Diary of a Struggling Comics Artist

We sat next to the gang who self-publishes “Brodie’s Law,” a hot British indie title. They were really friendly, and amazing marketers. They had people buzzing up to their table the whole time. They’re able to sell out their books every con they go to. Maybe it helps that Alan Grant wrote the scripts, or that Simon Bisley did the cover for their trade. But man, to see them work it and get people excited about their book is amazing…and frustrating that I don’t have those marketing skills. They said they call every shop every week to check on sales, see what they can do to help promote, make sure everyone’s stalked. One of them does a full-time job just with the promotion.

Since Simon did the cover for the upcoming trade, we found out he was going to spend some time at their table, right next tous! I was excited and nervous about this.

I’d heard stories about Simon Bisley being a drunken prick. A real lush and asshole. I’ve loved his artwork, but never tried to meet him at any cons. I’d heard his lines were always really huge, and once you got to the front of his line, he’d slur some mean comments at you and draw a horrible stick figure piece of crap, and piss you off with his rudeness and leave you really disappointed. But I was still kind of excited that he’d be right next to us. I didn’t know what to expect.

He was definitely a wild one, and Elizabeth and I felt a little in danger sitting right next to him. He was supposed to be there, and no one knew where he was, and all of a sudden he came stomping over, all shouts and attitude and attention-grabbing, and sat behind the table with us. There was a pack of punk kids who followed him over, waving their books and pens, swearing, telling dirty jokes, laughing. They had cigarettes and booze, and were drinking in plain view, setting their drinks on the table, on top of comics, etc. Simon was shouting and being obnoxious, and if he or anyone else did something rude or illegal (drinking at the con, for example), he’d shout out, “Security! Get these punks out of here!” At one point, I guess he didn’t feel there was enough of a crowd at the table, so he started shouting, “Simon Bisley signing over here!”

He was having his band of thugs pass him cigarettes to take drags from. They brought hard alcohol and beer to mix, and put Simon in charge of the mixing. He didn’t have any cups or glasses, so he grabbed the hard alcohol and gulped – and I mean pounded – half the bottle down, then pulled a beer from where he’d stashed them under his table and told me to pour it into the hard alcohol container. I’m not a drinker, and was having a little trouble understanding his accent. When I started trying to do what he said, He chastised me that I had to do it behind the table, so that no one would see, and he finally judged me incompetent and took everything away from me and did it himself, which was what I wanted to begin with.

One kid was actually trying to get Simon to sign one of his comics this whole time, and Simon would take it and open it, then make jokes and shoutings and get distracted. Then he’d smoke, drink, and never sign the book. Finally, after this had gone on for some time, Simon noticed the kid was still hanging around, and tried to get him to move on, so he could deal with some more of his fans. The kid said in exasperation, “Would you sign my goddamn book?”

Simon said, “With what?” The kid pointed at the pen Simon had thrown (or maybe knocked, while thrashing his arms about) onto the floor. Simon said, again, “With what?” And he looked where the kid was pointing. “With the chair?” that was behind us. He got up, then picked the chair up and held it over the book, and began doing a writing motion with the leg of the chair, which I assume dinged and scratched the book up a fair amount. I was afraid to look.

Finally Simon began doing some sketches for some of the people in line, in their sketchbooks. Most of his sketches were enormous, impossibly-proportioned erections spewing semen. One person asked him for a picture of a shrimp, for some reason This same person had me draw a picture of a shrimp, and his entire sketchbook was full of shrimp sketches. And I don’t mean pictures of small, whimpy people. I mean, the kind of shrimp in the sea, that you eat. Simon I think drew a car running over the shrimp. It was in fat permanent ink marker, and looked like maybe a fourth grader could have hashed it out. This was the quality he had been drawing all his sketches.

I disappeared for a while, and when I got back, Elizabeth looked like she was getting pissed. Simon had been telling her what he could do with his cock or his tongue. I was dreading having to say something if he kept it up while I was there. Sure enough, he made another comment.

But this time, Elizabeth said, “Simon, I’ve heard that people who talk a big game don’t bring a big game.” He replied, “Well said, luv, it’s true I’ve got a small cock.” And ever since that he was a perfect gentleman to both of us.

Elizabeth called him “the walking party,” and Simon liked the sound of that.

We met him again that night, and I think that’s when we all started growing pretty fond of each other.

Elizabeth, my wife, has always wanted to travel, and I have never had any particular desires to do so. I decided, Heck, if I try and get this comics career going, hitting some comics conventions in different places would be good for spreading the word about my work and hopefully building up a fan base, and it would serve the double purpose of getting us to different places, so that Elizabeth is having the opportunity to travel. It’s gotten so bad, that friends tease me, “You know, Chris, you could go somewhere that there isn’t a convention.” But what crazy talk that is! There are conventions EVERYWHERE! Take this one, for example. Elizabeth had said she wanted to go to Europe. We talked about going to a con in France called Angouleme, but the timing was kind of rough, and after hearing from the runners of the convention, it sounded like it would be difficult to get a table. That’s when we found the Bristol Convention in England. Perfect!

We flew into London, then took a bus to Bristol safe and sound, checked into our hotel, and wondered what we were supposed to do next. I had brought the organizer’s phone number, and he said that things were getting started that evening. We went down to the hotel’s lobby, where we were told things would be happening. There were a few interviews of some of the bigger names at the con. It was a relaxed, intimate setting, and afterwards, looking for Michael, the con organizer, we met Dez Skinn, the other con organizer, who we took to right away. He had an odd, sort of cranky sense of humor. We ended up visiting with him at the bar for the rest of the evening.

Next day, the con began, and we were kindly positioned right near the entrance. I was looking forward to hunting down Brian Bolland, Mike Ploog, and Dave Gibbons. I knew Simon Bisley would be there as well, but I was a little afraid to meet Simon, because I’d heard some horror stories of how rowdy he could be.

