upset if I kept prodding him about the subject, and basically clammed up. He was not going to go there, he said. He made it very clear he wasn’t getting into that story with me, or anyone.

When I asked about a pin-up, he said he was doing commissions right then, at that very moment. I went to a bank teller and got some cash, and then I tried to write up a little hand receipt/waiver. I’ve always had everyone I get a pin-up from sign it, unless they don’t charge me for the pin-up. I always ask that I have permission to publish it, permission to keep it (if I can afford it), permission to use their name for advertising or marketing or press releases, and that they don’t expect any royalties or additional payments. I’m sure some artists have thought I’m an asshole to make them sign something, but in twenty years it will cover them as well as me, because we both know how I intend to use their pin-up.

By the time I got the money together, and had my contract/waiver/receipt, it was getting later in the day, and he said he might not be able to get to it today, but to check back in with him later. We checked later in the day, and he was gone. We went the next day, and he never turned up.

Over the next few months, I emailed Bill, and finally called him. I was honestly beginning to feel a little nervous, knowing I’d given him a sizeable wad of cash. While leaving a message on his answering machine like this, “Bill, I’m beginning to get a little concerned, because I haven’t heard from you,” he picked up, and assured me he would have it to me within a week or two. Maybe a month later he contacted me to say it was finished, and he’d send it to me priority, and I’d get it in a few days. Maybe a few weeks after that it actually, finally did come in the mail. What a crazy monster he sent me.

Mike Mignola

After last year, seeing such a line for Mike Mignola, and him not even taking one and a half seconds to sign a comic for me when I held it out and handed him a pen, I felt like Mike must be such a big wig, he’s pretty unapproachable. I constantly poked around at the Darkhorse booth, hoping he might pop by to talk to editors or something. I never saw him, and finally asked if there were any autograph times he had scheduled. They told me I had just missed him (GODDAMN THE LUCK!). They said they thought he did have a signing the next day. But then they let me in on a shocking secret. They said he had a table all weekend, and I could just go over and meet him there any time. I was shocked. He wasn’t listed in the catalogue. You mean he’s not unapproachable? I had him all wrong. So all this time that I thought he’d been totally unapproachable, he’d actually been TOTALLY approachable. He’s just approachable in SECRET. On the sly. Only to those in the know.

I went directly over to where they said, and there he was, just sitting there by himself, and no one even knew he was there. There was maybe one person in line. I walked right up and had the opportunity to tell him how I loved his stories. I sputtered how great I thought his art is, and how much I enjoyed his stories’ subject matter. I showed him the photocopies of my Doris Danger stuff, and he took a copy, but didn’t really look over it. I asked if he did any sketches, and he said he usually brings some nice sketches that cost money, but he’d do a quick Hellboy sketch. I was so shocked, I immediately found Elizabeth (She was waiting in line for me to meet Bruce Timm), and asked her to get another sketch for me.

Later, I went over to Dave Stevens’ table, and Mike was over there talking about his upcoming Hellboy movie. He was saying, even though Guillermo del Toro was great, he still ran across the occasional studio-red-tape-pains-in-the-ass-bullshit. He was saying, “Well YOU know how it is (to Dave, who knew, because he had to go through it all way back when the Rocketeer film was made) when you get these Hollywood guys involved. There was this one exec, and he just didn’t get it. And he kept saying things like, What if he’s a person, but he turns into Hellboy when he gets mad?” And things like that. He was obviously seeing the frustrations of having to let a bunch of morons with no artistic vision or understanding put their hands in the pot and try to ruin everything with their god-awful formulas and cliches of what they think a movie should do. He obviously was having to fight to keep the character and the integrity of his creation.

* * *

That year, we got kind of burnt out on waiting in lines to meet artists. We spent hours in each line, for Frank Miller, Matt Groening, Bruce Timm, and next thing we knew, the convention was over. It didn’t help that due to our hotel problems, we had to go home a day early. But when it was time for us to leave a day early, we were so worn out, we were ready to go. It felt like we weren’t able to be quite as productive as we’d been previously. But we were pretty exhausted anyways, and on the other hand we met some of the cream of the crop of my idols in the industry.

But I was realizing, it’s a lot more productive, if you can just find where these artists are hanging out, and meet them that way, rather than take all this time waiting in line for the same people. That was a valuable lesson, and I haven’t really waited in line to meet people much since then, unless I can’t find another way to get to them.

This con, even though I of course didn’t get artists saying, “Man I’d love to do a pin-up,” and even though a number of artists said they weren’t interested, the potential for pin-ups was really starting to come together, and I was starting to amass some great potential for the self-publishing of my book.

