The Inner Child's Outer Limits -- Another Comic Con Retrospective, part 2

On the heels of my initial thoughts about the subject, retailer-oriented blogs at sites like Mile High Comics and Comics 212 have been lamenting about comics' diminishing presence and influence at Comic Con, even while the industry maintains its reverence as the event's inspiration. Some commentators have already rung the Con's death knell, and while I share their frustrations I'm certainly not eager to agree whole-heartedly yet. Remember, I hope to remain neither optimistic or pessimistic but realistic on the subject; so, while the comic book as a singular entity may be inadvertently ostracized from its own convention, I contend that the spirit of science fiction and fantasy that birthed it will remain in those hallowed halls for decades to come. Just consider the following experiences I enjoyed as a fanboy at Comic Con.

The Clothes Make the Man-Child

First of all, you can take all of the comics out of Comic Con that you want, but you'll never take away the costumes inspired by them! Superman, Captain America, and multitudes of Storm Troopers and Klingons will forever remind the Twilight 'tweens of the future where Comic Con comes from. Now, one of the most frequent questions I'm asked when I tell people I go to Con is, "Oh, do you dress up?" I confess I've thought about it but recently decided that I enjoy wearing fresh clothes each of the four days I attend, and not one Guy Gardner costume four different times. I mean, wearing a costume at Comic Con must be like wearing a uniform to work, right? While you have it on, you must fulfill certain responsibilities -- namely, taking pictures with other geeks like me. It's akin to customer service; even if a patron grabs you on your way to the break room, you're obligated to help. Staying in plain clothes means that when I leave the Con, I can leave the Con behind, that I'm not wearing it on my sleeve -- that I can blend in with the crowd if I just want a coffee at It's A Grind. Still, these makeshift heroes may yet save Comic Con from itself, always reminding it of its roots by blurring the line between fantasy and the reality of San Diego's Gaslamp District for those four memorable days.

Sketch a Falling Star

Wolverine by Jeff Johnson

Another consistent Comic Con phenomenon is what I have dubbed the Sketchbook Spirit. Now, this spirit moves in mysterious ways and usually adapts to the host it inhabits. In some cases, the spirit demands compensation for even the smallest of signs, in this case a pencil or ink sketch. In other cases, grand miracles are performed sans payment, like this crayon-colored sketch from Tiny Titans artist Franco, on the heels of his Eisner win, no less!



Hyperbole aside, this was the first year I decided to visit professionals with a sketchbook in tow, and like some others I've witnessed I selected a theme -- karaoke, of course. I only solicited artists of personal importance to me, and none are more important than Erik Larsen, so despite his response to my weird Dragon-singing-karaoke request ("What the hell?"), he delivered beyond expectation. Generally, I was very pleased with the experience, as it gave my roaming on the floor some purpose, though as I eluded I was intrigued with the inconsistency between some lesser known artists charging for a sketch, while others poured their heart onto a page for free. The inquiry is in the artists' perspective. What's more valuable, the $15 for a sketch now, or an experience that might move me investment in your ongoing product?

It's Not the Size of the Press, It's How You Use It

As a former Small Press exhibitor, I spent a significant amount of time in that minimal section of the convention floor, and I was pleased to purchase a bundled set of mini-comics from Robot Publishing that I've admired for years. Artist Robert Goodin was kind enough to contribute to my sketchbook, too, and he epitomised the essence of that area; he let his Small Press merchandise speak for itself. His peers ranged from brooding isolationists, pushed as far back from the table (and any potential customers) as possible, to practical used car pitchmen, thrusting flyers or samples with the fervor of a Las Vegas porn peddler. Either way, when K.O. Comix had its own table in this venue, I quickly developed the understanding that my comic book will stay with the customer longer than my conversation ever will -- so it has to be good. The comic should make a reader come back to my table every year whether I talk to him or not.

Further, for some, Comic Con is often the only forum for their wares, yet it also pits them against powerhouses like DC and Image. Like artists feeling the Sketchbook Spirit, the question is, do Small Press publishers charge the true cost (plus moderate profit) of their low-run, professionally bound book at the risk of facing low to no sales at all, or do they eat some cost at an event like this for sheer exposure? Frankly, I finally bought those excellent Robot Publishing books because Goodin reduced their price. That's change I can believe in.