Early on, I actually saw Dave Gibbons standing around nearby, so I got up from my table and went up to him. “Are you Dave?” It was him, all right. I made my pitch, and showed him my folder full of all my Doris Danger giant monster drawings I’d done, and all the pin-ups involved so far. He looked moderately interested, and asked, “And are you paying anything for these contributions to your book?”

“Naturally. I would want to pay you what your time and talents are worth to you.” He seemed friendly enough, and gave me his email. Wow! Dave Gibbons!

I found Mike Ploog fairly early, and he was easy to approach. He said he was pretty busy, but to go ahead and contact him. I also found Bryan Talbot and Paul Grist.

Brian Bolland didn’t appear at the con until later on, and from the moment he did, he had a huge line waiting for sketches. In the past, I would have gotten in line and waited to talk to him. But I figured, Now I’m a professional. And all these people are waiting for either a signature or a sketch or whatever. I just want to talk to him, so I rationalized it should be okay to just do that. I cut in front of everyone, which still took some time and some waiting to get through the crowd. When I finally got into position, I leaned over the table and said, “If I could just introduce myself while you’re sketching,” and I made my pitch and showed him some of the pin-ups, and he was interested. Or at least friendly about it. He said my project reminded him of the old Strange Adventures, and I reminded him he did a great “Strange Adventures”-style giant-monster cover for Animal Man. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he replied. He kindly gave me his email as well. Wow! Brian Bolland! Unbelievable! What a great con!

Later at the con, I met a self-publisher, who told me he had been in line when I approached Mr. Bolland, and he wished he had had the guts to approach his favorite artists like that. He said he’d love a Brian Bolland cover for one of his books. So everyone take note! You’re all free to ask, fans! You just have to hunt them down. And they may not say yes. But if you ask enough people, a few of them might say yes. I’m living proof of it.

It turned out, someone told me Brian hadn’t been to this convention for maybe seven years, so I lucked out just happening to come out to this particular convention to meet him.

I’m a huge, HUGE fan of his Judge Dredds. They were some of my favorite comics during my formative years. I wish he did more comics work, besides covers. Always great to see his covers, but just the same…

My first table at an indie-convention. I felt hopeful that I would do better here than San Diego or Wondercon, because those are both fairly mainstream conventions. I hoped people would appreciate my black and white aesthetic, and my non-superhero stories. I had three issues completed, and a handful of Ojos as well. However, I wasn’t sure if the more artsy, considerably less mainstream APE-goers would appreciate my more mainstream sensibilities in art and production.

I thought this con would be the big test, to see if I could fit in here or not, with what I viewed as the “cool people,” who liked “cool stuff that’s too cool to be mainstream.”

The floor of APE is vast, but in addition to the floor, there were two aisles, separated from the floor by a staircase. These aisles were completely isolated from the action of the floor below, and I seriously doubt if many people even realized they were allowed to go up there, where all these other artists were. Of course, naturally, I was up in this area. It was one of my worst conventions ever, sales wise. I was surprised how little I sold. I would be staring down my aisle and seeing maybe two people in foot traffic. And then I’d look over the balcony behind me, and see down at the floor, that the aisles were swarming with comics buyers. I had thought my sales would increase each time I had more at the table to sell, but this con was the first to prove my theory wrong.

I like to blame it on this unfindable location where I was placed. Or I like to blame it on the aesthetic of my books, compared to the aesthetics of an “indie” con. Or I like to think maybe my work is so sophisticated and complex that it scares people off. I like to blame it on anything besides myself and my work.

While I was sitting around, I saw Mario Hernandez visiting with other booths nearby (he’s local to this convention), and when he saw me, he said, “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.” I had emailed him to pop by and say hello, after having a nice visit with him at Wondercon. He was signing at Fantagraphics with his brothers, and wanted to see if I could give him a few copies of my book to put out at his booth, since all three of them had giant monster pin-ups in it. I was flattered. He came back later and said he sold one to another artist. This kind act was the reason I gave him a special thanks in issue four of Tabloia. After his signing, he came and sat with me at my booth and visited. I couldn’t believe it, having Mario sitting behind my table with me. It was really fun. Every now and then, some people would poke around at my stuff, and I’d actually find myself not even bothering to try and sell or promote my work, because I was enjoying hanging out with Mario, better than actually trying to make my table costs back.

I took some time away from my booth to find Daniel Clowes again this year. He didn’t seem to remember my monster stuff that I’d shown him a year before, but I reminded him he had told me that maybe this year his schedule would be a little better. He said, actually it’s worse, because he just had a baby. So I guess there’s always next year. Mario Hernandez later told me Daniel works really slow, and I’m sure that doesn’t help.

I knew Seth would be at the convention, but didn’t know when I’d have a chance to go over and try to meet him. I was seated near the panel discussion area, and glanced up, realizing that a Seth panel was coming up. There was someone that was getting attention from people, standing outside the door. He wore a very sleek, gray, three piece suit. He also had some kind of retro, stylish hat (it makes me wish I knew my wardrobes better), a walking cane, and white gloves. I had a feeling this could be Seth, and went up to him to try and read the name on his badge. Of course it was face down, so I finally asked if he was Seth and introduced myself. He removed a glove to shake my hand. He was the image of posture and manners. I showed him my book, and he showed interest, and voiced an appreciation of the giant monster stories, which surprised me. Who knew how far the Kirby-fandom spreads! He said he was very busy, but to feel free to contact him. He passed me a business card, which read, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance” and his email. Interesting fellow.