This year, I had a full issue of “Tabloia,” not printed, but in Xerox-form, to show around. It contained the first chapters of The Lump, Dick Hammer, Dr. DeBunko, and Doris Danger. I also had an additional couple of Doris Danger, Dick Hammer, and Dr. DeBunko stories. As a game plan this year, I decided to make the Doris Danger stories my feature to share with artists. I thought that would be easiest to pitch quickly, and thought they might enjoy them better than my other junk.

I immediately stumbled onto Eddie Campbell, and flipped through his original art. I told him about showing him my art the year before. The previous year, he had told me he’d definitely remember me, because my art had a unique style, but he didn’t remember me. I told him he’d published a letter I sent him in his EgoMania comic (issue #2, featuring an interview of Alan Moore), and he didn’t remember the letter. I showed him my Dick Ayers-inked monster stories, and he was amused, but had no interest in doing a pin-up. I didn’t expect he would, because I’d asked him about doing a pin-up the year before, and he wasn’t interested then.

He complained about the coloring style on current comics, he thought it was all too dark. He opened up an X-Men comic he’d done a story, and he was so upset because it was supposed to be a snow scene, and all the snow was blue or dark purple. I just thought it was so cool Marvel and DC were hiring all these cool indie artists to do all these mainstream superhero books, I didn’t care about the quality of the coloring.

Eddie told me he’s just been hired by DC to do a Batman book, but very few people, other than Frank Miller, are allowed to write AND draw a book. For some reason, DC chooses to hire different people for each task. Eddie was told, if he wanted to write AND draw, he would have to become a corporation unto himself. So to write and draw this Batman story, he became Eddie Campbell Inc. He said all it required was some paperwork, which fills a box under his bed.

Eddie told me he negotiated a price with DC for him to write and draw this story, but then what he said he’s going to do, to assure he likes the coloring. He’s going to submit full color, painted pages to DC. I think that’s pretty hilarious, that’s he’s spending all this extra time and effort doing a painted book, when he only got paid to do pencils and inks or whatever. And to do it out of sheer hatred for the current coloring style!

Elizabeth and I waited in line for hours, and got to meet Frank Miller AND Neil Gaiman at the same time. I gave both of them packets, containing my full issue of Tabloia. Who knows if they read them, glanced through them, or just left them at the signing table. I never heard from either of them, and began to realize, once this convention was over, that there doesn’t seem to be much point in giving writers copies, unless they actually ask for them, which I don’t think they ever do.

I had brought a Sandman #1 for Neil to sign. It had, I thought, signatures by Sam Kieth and Alan Dringenberg. Turns out, the signature that looked like “Sam Kieth” actually said “Neil Gaiman.” Neil was kind enough to sign it a second time, then draw an arrow to the first signature, to show what it was supposed to say.

I told Frank I really appreciated him keeping film noir in comics. He gave me a sly smile and said, “I’m just getting started.”

Tim Bradstreet was in artists alley again. I showed him my monster pages, and he thought they were fun. I couldn’t believe it; I asked about a pin-up commission, and he just wrote his email on my notebook for me.

Tim Sale was in artists alley too, and he seemed to like the monster stuff. I told him I knew he was exclusive with DC, but he said he should still be able to do a monster pin-up, if he could only find time. He gave me his email too.

I found the Hernandez Brothers. After my pitch, they all said maybe they would do a pin-up. I can’t believe it!

So now I’m beginning to realize the power of having Dick Ayers inking the monster stories. I’m watching the artists as I make my pitch. “Hi, I was hoping I could show you a project I’m working on. I’m drawing Kirby-style giant monster stories.” Usually they don’t look up, and they’re busy with something on their table, or talking to someone behind the table. “I actually managed to get Dick Ayers to ink them for me.” Really? They perk up. All of a sudden they’re actually looking at the artwork now. Amazing. What a powerful tool. All of a sudden, maybe they wouldn’t mind thinking about doing a pin-up. Even though I approached a bunch of these exact same artists the year before, and none of them had been interested then. All of a sudden I’m getting their contact information.

An original art dealer represents Michael Lark and Tim Bradstreet, and I see both of them over at this booth. I had found Michael Lark’s email online, and had written him a few times. I absolutely loved his sideways-format “Batman Nine Lives” book. I just thought it was gorgeous. He wrote me back a little about film noir. I had sent a few emails asking about a pin-up from him, but he wasn’t interested, and mentioned he was exclusive for DC now. I wondered if I’d gotten on his nerves with my perhaps-too-pushy-emails. I always feel anxiety when I send out emails and don’t hear back. Did I say something offensive? Are they mad at me?

Meeting him at the convention, I told him I was the guy who bugged him about a commission, and he said, Oh, You’re THAT guy. It made me wonder if I HAD done something that got on his nerves, but I was sure to be very friendly, and I didn’t seem to get on his nerves in person.