As a fledgling self-publisher myself, I sought to distribute samples of my first solo effort, Karaoke Comics #1, at the Con's token freebie table. When I handed the samples to a volunteer on Friday, he scrutinized them, asking, "Are they appropriate for all ages?" Now, the story takes place in a bar, boasts homosexual themes, and ends with me in my underwear, but it's all very subtle, so I was confident when I replied, "Oh, yeah, sure!" I didn't have a lot of copies to offer, so I figured the title would attract enough interested readers to deplete the pile before a child's wayward hand was even a concern. After examining the sample further, the volunteer said, "We'll work with it." I don't know what that means, but the exchange put me off, as I wondered why a younger twenty-something suddenly had control over whether my work would reach a broad audience. As a volunteer, he doesn't have a paying job to lose if some kid sees a crude drawing of me in my underwear, so . . .

In this way, Comic Con is a lot like karaoke. Some come to sing country, others rap, others rock 'n roll, just as some come for Twilight, some for sketches, others for comics and merchandise. Everything isn't for everybody, but anybody should be able to find something there they like. Who would sing a song they don't like? Who would find themselves in an area of the exhibit hall they can't appreciate? The experience is truly what you make it, as far as your inner child will allow. At this point in its career, Comic Con doesn't need to know you. You need to know Comic Con . . . and yourself.

* Other karaoke sketches can be found here, and other Comic Con pics have been posted here!

The Inner Child's Outer Limits -- Another Comic Con Retrospective, part 1

"I'm getting too old for this $#!+." -- Danny Glover, Lethal Weapon

The irony that this year's San Diego Comic Con Preview Night was on Danny Glover's birthday isn't lost on me, as my first impression of "nerd prom" reflected his famous lament from Lethal Weapon. I've attended Comic Con for ten years now, a solid fourth of its celebratory 40 years, and my experiences as both an exhibitor and an attendee have varied as much as the event's now infamously costumed crowd. In the past decade, I've felt a virtual euphoria at the chance to contribute to the industry via my own self-published comics, and I've been honored to meet or behold some my favorite talents in comics. At the same time, I've felt overwhelmed by the crowds and financial drain of it all, and I've especially been burned by an exclusive product's limited availability. My overall perspective isn't either optimistic or pessimistic but simply realistic in the face of diverse experiences.

This year, I was excited to once again attend Comic Con with my old friend Booth (and, no, I am not his "Bones"), who is equally enthusiastic for pop culture and flexible to this event's hustle and bustle, so managing transportation and the crowd in general was amiable enough. My objectives were twofold: (1.) As a fan, I hoped to fill in some gaps in my collection, since I just recently archived my comics into a simple text format readable in my easily portable mp3 player. Further, as a lifelong He-Man fan, I really wanted Mattel's Masters of the Universe art book, limited to 1000 units. (2.) As a hopeful professional, I sought to promote KaraokeFanboy Press via a Karaoke Comics sampler and further observe other small press and secondary publishers in action as I gear up for October's Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco. With Booth's cooperation, I thought these goals easy to meet -- but as any Con attendee that has accidentally bumped into a Klingon in the men's room knows, Comic Con is full of surprises!

Twilight of the Fangirls



I purchased my four day pass mere hours before Comic Con sold out on-line, but since Booth wasn't fast enough and had to purchase each day individually, he was denied the "privilege" of Preview Night. As we approached the convention center for the first time to determine how to pick up our badges, we were shocked by a long line of tents already formed outside, and I feared this was the registration line we sought. When we noticed all of the campers were girls, I predicted what they were actually waiting for and found myself correct when I asked.

"Twilight!" a fangirl tirelessly replied.