Elizabeth, my wife, came down Saturday, but couldn’t make it Sunday. She got a ride home with a friend. It was good to have her there that first day, because it gave me the chance to poke around a little. I was out of luck for this on Sunday. I wound up just sitting behind my table, with no one coming by, since I was tucked up away in a weird corner that no one realized was even there. Finally, after just sitting there for so long watching nothing, I pulled out some blank sheets of paper, and started jotting down brainstorms, general situational plots, or even dialogue and scripts for Doris Danger stories. I plotted out about four stories, and was busting myself up behind my table. The few people that walked by my table must have thought I was a lunatic. But even though sales were poor, it felt really productive getting all that Doris Danger work done.

My first table at Wondercon, in artists alley. There was a place on the exhibitor sheet asking where I would like to sit. I requested to sit by both Ryan Sook and Mick Gray, who I knew had sat together the year before. I assumed I would be so low on the totem pole, they wouldn’t give a shit what I requested, and I wouldn’t get to sit by either of them, but when the seating assignment came, I was located between them both! I thought that was so cool, and immediately emailed them to let them know they would have to be my neighbor.

They were both sweet with their replies. Ryan said he didn’t mind a bit, and Mick made a crack about, “Oh man, you better keep me entertained.”

Overall, I did well at the convention. Mick Gray didn’t show up until later in the day, and next thing I knew, someone else had stolen his seat. I was a little irritated about that, because when he showed up, he wound up sitting somewhere else, and I didn’t have a chance to spend time with him. But I thoroughly enjoyed sitting with Ryan.

I kept cracking dirty jokes or swearing, and he always laughed really hard, but never joined in, and it made me wonder if I should lighten up. After the con, I emailed what a nice time I had with him, and that I hoped I hadn’t been too strong a flavor. He wrote back that I kept him sane. That was the nicest thing he could have said.

The first day, I basically sat at my table the whole time, which was quite uncharacteristic of me, because I like to move around and find artists to do pin-ups. I just get anxious and restless. I was there alone, but Elizabeth came the second day, and allowed me time to do my poking around.

My books sold relatively well. What I would do is glom onto Ryan’s line. And while people were waiting, I’d say, “You guys have to see this pin-up Ryan did for my book. Yeah, it will be out next month, but while you’re waiting in his line, why don’t you flip through and see these other pin-ups I’ve gotten, from Mike Mignola (I had a copy of it I could show to people), Mike Allred, Sam Kieth, The Hernandez Brothers.” Desperate, shameless ploys, riding on the names of my pin-up artists, but I spent a lot of money on them, and they hadn’t generated the sales I had expected. I felt I’d earned the right. And it was absolutelt true that if people realized what I was doing, some of them would give the book a try. So people would look, and some of them would be impressed, and a few of them bought my comics.

This was the first con I was asked to do sketches. The first sketch I did was for Nick from Texas, who was sitting with Ryan, and had done his website. He had a Hellboy book, and he had asked a bunch of cool artists to do sketches of any character from Hellboy. I wanted to do something different from all the other sketches in there, so I did Hellboy with the giant horns still on his head. He was impressed that no one else had done the horns yet. I used a lot of black, and when I handed it back, was a little concerned that maybe it wasn’t a good sketch. When he received the sketchbook back, he looked at it, and had a look on his face like he was getting high from the fumes of the permanent marker, because I’d used so much black.

I also did a sketch of some girl character from some girl comic I wasn’t familiar with. The girl who asked for the sketch said what a fan she was of this particular book, and she knew the artist, and she was doing the official website or something, and she would post the sketch. I never figured out if or where that sketch was posted somewhere.

I did a sketch of the Hulk I was pretty proud of. I did a sketch of Batman that I would be afraid to see again, because somehow I don’t think it turned out well. That taught me that sketches can give a lot of artists anxiety, because sometimes the pen and paper just don’t go your way, and you have to make the best of it.

Approached Dave Stevens to show him my monster stuff. He said the stuff looked familiar, even though I’d shown him three or so times by now. I asked if he might ever have time to do a pin-up. He seemed to get irritated, like people had been asking him for commissions all weekend, and he REALLY didn’t want to do commissions for people. It reminded me of the first time I’d met him, maybe around 1997 at a Wondercon, and I mentioned I’d seen him on tv for a Betty Page special. And back then he’d seemed irritated, because the special had been recorded years ago. He had just said something short and got up to take a break.

This time, he said, he keeps telling people, he’s done it all before, and he just wants to do something new and different when he draws, and if I like his drawings, I should just buy his sketchbook. Instead of pointing out to him I’ve been coming up and saying hi to him every West Coast Convention for at least the last three years, and showing him my monster stuff every time, and instead of pointing out that I’ve already bought all his sketchbooks, and some of his prints as well, I told him I thought it would be so great if he drew, for example, a pin-up of a giant gorilla hand reaching through a window and grabbing a woman, like in King Kong, or a pin-up girl on a beach, and the cameramen all leaping back in horror, because behind her, a huge creature is emerging from the water. But this just got him more irritiable, and he said, Already done that! Already done that before! He seemed genuinely irritated. I retreated as quickly as I could, apologizing as I went.

Elizabeth came the next day, and I asked if she would go over with me to talk to Dave once more. We went over, and I was really nervous. I told him, I’m sorry if I was pestering you too much about a pin-up. But I want you to know it’s because I’m such a fan of yours. “It’s out of love,” he said, joking. I asked him, since he said he’s done it all before, if he had any drawings or sketches of these giant monsters he’d said he’d done, lying around that hadn’t seen print, that maybe I could buy the right to publish in my book. He said he couldn’t think of any. So for example, I said, you’ve got that sketch of the Rocketeer cover with the gigantic hand grabbing him. He said, yeah, he couldn’t think of any off hand, other than that one. So we left with him saying, maybe he’d poke around and see if there wasn’t anything. I felt much better about that.

I learned a couple things from this exchange.