He said it wasn’t so much that he was exclusive as that he just didn’t have time to do a pin-up. I showed him the monster stories, and he asked for copies. After the con, he emailed me what a hoot he thought my stories were. He said I had a pretty crazy sense of humor.

Over at his booth, Tim Bradstreet said, “Oh, I want to go talk to Alex Maleev,” and sure enough, there was Alex Maleev a few booths down. I went over, and he was drawing sketches. I tried to show him my monster stuff and ask about a pin-up, and he said to talk to his manager. His manager was running around, so I waited for a few minutes. Finally his manager came up to me and said, You want a sketch? I said sure. Of what? How about Daredevil. He said, a hundred bucks. So I tried to make my pitch about the monster book, and might Alex do a pin-up for me, and the guy said to send him an email. I tried contacting him a few times, but never heard back.

I found Neal Adams. He said that since he’s got a whole studio of artists working for him, his pin-up would be too expensive for me to afford a pin-up. However, he said sometimes…sometimes…they’ll do something small for a project like this, and I should contact his son. He sent me on my way, and told me to say hi to Dick. I wouldn’t find out until years later, when I read about it in Dick’s autobiography, that Neal basically got Dick work at DC, when Dick had been basically blacklisted by the industry, on account of feeling he should be paid by Marvel when Marvel reprinted his work. This was in the seventies. Marvel had cut back the amount of work they gave Dick, and therefore they cut back what they were paying him, because he was paid by the page. Then they reprinted old stories Dick had drawn, and didn’t pay royalties for republishing rights. What an industry – to your job (a la page quantities per month) to – yourself (via reprints of your old work)!

I found Berni Wrightson, who was laughing loudly at all my Kirby-style stories. He was reading the dialogue out loud and laughing. When I asked about contributing a pin-up, he said, he didn’t do that kind of work. I kind of expected as much, but was so excited that he enjoyed them, I didn’t care.

We sat briefly in on a Grant Morrison panel. It was a huge room and packed. He was going to be finishing up his X-Men run, and signing a new exclusive with DC. He said it was in his contract that he would do some mainstream books for them, but they would guarantee him a certain number of personal, non-superhero,(bound-to-be-less popular) books as well. He was asked about artists he’d like to work with in the future, and he listed JH Williams. We did hang around near Grant for a while after, where he kindly stood and spoke to everyone who waited. When I got to the front of his line, I showed him my monster stories, and gracious as ever, he took a copy and thanked me. He signed a hardcover of his Batman Arkham Asylum.

Then I immediately rushed downstairs to JH Williams to tell him that Grant announced he wanted to work with him! JH wasn’t aware, and kind of went, “Really?” I thought that was high praise indeed.

We went to a Dave McKean talk, where he kind of made fun of superhero comics, specifically in reference to the Batman Arkham book. The usual “people don’t do this” sort of argument. We later found the booth he was hanging out at, and I (embarrassed after his superhero panning) got him to sign the same book – and he even drew a quick Batman sketch. He looked over my monster stories. He laughed (or winced?) at the “Eiffel Terror” gag of the Paris story. Said he wasn’t interested in doing any kind of monster pin-up, even a quick sketch.

I was really intimidated to meet Michael Kaluta. It seemed like he had long lines the whole week, but then one day I walked over and he was just there by himself. He was so good at putting a nervous little comics nerd at ease. So friendly and funny. And I got his contact info.

We went to the Bongo Comics booth to find out about Matt Groening’s signing. They had a mob scene of people, waiting to be handed tickets for the signing. People were shouting and pushing, and then security had to come and funnel people around. Somehow I wound up in the flow of traffic, and got spit out of the booth with a ticket in my hand. The funny thing was, as we left the booth, there was Matt Groening, so we went up to him and snapped a picture with him. Elizabeth talked with him about how crazy the scene was. And he seemed really shocked and humble that everyone would want to get his autograph so badly.

These were some of the quick, fly-by-night, catch-a-glimpse exchanges at the con. Next time, I’ll talk about a couple bigger, more in-depth ones.

This was my third year going to the amazing San Diego Con. Getting prepared, I wasn’t nearly as excited or anxious as I had been the first couple times. I knew basically how it worked now, and what I could expect, and generally what would be going on all week. I had seen it all, twice. I had done portfolio reviews. I had listened to presentations. I’d begun to meet some artists. This time, I wasn’t up for doing most of that stuff anymore, and I didn’t know what would be left to do. I didn’t know what I wanted to accomplish by being there.

I had committed myself to the idea of self-publishing by now, so I didn’t have any intention of waiting in portfolio review lines this year. I thought I could show my work to artists and try to get some more pin-ups. I’d already gotten a few. I’d gotten one in the mail from Thomas Yeates that actually took my breath away, when I got it in the mail and opened the package. So this year, at the con, I just planned to go with the flow and see what happened.