Indeed, the legendary Hall H, now reserved for previews and premieres from movie production companies like Warner Brothers and Paramount Pictures, was the victim of 'tweens longing for vampire love, and correspondingly I feared this trend would suck the life from the Con itself. I wonder, since passes were sold out months for months, yet the program was only posted a few weeks ago, how did these teenyboppers know to lay in wait for Twilight? Was it simply assumed that such a mainstream supernatural property would be a part of Comic Con? It isn't a comics-based property . . . So while the Twilight panel's high appeal actually eased congestion in the exhibit hall for browsing fanboys like me, what it represents surely reflects the long-standing debate about Comic Con's identity -- namely, that it isn't so much a comic convention anymore, but a pop culture con. The comics industry may be the life's blood that birthed it, but movies, television, and video games have become the muscles that make it move. How long can such an entity exist before it becomes too gluttonous, bloated, and eventually too congested to have a heart?

Matty 20:16

Okay, I really wanted the Masters of the Universe art book. I've been a He-Man since early childhood, and as recently as last year's Comic Con I wondered what had become of the original paintings produced to adorn those memorable toys' packaging, so this compilation of character designs and production art was a dream come true. Fifty bucks? Only one thousand units available? I usually don't indulge in these extravagantly priced exclusives, but this is He-Man -- obviously the most powerful man in Mattel's marketable universe. My K.O. Comix partner in crime Brent and I found our way into the rear entrance of the exhibit hall as soon as the doors were opened for Preview Night, and anticipating the crowd I rushed to Mattel's new retail-only booth -- only to find the line cut off a mere eight minutes into the evening. Daunted, I knew they had divided the inventory 50/50 between Preview Night and Thursday, so I vowed to be ahead of the crowd the next morning.

By ahead of the crowd, I mean Booth and I arrived at the convention center at 5:30 a.m. He waited in the registration line to pick up his daily badge, and I waited in the pass holders' line, which by 7:30 a.m. was gradually herded inside and divided into smaller groups. I found myself upstairs near the registration and freebie tables -- where, around 8:45 a.m., Booth was stationed just a few rows behind me. Somehow, despite my presumed prevalence and undeniable patience as a four-day pass holder, my line had merged with the folks just fluidly arriving, and I assume a similar phenomenon was happening all over the Con. When the doors opened, I knew where to go . . . but again, less than eight minutes after my feet touched the exhibit hall floor, I was too late. The line was cut off, and I already saw folks dragging totes full of product, in some cases the maximum they could purchase of each item, to their cars and inevitably to their eBay stores.

Frustrated, I resorted to drastic action and befriended a young couple in line to buy the book for me. I feared judgment, that I'd be perceived like one of those products pirates that I hate, but when they determined that I was a true He-Man fan, they readily agreed. Thankfully, they were quite pleasant people with similar interests in comics and toys, so I was pleased to find some men- and women-in-arms against the race against monopolizing merchants. I don't know about the mythology on He-Man's planet Eternia, but on Earth the Bible claims, "So the last will be first, and the first will be last" (Matthew 20:16, New International Version). In this case, I didn't have the power and had to put it in others' hands -- but the quest proved to be a good journey in the end.



Cover Me, He-Man



As I previously posted, I was delighted to see the back of my head immortalized on one of my favorite websites, Action Figure Insider, because I sat in front of "Unemployed Skeletor" (pictured above by Booth in his full glory, or lack thereof) at a Mattel panel. Further, the Masters of the Universe secured another oddly personal (or personally odd?) Con moment, when I found an original, mint-in-package He-Man tablecloth -- the same from a beloved picture of my fifth birthday! I purchased the memorabilia for a mere dollar, yet it contributes to a priceless memory, so how could I possibly pass it up?



Thankfully, finding this gem in a comparatively quiet Con moment assures me that Comic Con as an event can still be special to its core, comics-oriented fan base. These moments may be harder to come by, but they're there, like the single back issue buried amidst long boxes that just might complete your collection. You really just need to know where to look -- and usually it isn't much further than where you left your inner child in the first place. Perhaps it isn't that I'm getting too old, but that everything that little kid in me ever loved is finally in one place, once a year at one time, and the guidance he needs forces me to grow up a little bit. Indeed, at Comic Con, my inner child doesn't know where to start . . . or if he should wish it to ever end . . .

Next: The pros of the Con!



Uh . . . not that kind of pro . . .!

Staying Ahead in the Eternian Economy

The back of my head was immortalized on one of my favorite websites, Action Figure Insider, while sitting in front of "Umemployed Skeletor" in Mattel's action figure panel at Comic Con.