First of all, the comic convention setting is an ultra-surreal, ultra-stimulating, ultra-stressful environment. You have hundreds of people coming up at you throughout the day, making and asking smart comments and questions, and idiotic comments and questions, and you have to be careful to just go with the flow. If I piss someone off, it isn’t necessarily me. It may just be the long, annoying days. It may be poor sales that particular day. It may be a lack of sleep from trying to connect with editors the night before. Or hell, maybe it is just me. Maybe I’m really fucking annoying.

Also, even if someone is wearing a very distinct outfit, such as an ugly tie, that you would think would stand out in everyone’s mind, and even if they’re showing you artwork of giant monsters inked by Dick Ayers, it’s easy to forget who’s who, or forget what you’ve seen or said or done or been told. So if I’m going to keep approaching the same people year after year, it’s a good idea to always remind them who I am, and not assume they remember every little thing about me. Just because the exchange is so important to me, doesn’t mean it will stick out to them.

Third, just keep trying until they do remember you, and don’t take it personally if they don’t. Just try again, and be just as patient and explanatory, and if you sense they’re getting irritable, just ease off. There’s no hurry. They’re going to be there year after year. And maybe one year, you’ll catch them in a good mood. I’ve caught a lot of people in not-good moods, or in stressful or scattered stages of mind, and I’ve always eventually caught them in good moods. I’m talking about everyone. Even if I’ve had a terrible experience with someone, I’ve managed to catch them in good moods at another time, and to realize it isn’t ever personal. There’s just always too much going on.

Even though we were in the cheapest area (artist’s alley), it was my best con to date for sales. I wasn’t sure if it was just a good con for me, or if it was because each time I had more books at my table, I sold more (I had three Tabloias out now, and maybe another three Ojos).

My first issue of Tabloia had only sold 613 copies, despite a lot of money to Diamond to try and come out of the gate with a decent-sized advertising bang. I’d run a full-page color ad in Diamond’s Previews, which cost me $2300. I’d spent $700 printing up mini-posters, and another hundred to get them sent out to indie-supportive comics shops across the nation. I thought, well the sales weren’t great, but word will spread, and reorders will come in, and it will all work out okay.

I did get reorders…but only for six issues. Not enough to make any difference. Just enough to realize I can’t count on reorders to pick up my initial sales numbers. I began to feel pangs of worry, but it didn’t really affect me until the second issue was released, and its sales dropped almost in half, down to 315. Still upset, I thought, if only people find out about this comic, it will catch on. Or at least maybe steady out. I was doing signings, getting interviews and decent reviews, and going to conventions out of town. The orders can still pick up, the orders can still pick up…

I was tempted to speak with my representative with Diamond. I was tempted to say, “Look, I spent three thousand dollars for my initial push, and I haven’t made any of that money back. Couldn’t you guys do a little spotlight on my book, since it’s got all these great pin-up artists? Or do a little interview? Or just spotlight me in some way?” But instead I chose to take the coward’s route. I realized I didn’t have a lot of bargaining chips, with a failing book, so I just tried to keep inconspicuous, and not stir up any dust. I hoped if I didn’t bother him, I could keep under his radar, and my series might slip through the cracks and continue to get published. Naive, and maybe not the smartest way to handle it.

Now I was sweating, but still holding out hope for my third issue. When those numbers came in, I knew it was just a matter of time. Now my orders had plummeted yet again, now down to 260. I was devastated. This was when I wernt over to Sam Kieth’s house. This was after running an ad in the Comics Journal, and in Love and Rockets, since my issue had pin-ups by all three Hernandez Brothers. I knew it was hopeless, and just a matter of time. I was a walking dead man.

On November 9 2004, after the numbers came in for issue three, but before I’d gotten it back from the printer, and immediately after submitting the product info for issue four to be listed in Previews, my representative at Diamond delivered the death blow for Tabloia, in the form of an email. He was very sweet and professional about it. He reminded me that not even my first issue had made the benchmark for sales, but that they let the title run for a few more issues, just to see if it had any chances of picking up. Since the sales had continued to drop, he said it was time to cancel the book.

He suggested combining books, and doubling the page count. He said, then I could charge a higher cover price, and maybe that would help me to make the benchmark requirements.

I gave this some thought, before replying with a begging email. I said that Tabloia’s first story arc was supposed to run six issues. Would he consider letting me put out the fourth issue as planned, and then doing a final, double-sized fifth issue to round up the series? Pretty please? He agreed. I was relieved.

But what a blow, knowing you’ve spent all this time on a story that you thought would be really good, and that you thought other people would enjoy. Drawing it the best you can, putting all your money into it, to the point that you’ve gone into debt, publishing it and getting it into stores, only to learn it just isn’t a success, and people aren’t or don’t want to read it, or worse, maybe they tried the first issue and decided they didn’t care for it, and now it’s going to be cancelled.

I realized how lucky I was that I hadn’t tried to do a ten or twenty issue story, that would have gotten cancelled after three issues. At least I would have the opportunity to finish my story. I realized, from this point out, it would be a good idea to only do three issue stories, because anything longer than that would probably not get to see completion in print. What a sobering thought. And what a difficult industry, if you won’t necessarily get to finish a story you started.

When I first started trying to publish comics in 2004, I lost so much money and fell so deep into debt. I had paid thousands of dollars for the inks by Dick Ayers and all the great pin-ups I’d gotten. I’d printed three books, and it had cost me thousands of dollars. I’d thrown thousands of dollars aside on advertising schemes, and none of them paid off in sales, and all that money was gone in a blink, with nothing to show for it. Our credit cards, which I was hoping would be paid off by then, were getting higher and higher. I was beginning to get stressed, and that stress was a consistent buzzing in the back of my head all the time.