I had visited the website beforehand, and I wasn’t particularly excited by the list of special guests. And the website didn’t list all the professionals who would be attending, the way the Wondercon website had done. So I wondered just how many other artists would be there at all this year.

I kind of figured maybe there would be a few people who weren’t listed, but I should have had more faith. Every year, people told me, everyone just kind of shows up at San Diego. You’ll just be walking around the con, and realize someone’s hanging out at a booth. But for some reason, I just didn’t think it would be the case this year, for some reason.

THE HOTEL

We flew down and got to the hotel, and realized, for the second year out of three, there were problems. And never mind that the two years we had problems, I was the one who’d made the reservation plans (not my wife). The hotel didn’t have any record of our reservation. They said they could squeeze us in somewhere for Thursday and Friday night, but couldn’t guarantee Saturday. By Saturday, we were pretty exhausted and felt we’d done enough that we could call the trip a success, so we found an early flight home, and left early. It turned out the hotel had managed to fit us in that next night, but it was too late, so we thanked them for their efforts, apologized and left early.

Having checked in, we walked through town. It was afternoon, and we should have eaten a few hours ago, and our blood sugar levels were getting low. But that’s when I thought, we should probably pop over to the convention, just to pick up a schedule of events and see exactly what was happening this year, and who would be there. We needed to eat, but Elizabeth agreed to grab a bite at the con, because I was suddenly starting to get manic now.

So we got in, and Elizabeth grabbed some so-so food at the food court and sat down and started eating. And I started flipping through the schedule and realizing, every page I turned, how many artists would be there that I hadn’t expected. And Elizabeth is trying to calm me down, as my voice is getting higher with each shocked, foul exclamation and new artist’s name I scream out with glee. All of a sudden, I couldn’t eat. I had to start running around all over the place and looking for all these artists. I forced down a couple bites that my body was too amped to appreciate, and got moving. Elizabeth let me go, because she could see what a spazz I’d become.

I remember each night, in the hotel room, staying up late, studying the program lists to try and figure out exactly where everyone would be and when. Making a game plan, and so excited about it. Hoping I could coordinate everything so I could try and meet everyone I would like to meet. Elizabeth would fall asleep, while I’m still sitting up in bed with the light on, cross-referencing comics panels and autograph signing times and artist alley locations and what booths would be featuring what artists and when. I’m making charts and graphs of all my schedules. Finally turning off the light, and not being able to get any sleep. As the week wore on, feeling more and more out of reality, my increasingly sleepless state and constantly kicking adrenaline making me light-headed and spaced-out.

Looking back in retrospect, I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember something about this convention. All the other cons, I can usually remember what work I had done at that time, and that sparks who I showed that particular work to, and reminds me of some experiences or incidents or something. But this con, I’ve drawn an absolute blank.

I just realized, I think I do remember this con. I went down with a friend, and wasn’t really expecting anything this year. Even though I brought some samples, I kind of knew I wouldn’t show anything to anyone, because I knew by now I was going to self-publish. I just wandered around, and I didn’t really feel like looking at anything. I wasn’t really interested in any of the work or artists. I found myself just observing the scene of this particular con. I just spent the day thinking, I don’t really belong here. The work is too indie for me. It made me realize, I don’t know where my work belongs.

I saw some art that I liked, but the artists there weren’t getting any attention. I was afraid to go up to them as well, because you can just feel how badly they want you to come up to them and buy their books, and I knew I wasn’t planning to do that, and if I went over, I might get pressured to feel like I had to buy something. It’s so awkward and uncomfortable. And you think, these poor people spent a lot of money to get a table here, and they spent a lot of money to publish their books, and they just want to break even, and how few of them are able to do that? How is it, year after year, that these cons are able to get a roomful of people who think they have a product that could actually get them their money back? Because each time, a bunch of the previous year’s people learned their lesson and got so humiliated you know they gave up on their comic book dream and didn’t come back again. But the next year all the tables have been sold and filled again, with rows full of new hopefuls. How can this industry generate so much hope every year, with such crushing defeat and financial ruin each year before?

This was my negative attitude that year. Was I dreading joining the legion of hopefuls, and feeling insecure about my upcoming attempts on the battlefield?

I don’t belong in the mainstream superhero realm of comics, obviously. I’m not drawing superheroes, and my stories are strange. But I don’t belong in the hip, photo-copies and hand-made and hand-stapled, or sewn and bound with thread, or beautifully and creatively one-of-a-kind manufactured, or purposely crazy-shitty-out-of-control-drugs induced-looking products of the indie conventions either.

