An Ode to comics (but longer than an ode)
In 1999 I quit reading comic books on a regular basis. I just graduated from college. The host of comic book friends I had were all dispersing into various directions with their new lives. My life was a mess and I was in love. My girlfriend and I were moving to Oklahoma so she could attend graduate school while I remained adrift. I was responsible enough to work two jobs before moving cross country that summer. I shelved most of my mostly DC superhero collection,only buying the rare exceptions like Powers, Promethea, and a few America’s Best Comics.
I eventually entered graduate school myself. I studied literature and film for a brief time. I married and divorced that girl in Oklahoma. I cleared my head. I dropped out of graduate school. I buckled down again and got a “real” job. Comics completely fell off the map with the end of Promethea. Life became serious and I lacked the imagination to continue buying comics, and grow as a writer — basically all the things I treasured.
Eventually I returned to where I grew up after torturing myself as the manager of some shitty national retail outlet for a year.
I had a friend from college who opened a life line to comics for me when I returned. He would tell me about new developments in old series. He’d force me to read trades. He introduced me to crazy books like Joe Casey and Tom Scioli’s Kirby homage “Godland.” I thoroughly loved it. He also showed me “The Walking Dead,” which I now consume like strips of fresh flesh.
On my own I started reading the few trades I could find at the library. I made it through all of “Y: The Last Man,” Dash Shaw’s “Bottomless Belly Button” and “Queen & Country” that way. But I still did not dive into the deep end of comic books like I once had. By this point I bought a house and had student loan payments. I put myself on a strict budget, no comic book stores allowed.
By 2007 I was a regular reader of a pop culture website that covered San Diego Comic Con voraciously. That coverage hooked me. I knew I had to go the next year. That blog made me fall back in love with comic book and popular culture though I wasn’t really participating in the culture of consuming either.
In 2008 I took my measly tax return check and bought my plane ticket and four day pass to the Con. I booked a shitty hotel room almost too late in a rough neighborhood that eventually filled with other Comicon newbs. The trip was frustrating, chaotic and glorious. I discovered Essex County: Tales from the Farm from Top Shelf and Fables from Vertigo, which I completely missed.
I sat in the audience for the Eisner Awards. I listened to Frank Miller and laughed with Samuel L. Jackson. I wished I was closer to the action. Ultimately, I loved seeing the artists and the industry. I loved sitting in on the Batman panel and hearing Jerry Robinson discuss the early days of the Joker. I met that blogger who inspired me and saw the owner of Isotope without knowing who he was. I lamely admit that I actually fan boy geeked out a little when I saw Mark Waid.
Reflecting back, if I had had my head on straight, if there wasn’t so much of what some writers have suggested they don’t like about the Con through Twitter (the glitz and media spectacle of it all), I may have found more discoveries to enjoy and left feeling slightly less than defeated by the event. ( I got sucked into too many Hall H shennanigans)
And honestly, its for that reason I want to go back again, just so I manage my time better, see more artists and get a better feel for what the Con was originally supposed to represent, comic books. If you are a new con attendee, deeply in love with comics, that is what I would suggest. Pick one of the big panels, maybe, to attend and spend the rest in line, waiting to see your favorite comic book panel. The few I saw were so much more enjoyable.
Unfortunately my return is not this year. With potential lay offs and a little debt I will be sitting at my computer at work, sighing at my favorite blog, but not as badly as what I thought I might. Social networking, twitter, facebook, and blog pages are miraculous things. You see this year may not be my return to the Con, but it is my return to comics and the actual culture.
In the past year since con I skated the edges, grew frustrated with other areas of my life and that frustration pushed me to seek artists and writers out I once read. Powers scribe Brian Micheal Bendis, Transmetropolitan and Planetary genius Warren Ellis, my favorite run on the Flash author and now Boom! editor Mark Waid, Starman scribe and new JLA writer James Robinson, and of course Neil Gaiman were all found right there on their own websites, on Twitter, and through podcasts. They are some of the most accessible inspirations. And from them my list of those I follow has grown.
From my follows, reading what the authors were doing, what they recommended, and a host of commentators I seriously ventured into a comic book shop for the first time in years. And as cheesy as it sounds the same owners who stood behind the counter there when I was a kid were there still. I saw new gray strands of hair and wrinkles, but the same smile that made me feel welcome when I was ten was unmistakable.
I am astounded how good and natural it feels to pick up a book like Detective and see its being drawn by JH Williams, an artist I’ve loved since his guest spot on Starman. It’s good to see all those people friends and I used to gloat over “discovering” in their early careers now kicking ass with Marvel and DC. It’s good to be back home.
I hope to do more. I hope to cover the industry, and perhaps tuck back a few of my own ideas for stories, because you know, I’m tired of being completely cookie cutter and serious.
It’s time to hold on to a little passion and have a little fun in an art form I’ve always held dear.