It took some months to add up all my receipts and figure out my taxes. My dad was a huge help, because he has a computer program, and it asks you questions, and you answer them as you go, adding up the numbers it tells you to, and before you know it, you’ve got your taxes figured out.

The good news was, I lost so much money trying to publish comics, I got a huge write-off. HUGE. We were such a financial failure, our tax refund allowed my wife and I to pay for our trip to Europe and the Bristol Con, and we still had enough left over to get Elizabeth laser eye surgery. It was such a huge return, I was really nervous the government would give us an audit just out of sheer spite, if not to see if I really knew what the hell I was thinking trying to claim so much. But our numbers were legit, and I assume that for a beginning business it’s natural to have some start-up costs, and the audit never came.

Here are things I claimed, in addition to printing costs, pin-up and inking costs of other artists, and advertising costs.

Monthly DSL bills, since I’m finding and making all my contacts with pin-up artists, doing research, finding images to reference with my art, and more, online. A portion of my phone bill, since it’s now my business number. A portion of my rent, because now the extra bedroom is my office where I draw, scan, contact other professionals by phone or email. A portion of my utilities, because a portion of that electricity is used in my “office.”

Buying a new computer, scanner, printer, ink cartridges, mailing supplies for when I sell comics online, stamps for sending review copies to reviewers. Fonts, website fees, work-related computer programs. Art supplies. Paper, pencils, brushes and ink. Rulers, French curves, t-squares. Furniture, such as art lamps, tables to draw on, chairs that don’t screw up my neck while I draw. Storage containers and file cabinets.

Comic books I bought, as story and art research. It’s my industry of choice, and I need to keep up to date on what’s going on. Plus get inspiration for my own ideas and see how different artists handle things that might give me difficulty. For that matter, make sure I’m not just doing the same old boring thing everyone else has already done.

Books I bought: Same thing. Mostly story and writing structure research.

Audio books I bought. Story research, as well as an office supply, because I listen to them while I work.

DVDs. Storytelling research, as well as immense photo reference. Film is the most similar medium to comics out there, because it combines text and images. You can learn a lot from how films are structured, so long as you don’t lose sight of the fact that they are still different mediums.

Movies I go to. Research in story and pop culture. The only problem with this one is that I pretty much never go to the movies any more, because I don’t really enjoy the experience any more. But it’s a legitimate expense.

I rent a storage space, because I’ve printed so many comics that haven’t sold, we just simply ran out of space in our tiny apartment.

Airplanes and hotels and transportation and food and convention fees and rental cars and parking, for our business trips to conventions. Mileage for every time I drive to a comics shop, art store, visit to my storage, or convention we don’t fly to. If we fly, I write off the mileage to and from the airport.

It seems weird to write off all these, basically entertainment items. It’s all stuff I get immense pleasure in. Everything that gives me pleasure now is technically my business research, so I’m rewarded for my hobbies. It doesn’t get cooler than that. It’s like Mike Allred had told me, “Work is always going to be work, but if you can make it something you love, it’s so much better.” However, if I had gotten an audit, I had ammo in my guns. I had been saving receipts for comics-related purchases five years before. That five-year period is when I began writing and drawing stories that were published in Tabloia. Technically I think I could have claimed all that as “start-up fees” for research, self-educating, etc. So if they had called me in, and said, “You owe for this and this,” I would have retaliated, “Well, while I’m in here, I had some questions about this extra five thousand dollars in receipts I didn’t claim, and maybe we could go through them together for the next couple hours.”

But man, you hear such horror stories about audits, you just dread it happening to you.

I had a stack of Ojo pages that I wanted to deliver to Sam Kieth, and was doing errands in Sacramento one day, so Sam invited me over to his house. He was heavy into the Ojo film at this point.

He took me inside, and first he played me some music he’d written, and sound-effects mixed in. He brought up how, unlike him, I don’t just dabble in music, I make a living at it. (My day job is teaching private guitar lessons.) I didn’t realize it, but he was asking my opinions on different tracks and trying to find out which ones I liked better. I don’t know if Sam’s way of asking me opinions is too passive, or if I just don’t listen well, and can’t tell that’s what he’s always asking me. I tried to give my advice and personal tastes the best I could. When I listen to that kind of stuff I just enjoy experiencing something new, and enjoy knowing it’s made by my friends. I’m not usually in a judgemental, critical, “which is best” frame of mind.

He showed me some experimental clips they’d taken of the Ojo baby monster, for the scene when Ojo is running through the office, up along the tops of the wall separations between desks. Sam was concerned that it wasn’t scary at all, and that it just looked like little rubbery toys on puppet strings.

I suggested that maybe the best way to make something scary would be to show as little of it as possible. Lots of shadows, and only the quickest cuts of the actual monster. Have you ever noticed that often in films, especially older films before CGI, that the movie would take its time revealing a monster? It would maybe just let you hear it for a while, and then you’d see just a clawed hand every now and then, or a foot and some drool, or even just shadows. And then you’d see a person reacting in fear to whatever he/she sees, and then the camera would pan away as you hear a jarring yucky sound, with roaring and screaming, and maybe some skin-slashing or whatever. And those scenes are always pretty scary, but then later in the movie, when you finally see the monster, it’s not nearly as scary, and you wonder why they had to try and show the monster. So we discussed trying to use techniques like this, especially since he has such a small budget.

Sam confided to me that he’s basically self-financing this whole movie project, and he just can’t afford to do all the things he’d like to do. And he had to tell all the actors, I’m sorry I can’t pay you much, but this gives you something for your resume at least. It makes me realize what a struggle it is to try and put a movie together.

He took me down to his garage, and showed me the Ojo Mamma monster. Sam’s built this giant eye, with a blinking eyelid. And he talked about building the molding around this eye, and his plans for constructing a jaw, and all this stuff. Talk about a basement construction. It was fun to see all these things he’s been up to, and watch how they work, so early in the process, before they’re finished.