There’s always a ton of gorgeous, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind types of artworks at APE. A huge variety of amazing, strange, funny, sweet, personal, intimate, sad, beautiful works of art. And a lot of talented comics artists. Like every con, there are some great artists, and there are some so-so ones, and of course it all just depends on your tastes. And they’re all just trying to do their thing and putting themselves out there, and they all took the time to do their best and make a product they believed in. But this year, I was in a bad mood, and so I didn’t appreciate all the amazing, creative artwork going on.

I felt like I would fit in DC’s Vertigo line, maybe, but I’ve sent them packages, and they haven’t even bothered to send a form letter back to me. I felt like I could fit in the Darkhorse realm, but editors looked at my stuff, and even if they were kind enough in person, and gave me their cards, they didn’t write back, and seemed overall maybe interested in being polite to me, but not in pursuing possibilities for work.

So if I self-publish, how do I market myself? I could get a table at this con, and maybe people would think the quality of my art and packaging would look much better (or at least more streamlined/professional) than everyone else’s stuff here, but couldn’t that just work against me? Might people come to this convention because they don’t want stuff that looks polished and factory-printed? For my own product, I would WANT to have professionally made comics by a professional printer. I would WANT glossy covers with slick images. My artwork may not be good enough to be mainstream, and my subject matter may not be, and I may still be learning and improving, but I do decent work, don’t I? I didn’t feel like anyone at APE would be interested in my stories about mad scientists and private detectives. That’s too mainstream too.

So I’m not mainstream enough to get into the mainstream, and I’m not indie enough to feel like I belong at the indies. So how am I going to market my product? That’s a question I still haven’t solved.

So I just kind of wandered around this con and felt pessimistic, like I just didn’t really know of a place I belonged. And feeling like here, I definitely didn’t belong.

Looking back, all these cons begin to blur together. I’m pretty sure this is the year, following my tremendous fun and successes at the San Diego Con, that I began getting excited about meeting artists and trying to get more pin-ups. Before the con, the Wondercon website listed all the featured artists, and I remember I really studied every page posted, and tried to analyze and strategize to see exactly who would be where and when. The site listed all the featured guests on one page, and then all the “artist alley” people on a different page, all the signings, all the booths. But for some reason it also listed every comics professional who’d bought a ticket to attend. I remember getting really excited to see Bruce Timm in this secret area of listed people. I even went so far as to look him up at other websites, to try and find a picture of him, so that I would recognize him walking around. I found a picture, but it turns out, it didn’t help me. And I mean it REALLY didn’t help me.

Joe Kubert, Dave Gibbons, and Jim Lee were listed as extra special guests.

I walked by the DC booth right as I walked in. I asked if they knew where Bruce Timm was. They told me they just saw him, but that he probably wouldn’t be hanging out at the DC booth, and that he was definitely around.

I saw Sergio Aragones there, and the more I thought about it, right there that day at the con, the more excited I got about wanting a pin-up from him. His comics were quite pivotal to me, growing up. Right when I was first collecting comics, middle-school-age, I loved his Groo stories, and really enjoyed his Mad “Between the margins” books. I approached him, showed him the stories inked by Dick Ayers, and asked about a pin-up. He didn’t look that closely. He just said, Oh, he thought maybe I just wanted a quick sketch or something. He told me to come back to him after I’d put a few issues out, maybe in a year or so. He didn’t like to do pin-ups for artists until he’d had a chance to kind of see their published work, see that they were serious. The reality is, a lot of artists show up for a while, all full of gumption, and then are never heard from again. I guess he’d been around the block enough times that if he did a pin-up for someone, he wanted to make sure either the artist’s work was all right, or that the artist would have a little lasting power.

I shyly approached Thomas Yeates, and showed him my Dick Ayers-inked stories and asked for a pin-up. He was very easy to approach, and he said it sounded fun. Howard Chaykin was sitting with him and talking a lot, but his badge was facing backwards. I recognized him though, so I said to him, “Are you here under cover?” I realized I should have said, “Are you here under cover, Howard?” He just replied, No, I’m here as me. I’m always here as me. Then he walked away.

I got his attention a little later. I was feeling bold, since it had been so easy to approach Thomas. I asked Howard if he does commissions, and he said, No, absolutely not, never, and turned his back on me. I was especially embarrassed, because it happened in front of Thomas, who politely tried to act like he didn’t notice I was snubbed.

Met Jill Thompson, and thought she was a real cool gal. Very friendly and approachable and talkative. Said she’d enjoy doing a monster pin-up, and to email her. Said she’d definitely remember me, because no one had ever asked her for a commission of a giant monster. Strangely, I emailed both her and her website, and never heard back from her.