I had sent him an email a day or so before, because I had just gotten the numbers on my third Tabloia book, and they were just continuing to drop in sales, and I was feeling pretty discouraged and upset.

As I was leaving, Sam just kind of mentioned that he was sorry I didn’t get the sales numbers I was looking for, and said that ultimately what I have to do is make a name for myself and find my fans, and it just takes time. He pointed out that Daniel Clowes was doing Lloyd Llewellyn for years, and the sales were really low, and everyone would see him at conventions and go, “Oh, it’s that guy,” but no one really cared particularly for the book or work, and it didn’t make much of a scene. But for some reason, when Eightball came out, it just hit people right, and it really caught on, and the “Ghost World” movie was a success, and now Daniel Clowes is the shit.

Sam said that he has a core audience of about five thousand, that he knows will always buy anything he puts out. When he does a superhero book the numbers go up, but he’s always got his core audience. He recommended I just keep putting out my own stuff and trying to find out who my audience is, and not worry so much about depending on my pin-up artists, and trying to drum up their fans. It’s a matter of finding my own fans.

So how does a struggling self-publisher get out there and find fans, if he can’t find a way for people to look at his own stuff, even if he uses the pin-ups of other artists to try and get people to at least open up his book? There’s the trick of getting into this industry, and a trick I haven’t learned yet.

I first became aware of this difficult balancing act with Sam Kieth.

I pretty much only read superhero comics, and older ones, at that. Not because I think they’re really good, and other comics aren’t any good. Not even because I think they’re any good at all. It’s just what I gravitate toward. It’s what I grew up with. And as an extension of that, I always imagined that if I got into the comics industry, I would do superhero comics. Sure, the first comic I wrote was a talking heads book devoid of action or costumes or super powers, about an atheist. Then I did the Lump and Dr. DeBunko (more talking heads books). But for some reason I didn’t realize that superhero artists don’t do these kinds of stories. I always assumed this would somehow eventually get me work for a mainstream company, doing mainstream work. I used to spend time thinking about what superheroes I might be good at writing. I know you can’t just suddenly start on Batman or the X-Men. I know you would start on a lesser title and prove your merit, and work your way up.

So I would speak with Sam Kieth, and he would be doing a Venom cover, or a Hulk or Spider-Man story, because they pay so well that he can’t turn them down. And if I ask him what it’s like doing all the greatest of characters, he doesn’t really think much of it. He doesn’t seem proud about it. He practically groans, like he wishes he weren’t doing it. He’d rather talk about his own stories. He doesn’t really enjoy these high-profile superhero gigs. So why does he take them? For Sam, they are a means to help him get by financially while he does Four Women or Zero Girl, or even to finance my paycheck for “Ojo.”  Because these are the projects that really mean something to him.

I read an interview of Jaime Hernandez, and he talked about going through basically the same thing Sam was going through, but choosing a different path. He acknowledged that there are comics he could do that would make better money, but he’s chosen not to do these kinds of stories. He does his Love and Rockets book, and it’s critically successful, but the simple fact is he’s making less money than if he were to get into the mainstream. The trade-off is, even if he doesn’t make much, he’s being able to continue doing the stories he wants.

It seems outrageous to me that the people who I assumed were so successful, and who were celebrities of the highest caliber to me as a kid, are simply making a living, to pay the bills.

I heard an interview of the Coen Brothers, whose films I adore. I assumed they were superstars. I assumed actors would be swarming them to be in their films. But it turns out, Hollywood’s the same way, and their artistic merits are highly respected by critics and actors. However, these attributes aren’t as highly respected by the box office. Those Coens could make really good money, if they wanted to do Blockbusters. But they have no interest in it.

It’s the same in the music industry. Bands like the Ramones, who shaped punk rock music and all the bands who followed them, never made a fortune. Music, or acting, or art…it’s all just a job, and it’s a better job than fast food, but we’re all just doing what we do so that we can have an apartment to live in, and some money for groceries.

Each of the Hernandez Brothers has their own projects they do now. They tried to end Love and Rockets, and just have their own books, since each of their stories are so different. But they found their sales numbers just plummeted when they were on their own books.

The comics market is so odd. You’d think if a successful artist did a different book, fans would know that they like this particular artist, and find the artist’s next book and buy it. But whenever artists do this, it seems that oftentimes the fans, or bookstores, or whoever, don’t make the effort to find these projects, or maybe they just don’t even realize it’s being done, or (shudder) aren’t interested in the new project for some reason, even though they liked the one before, and so no one hears about it or reads it. So the Hernandez boys realized the marketability of their “Love and Rockets” title recognition, and decided they’d be better off to go back to it, and continue with the “Love and Rockets” banner. They restarted the title, and then just continued telling their own, separate stories. The stories that as separate books didn’t sell, had perfectly good sales when re-packaged together as “Love and Rockets.”

Tom Coker and Keith Aiken, who I met through my old comics shop haunt, “The Comic Box,” both got into the comics industry, but have moved on to doing movie storyboards or cartoon layouts; that kind of work. They can’t make as much money as comics artists, so they had to get jobs that could pay them a decent salary. Tomm tries to come back to comics a few issues a year, because he loves comics, when he can afford to make less for his work. This industry is such a labor of love for so many people.

Howard Chaykin left comics for fifteen years to write for television. He admits he wrote BAD television, but did it anyways, because he made better money doing bad television than great comics. Also because he knew he couldn’t get benefits or a pension in comics. He finally got his pension, and now he’s finally doing comics again, the medium he loves.