She talked a little about going to art school. Her school specialized in illustration, and there was a rival art school nearby. I could tell she wasn’t impressed by the rival school and its “artsy” attitude. She talked about their foo-foo “art” morals and principles, and said she always went to school with the intention of getting work. And she got out of school and started working, and all these “artists” from the other school were still not working.

I approached Dave Stevens and showed him my copies of stories and pin-ups. I think he really enjoyed them. I was intimidated to ask him about doing a pin-up, and when I did, he said he’s way too busy. But he was polite and friendly about it.

Waited in line for a Travis Charest sketch. Asked him about pin-ups, and he said he works way too slow, and can barely get his scheduled work finished on his deadlines. Aw shucks!

Russ Heath was there, so they set up a double-signing “war comics” theme with him and Joe Kubert. I saw where they set up, but it was such a big line, I kept waiting and hoping the line would die down. It finally died down, and I realized they had capped it. They weren’t letting anyone else wait. So I kept an eye on it anyways, just to see if Joe Kubert was going anywhere afterwards. He got up, shook hands with the gang, and left. I shamelessly stalked him, just to see if he was going to go hang out at a booth somewhere, but he just walked right out of the con. So I missed my chance to meet him.

Jim Lee and Dave Gibbons had really big lines too, so I didn’t bother with waiting for them either. But I didn’t try to stalk them afterwards either.

Lastly, I found an original art dealer who had tons of Jae Lee and Bruce Timm art. I was hoping one of those artists might turn up (although Mister Lee wasn’t listed anywhere to make an appearance), so I poked around. Flipping through the Bruce Timm folders, a tall, red-headed, skinny fellow with glasses kind of poked around at the folder I was holding, making an almost clownish scene as if he wanted to look at the folder I was looking at. I asked if he wanted to flip through, and he said, “No, no, you go ahead.” Someone who turned out to be in charge of the booth was kind of smiling at a secret joke and shaking his head at this guy. I moved on and looked at Jae Lee art, and the tall guy lost interest in me.

Of course it’s obvious where this story is going. After the con I told a friend I was disappointed I didn’t ever find Bruce Timm, and he said, “Oh, I saw him doing sketches at that original art booth.” Click. It all came together. When I was looking at Bruce Timm original artwork, Bruce Timm himself was the one who had come over, and I could have visited with him, fawned over him, looked at his art with him and maybe gotten a sketch. He was acting so playful and silly and approachable. I’m sure we would have become best friends. But I was so clueless, I just screwed that golden opportunity.

I wound up feeling really disappointed that I had actually been jibed by Bruce Timm and didn’t realize it.

My experience with Gene Colan was a perfect lesson in what NOT to do, when trying to get a pin-up from one of your idols, or what TO do, if you want to annoy the hell out of them and make them hate you, and feel ashamed of yourself.

During my hours of obsessing and searching and fantasizing, I found his website online. He was one of the first artists I looked for. I sent him a letter about how much I loved his art, and how great I thought it was he was accessible online. He sent a very brief thank-you-very-much type of note.

At this stage I was new at the whole email thing. In fact, I was new at the whole computer thing. I had had an eighties model, which I used just as a word processor (this was the early 2000’s). But when I met (my wife) Elizabeth, she introduced me to the internet, and to emails.

But as I say, I was new to email etiquette. I would write pages and pages. I suspect most people would read a sentence or so, and then get bored or irritated and delete the letter without finishing it. At least, that’s what I would have done. But I didn’t know this at the time, because I hadn’t gotten any emails yet, so I just kept writing. I also didn’t have any experience trying to get pin-ups from artists. So my strategy was this. I’d write a long, annoying introductory letter, and I wouldn’t ask about the pin-up. I would just say hello and I love you so much. Then I would wait and see if I got a response before bothering to put myself on the line and ask for a pin-up. I guess I thought this technique would strengthen their bond to me somehow, and make them like me so much, that when I wrote a second time, they’d not only remember me, but also see what a nice and polite guy I was, and then we’d be best friends, and they’d WANT to do the pin-up. As if they wouldn’t have done it if I just asked the first time. So after receiving the very brief and appreciative thank-you from Gene, I wrote again, telling him about the book I was doing, sending some samples of the monster pages Dick Ayers inked, and asked if he would do a pin-up I could publish.

I told him if he wasn’t really interested in drawing a monster, he could just include a hint of one. I thought maybe he could do a deserted spooky street, with a monster peeking into an alley, or a giant shadow falling over someone, or a graveyard, with a giant foot stomping down. But something moody, since he’s so good with that gothic horror atmosphere.

This email got another brief reply. This time it was from his wife. She named a price which (in my naivete) I found extremely high, but which in retrospect was a fair price for his work, considering what he had planned to do for that money.