I read Dick Ayers’ autobiography, which was three volumes. The first volume was getting his start, and the second was his work at Marvel during the superhero boom of the sixties. Reading through these, his beginning years looked like a constant struggle to try and get work to support himself and his family. Never knowing if he would have enough jobs to keep himself afloat, and always out hunting down an eight page story here or there, and praying for a monthly or even bi-monthly book, and dreading that it would get cancelled. I read this thinking, Man, he’s going through the exact struggles I’m going through now. But wait until that Marvel craze hits. I can’t wait to hear about the successes he had during that era.

So I read volume two, covering the Marvel years, and slowly it’s setting in on me that the “Marvel silver age” wasn’t that enjoyable for him. He made it sound like he continued to struggle to get work, as much as when he was starting out. He continued to pound out pages as fast as he could, and keep trying to scrape up work. He would think he’d have work, and it would get scooped up by another more famous artist. He always wanted to pencil and ink himself, and maybe write. But he got kind of stuck as an inker. When he finally landed a steady Sgt Fury gig, he was made to get inked by others.

It wasn’t until the third volume of his autobiography that he finally began to get recognition for all his hard work. And this was after getting blackballed by the industry because he didn’t think it was fair that Marvel give him less work, and then reprinting his old work and not paying him for reprinting rights. In the eighties, he was doing janitorial work, until Neal Adams finally helped him get work at DC. Finally, in his retirement years, fans and the industry finally acknowledged all he’d given to the artform.

So I realize I’m going through a shitty, frustrating struggle, just trying to self-publish my own books, but there’s a sort of sick comfort knowing everyone else in the industry, everyone, struggles. Whether they’re peons like me, or superstars and legends. Everyone I talk to says they claim losses for their taxes for the first five years, or the first twenty-five years. There’s just no goddamn money in this industry, it seems, and it takes everyone years or decades before they see any reward for all their hard work and talent. It is such a labor of love.

I go to cons, and I’ll be sitting next to self-publishers, and they’re all nobodies like me. But even if they have great, name recognizable artists, doing covers and sometimes even pencils for them. Even if they’ve had Eisner nominations for “artist most deserving of a wider recognition,” or “best children’s story,” or “best humor publication,” they’re all just struggling, and it seems none of them are able to land work, and we all just continue plugging along and doing the stories we want to tell, and trying to make it.

MICHAEL KALUTA

At the last San Diego Con, I had told Michael Kaluta we would be out at the Big Apple Con, and he said he always goes, even if he doesn’t have a table. We spoke about seeing each other then, and maybe further discussing a giant monster pin-up.

The second day, I spotted him wandering about and visiting with artists. I kept my eye on him, as he slowly made his way down our hall, making long pauses at various artists’ tables. Then all of a sudden he began to cut away down a different alley. I shouted “Michael!” from across the hall. He turned and said, “Don’t worry, I’m planning to come down and see you.”

He visited with someone else for awhile, and then popped over to say hello. It was a quick How-do-you-do, and I introduced my wife, and he mentioned giant monsters in diapers, and walked off. It didn’t feel like much of a visit. He didn’t mention a pin-up at all. But it was nice that he took the time to say hello at least.

LARRY LIEBER

I think it was on the second day that I went to listen to Gilbert and Jaime in a panel. When I walked in, Gilbert made a crack about the “monster guy,” or something like that. It was flattering and embarrassing that he would call attention to me in front of an audience like that.

Halfway through the panel, Elizabeth poked her head in and whispered to me, “I’m sorry to leave the table and interrupt this panel, but I thought you’d want to know that LARRY LIEBER is upstairs waiting for you!”

Dumbfounded, I went up with her. Larry had been flattered by the letter I sent him. I had mentioned that I recently learned he had scripted many of the monster stories, and that they and his western comics were some of my favorites. I had also sent him copies of my books. He hadn’t been aware of the comic convention, and wanted to check it out. But he said he also came to answer some questions I had asked about his career in comics.

He said back in the early days at Marvel (which may have been Atlas or Timely at the time), his brother, Stan (that’s Stan Lee, folks!) was so busy trying to do so many books, he asked Larry to take over some of the scripting. Stan continued to give general plots to all the stories, and Larry wrote the dialogue. But according to Larry, Stan thought Larry did a terrible job, and actually fired him. Then a little later, Stan called Larry back. Stand told him he had hated his writing, and hired some other writers, but they were worse. So then Stan hired Larry back.

Larry said that the monster storyline he was most pleased with was when the giant monster was a computer, and no one could stop it, and it looked like it was going to enslave the planet. And then the janitor came in and unplugged the computer.

Larry said that he was very proud of some of the names he came up with for Marvel characters. He said he came up with the names Tony Stark, Henry Pym, and Donald Blake. I later read an introduction Stan wrote to the Iron Man Masterworks hardcover, where he ruminates about usually making sure his names have alliterations. He didn’t know why he chose not to alliterate for Tony Stark’s name. Hm, I thought. I think I know why now.

Larry said he can look at something and draw it all right, but he has trouble drawing things from his head. He said Jim Steranko gave him one of his favorite compliments: that Larry can out-Kirby Kirby.

Larry said he looked through my books, and was really impressed by my use of blacks to define shapes. I was flattered.

I of course asked if he might be willing to do a pin-up for me. He said he’s just too busy, since he’s been doing the Spider-Man newspaper strip for so long.

I introduced Larry to Gilbert and Jaime, and to the convention workers. While walking him around, Steranko spotted him, and shouted, “Larry!” They spoke for a while, and I left them alone.

We said goodbye to Larry and pointed him in the direction of the exit. Then, about twenty minutes later, he’s walking by our table again, and doesn’t even notice. He looks kind of puzzled, or bedazzled. “Larry!” we call him over. Oh, he seems relieved. He’s been trying to find his way out of this maze of a room all this time. He’s been completely confused and lost. So I walked him to the entrance.

I remember realizing at this con, now I sit behind the table. People are coming up to me and showing me their work, and asking what I think. They are giving me free copies of their comics. This is a strange phenomenon. I am no better or talented than them, and they haven’t seen and don’t know my work, but they see me as some kind of expert with knowledge and power or money. They see me as someone to give them work. They think their work is good, and I will be wowed into wanting to hire them to write stories for me, or to draw for me. What a strange industry.

I disappeared from my table for a while, and when I got back, I saw Elizabeth was experiencing the joys of being bothered by what we learn just pops up at conventions every now and then. Namely, the comic book freaks.

I missed all the action, but supposedly this person came up to her and just started doing all these high-pitched annoying cartoon voice impressions, without explanation. Never explained why he was doing them, or what he was doing. She’d smile politely and try to start a conversation, and he’d break into a new impression, and then stare at her, and do another. He’d try and hold conversations with her using these voices.

Finally someone came up to the table, so she focused on the new person and did her best to ignore the freak until he went away. What he wanted, and why he thought using these voices would get it for him, we may never know.

STERANKO

Now it had been maybe six months since Steranko had given me his email, and we had discussed doing a pin-up. I had not written him during that time, because I was so intimidated by our meeting, but also because I knew I couldn’t afford to pay him what he was asking. Nervous, but not wanting to avoid him, I asked Elizabeth to go over to him with me. I introduced myself as the guy wearing the ugly ties from Wondercon, who had asked about a commission of a giant monster. He jabbed, “I can see you’re still wearing it” (the ugly tie). “No, this is a different ugly tie,” I told him. “I’ve got a closet-full.”

He mentioned I hadn’t contacted him about the commission, and I apologized. I introduced Elizabeth as the “girl of my dreams,” and he said, “Oh yeah, well you sleep on a lumpy mattress.” Elizabeth and I both thought, “What does that mean? Is it some kind of crack about being poor or something?” The reason we thought it was a “poor” crack is that he had made a number of these throughout the conversation, about my ties and general clothing appearance. We finally decided, after a week or so, it must mean my sleep is uncomfortable as a result of my lumpy mattress, and I have bad dreams, and she’s the product of these nightmare visions I have in my unsettled sleep. Why would someone say those kinds of things to people? It’s like being a caricature of a jerk. He’s not a jerk like an actual person would be a jerk. He’s like J. Jonah Jameson. He’s like the kind of guy that’s just putting on an outrageous act of being a jerk, just because it’s so over-the-top that it’s actually funny. What a personality! What a persona! I have to admit, as much as I’m intimidated and just plain afraid of him, I really enjoy him. He makes me laugh.

So he continued to make humorously insulting and derogatory comments, and I told him I sure do admire him, and hope we can work out something so that I can get a pin-up from him.

I had been to New York a couple times, in college, because my sister moved out there for a few years. Elizabeth had never been, and wanted to do lots of traveling. We also knew Dick Ayers was in New York, and I thought it would be great if we could do a con where he could join us.

I picked out the MOCCA con, and told Dick I would pay for a table and dinner if he would come out and join us. He mentioned it was a long drive, and parking was tricky, but made it sound like he would probably do it, and I was pretty excited about that.

Then I went to the MOCCA website and realized they had sold all their tables. That’s when I found the Big Apple Con, because I still wanted to try and do a New York Con, for Elizabeth, and to pair up with Dick. Dick said he would be a featured guest at this particular Big Apple Con, but would come sit at my table for an hour. I thought that was fantastic.

The week we were getting packed to come out, Dick told me that it turned out he wasn’t a featured guest, and wouldn’t have a table of his own, and he had a lot of work to do anyways, so he wasn’t going to come out to the convention. I was disappointed, but at least I still had a fun trip to New York, and a convention to shop my first two issues and Ojo. And then we’d spend a few extra days in New York, which I knew would be fun.

We got there, and it’s a really peculiar setting. It’s kind of maze-like, and feels a bit like a warehouse. It’s kind of claustrophobic and weird lighting, and confusing to find your way around.

We found the artists alley, and asked where we belonged. We were escorted to our table, which turned out to be in a narrow hallway. Our “table” was only two feet wide, since there wasn’t really any room for an actual table in this hallway. From the artist alley, if you looked around, you wouldn’t even notice the hallway, or if you did, you’d assume it didn’t go anywhere. So no one knew, or thought to look, for where we were. We didn’t get any traffic from that direction.

Before the con, I called Irwin Hasen to let him know I would be there and give him copies of issue #2, since his pin-up was in it. I also wrote to Bill Sienkiewicz (since he was also in the issue), Larry Lieber, and Murphy Anderson. None of them were listed to be at the con, but I knew they all lived in or near New York, and said what a fan I was of each of them, and let them know that if they were in the area I would love to meet them.

My hope is, having two issues of Tabloia out, SOMEONE would come to the con and say, “Hey, I saw your stuff in a store and picked it up, and I really enjoyed it.” It wouldn’t happen again until May 2006.

I was excited that Jaime and Gilbert Hernandez were featured guests at the con, and excited but a little nervous that Steranko was also featured. It was fun to say hello to all these guys.

Being in New York, we poked around the city a little. We popped into two major comics shops, and both of them had copies of Tabloia. Isn’t that a fun feeling, knowing your work is in stores all the way on the other side of the nation. I thought, this is all a very good sign. My book is out there, and it’ll catch on.

Before we left the con, the convention runners asked me to write a blurb about how much I enjoyed the con. I wrote a paragraph I thought was funny, and THEY EDITED IT! I talked about how I was an unknown comics artist, but after the con I was a national celebrity. They removed my last sentence, which was, “We would definitely like to come again, especially if we aren’t stuck in the back hall by the emergency exit.” Which they shortened to, “We would definitely like to come again…” DOT DOT DOT!
And so I begin to learn why you want to just say sound-bites, and not big long sentences that can be edited and manipulated.