I wrote another way-too-long letter, saying I assumed the price was for an 11″x17″, the standard size for a comics page. I asked if he might be able to do something smaller, or less detailed, for cheaper. I went on and on about possibilities.

Another brief reply from his wife. As for “detail,” she said that Gene works very hard, and if he skimped on “quality”, neither of us would be happy with the result. But she also said that he had planned to do a “22×28″ piece (Holy Christ! That would have been HUGE!) He would do an 11″x17” for half the original price. At the time, I thought it was still expensive (although I’ve since learned that a number of artists charge this much), but closer to a ballpark that I could afford.

So I wrote again, to make sure he was okay with my usual requests, for that price. Me keeping the work, me advertising to publish the piece, me publishing the piece, and him not expecting royalties or additional payments.

His wife wrote back again, and my interpreted from the letter was that she seemed pretty upset. It was a brief, terse letter. She said, absolutely not, forget the whole deal, basically. I wrote back yet another long letter, explaining that it wasn’t my intention to upset or short them. I asked what she had issue with specifically.

She wrote back her complaints, sounding moderately less upset than the previous letter, but I posited there was still a bit of an edge. I interpreted that she felt my asking for “permission to publish the pin-up” was a free-for all of his rights, and that I could take advantage, make t-shirts, posters, stickers, a website and spin-off comic series and video game based on the work, and make a fortune off this image he would send me, and he works hard and the industry is always taking advantage and I was another back-stabbing no-good … That kind of thing. I’m exaggerating, but I think the gist was concerns of being taken advantage of.  And honestly I can’t blame her. He’s had a long career, and it’s a tough industry, and I’m sure people have tried to take advantage. I think a lot of the classic artists, especially, weren’t taken very good care of by the big companies. But on the other hand, it was getting a little tiring for me, having to be on the defensive every time I read one of her responses. I just wanted a drawing from one of my idols, and it wasn’t my intention to take advantage. I was also wondering why Gene had stopped responding to my emails.

I wrote back again.”Look, phrase it however you want so that I’m not taking advantage. I just want to publish it in my book.” I gave samples of how we could re-phrase it to her liking. A way-too-long, blow-by-blow explanation of my stance, full of descriptions, apologies, and suggestions for resolving our differences. And in my exasperation, if she wouldn’t agree to something, I would selfishly ask for something else in exchange. That didn’t help.  At one point I suggested maybe he could throw in a sketch of Dracula too, for the price.  I was envisioning a little ten second scribble.  She explained that Gene’s sketches are real pieces of art, and how much they charge for them.

I really wanted a pin-up from him, and the more she protested about this or that, the more I wanted it. It was getting exhausting making all these negotiations. We finally got to a near complete agreement, except that she three in a last condition. That if I sell over 25,000 copies, that I send Gene an additional payment.

I hadn’t yet published a comic, so I thought, “Well maybe I will sell 25,000 books” (what a naive moron I was…). And at first glance, I thought, well if I could sell that many, I guess I could pay him some extra. That seems reasonable. But it made me sit down and think, and try and really calculate costs of publishing for the first time.

I thought, Sure, I’d like to keep the art, but I’m paying him a lot of money. More than the industry’s page rate. I’m a new and unknown comics guy, and I’m taking a chance here, and putting up all the money to pay him the price he’s asking, and then I have to pay all the money to get the book in print too. So all the risk and cost is on me, and there’s no risk to him, because he knows he’s getting paid what he asks for a pre-specified job. But if for some crazy reason the book were successful, I should see the benefit of that, because I’m the one completely at risk (I felt). The only risk he has to take is that he won’t get paid more than he asked to get paid, whether the book is successful or not.

I started writing out all the things that were going to cost me. Printing. Advertising. All the Dick Ayers inks for the Doris Danger stories. The other pin-ups I’d gotten. I realized, if I DID sell 25,000 books, I might break even, but WITHOUT GETTING A CENT FOR MYSELF.  (Maybe my math was faulty, looking back.)  So next thing I knew, and to my horror, I had sent him a many-page description, in explicit detail, of all these figures, and why I didn’t think I should have to pay him royalties. I asked if he could please waive this request.

Looking back, it was so idiotic, because I only sold 600 copies of that first book. I missed his request by 24,500! I would have had to have sold OVER FORTY TIMES what I sold. There was absolutely no danger, ABSOLUTELY, of having to worry about this request. But I did it for principle.

I got a letter back from them that was so funny and so simple, it made me ashamed. It said, Fine, he’ll do the pin-up. Don’t send any more emails. And then it said, “Seriously.” How embarrassing. How humiliating.

The money was sent on June 6, 2003. Shortly after, I found a message on my answering machine from Gene in New York! He just wanted to check on the composition he had in mind for my pin-up. I was so excited, I saved the message special to play for my wife. I was trying to figure out a way I could record a copy and save it for my personal records. At this time, I was saving the envelopes artists sent me their pin-ups in, because it had their names in their handwriting, and it was really cool to me to have these little pieces of their everyday lives.

I called him back, and it was a rush to speak with him on the phone. He was so polite and friendly. He made no mention of what a pain in his ass I was. He said he planned to draw a graveyard with a kid in it, who’s jumping back in shock, right as a giant foot stomps down at him. Sounds great, I said. Do whatever you like.

That day, when I got home from work to share the phone message with my wife, I went to the answering machine to play it for her, and the machine said there were no messages. I literally howled with anguish, and she came running out. I said, “There was a message on the machine I wanted to share with you!” I was crushed. She had seen a bunch of old messages on the machine and assumed they were all ones she had heard, so she deleted them without listening to them first. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock. I was devastated.

The pin-up came, and it was gorgeous. And it was still huge. Even though I’d asked for an 11″x17″, it ended up being 14″x22!”

I had just put myself in serious debt, and most anyone I told how thought that I was some moron. But by doing so, I had managed to convince one of my favorite artists to draw a pin-up that I could publish in my comic.

At this point, after meeting him a couple times, sharing my work, and exchanging some emails, maybe I felt that we were closer friends than we were (since we weren’t friends at all). Isn’t it interesting when you feel you know people like this so well, because you’re so intimate with their work, and in some ways, you really do get to know them that way. But you’re just a stranger to them. They don’t know you at all.

But I was feeling cocky and sure. I had learned, in the process of buying his pages, that he was drawing his pages on 9″x12″ paper. This is considerably smaller than the industry standard 11″x17″. That’s interesting, don’t you think? I also deduced that the reason he had switched to this size was as a means of getting work out more regularly, so that he’d have more books under his belt for his fans to enjoy. I deduced this because he had told me at San Diego that he had been looking for ways to streamline his production. I also knew he’d seen Bruce Timm’s original work, which was smaller, and which he found very impressive and awe-inspiring, to be able to encapsulate so much energy into such small pages.

So I posted a new public note on his message board, saying I knew that he worked small, and would he care to talk about why he worked this size. I knew he would see the post, and assumed he would be absolutely tickled by what I considered my wry little in-joke with him, and then write something interesting, to enlighten his fan base. The fans would enjoy the intimate, unique info, and I really was interested in learning about his creative process, and I thought everyone would get a kick out of it, all around, all thanks to my cute little inquiry.

With my other posts to his message board, he had answered almost immediately. But this one never got a response. Finally I got a personal email from him saying the pin-up was done and he’d mail it. But as a side note, he asked that I please DO NOT talk about or publicly post his process of art-making.

I was really shocked. First of all, I didn’t think it was a big deal if people knew he was working smaller. But mostly, I had just gotten scolded by one of my favorite artists in the industry. What a shameful feeling. It gave me a stomach-ache, and I couldn’t stop worrying about it.

I wrote back and apologized profusely, and assured him I wouldn’t do it anymore. I pointed out I didn’t think asking about it was a big deal.

He responded, and made me feel much better. He said that he considers his comics a sort of magic-making, and he doesn’t like to give away his “tricks.” He likes to keep it magical for his readers. He admitted that if people ask the questions, he’s happy to offer the information, he just doesn’t like to ruin it for anyone who wouldn’t want to know, or think to know. Fair enough.

His pin-up, along with all the original art, was the first pin-up I received. Getting the package in the mail felt like Christmas back in elementary school, when I still felt excited about things, When things were exciting and important. I opened it, and he had filled the box with Atomics notepads and stickers, and a Madman action figure, as well as a hardcover Madman gallery and some comics! What a package! I pulled out the art, and the pin-up was right on top, and it was gorgeous! I was surprised by the smaller size, but really pleased with the image. I couldn’t believe he drew Madman in the pin-up. I thought to myself, my book is going to have Madman in it! Wow!

Soon after, Mike posted on his website that he was officially announcing his intention to try and sell artwork, but only full issues. He said as soon as he made the decision, one of his fans already bought a full issue, and I proudly realized that was me! What a celebrity I had become! So I was using him by buying his art to get a pin-up, and he was using me to show there was a demand for his artwork. Happy to oblige!

Last thing I want to mention is that, reading these posts, you may have noticed the irony, my writing about the size of his artwork and my promises not to do just that. Well a few months after what I call my “shaming,” someone else publicly asked about Mike’s art process in an interview, and he went into great detail about how he works in a smaller size with a smaller brush, and he defies anyone to try and figure out which of his pages he did smaller, and which pages were larger. And this he unapologetically linked from his website. So he shared his secret process first!