The title of this particular piece means a couple things…
First, it means that the long promised series of columns about how not
to break into comics has officially begun. Naturally, these will be
highly personal diatribes filled with potentially embarrassing
anecdotes culled from almost a decade of believing that I have what it
takes to write comics professionally. With any luck it’ll prevent even
one of you from making similar mistakes in your respective quests, and
ensure that you’re going about things a little smarter than I did. My
“push” towards publication usually contained more passion than sense,
and only a delicate combination of the two will allow you to actually
get where you’re going without being driven insane first. That’s what
this whole notion is about---helping you get out of your own way and
into producing comics you’re proud to have your name on. Sound cool?
All right then, now let’s move on to the real meaning of the column’s
title…
If you really like money, if obtaining great financial success is
terribly important to you, then you shouldn’t be running full speed
into comics. There are creators who have been able to attain great
success in the business (and though a variety of time-intensive
factors) but just to keep things honest---it’s not an industry bubbling
over with loose cash, despite the now present lure of the Hollywood
dollar. Every couple years another independent publisher or company
initiative doesn’t work out, because sadly, success does not always
follow those that deserve it. So you need to be prepared for the very
real chance that if you’re fortunate, you’ll only struggle and claw
your way forward for longer than you thought possible, and if you’re
the opposite, you’ll fail miserably and hate every moment of it. Those
are pretty much your two clear choices starting out, but they have one
thing in common---you likely won’t be making much money from this for a
good, long while.
So please believe me when I say that if you place a significant
financial stake in this business too early, you will live to regret it.
Back around 2003, I had just graduated college and started working at a
Barnes & Noble. This also corresponded with me spending six months
pitching for Marvel’s Epic imprint, which really was the best thing to
ever happen to my development. It was exciting, informative, and
demoralizing all at once, but the experience in interacting with
editors, having to implement script changes, and dealing with being so
close, yet so far away, was invaluable. Because I thought I knew what I
was doing---I had my little column going; I’d pitched a couple things
to a few editors, gotten an endorsement from Mark Miller of all people,
etc. and honestly believed that I would soon be working steadily in
comics. Didn’t know exactly what week or month it would happen, but I
could just feel it---it had to happen soon, right? Right…?
On top of that, I couldn’t move back home yet, because it was a
generally miserable experience most of my childhood and hadn’t changed
when I left for school. Even though I was done at that point, I just
stayed another year in my apartment and in my little college town
because at least there I had some peace and quiet. My mission was to
get published by the time my lease was up and had to move back, so
there was enough leverage in me being allowed to continue working at
it. Going out and getting a full-time job, which to me meant getting up
early in the morning, driving somewhere I didn’t want to go, and doing
something I didn’t want to do, came to signify absolute failure. To me,
cracking under the pressure and being forced to do that was the same as
giving up altogether. The idea being that I would enjoy making money so
much more than not making money, that fighting and pushing my way into
the industry would begin to feel like an adolescent concern. One that I
- all of a sudden - wouldn’t want nearly as bad anymore.
I cannot type the word stupid enough or in a large enough font to
convey just how short-sighted and juvenile that whole mindset was---and
how it helped me to blast myself in the feet over and over again for a
couple years. What I “wisely” chose to do once returning home was work
part-time at another Barnes & Noble location, while using my
remaining time to effectively finish breaking into comics, which was
helped along by the whole Epic experience and Rob Liefeld. Since I was
living at home, I figured that this was a perfect opportunity to really
commit and effectively “seal the deal,” thinking that a lack of time
was the main obstacle. With twenty extra hours a week, there was no
reason why I couldn’t make this work through sheer force of will.
But this train of thought presumes that you have complete control,
which is dangerously naïve---a lesson I could only learn by moving from
occasional assignment here to occasional assignment there. Barring one
glorious five month stretch where I was writing FF Tales and scripting Shatterstar
at the same time, I spent much of the period broke off my ass, hating
going to work four days a week to shelve books and sell membership
cards, and hating living at home with a newfound nearly adult fury. All
of this making me generally depressing to be around, and more
importantly, made it harder to do the work, which is what this approach
was all about. Every single time I’d hit a wall I would become
completely miserable, slowly watch my available balance bottom out, and
respond by increasing the pressure on myself. This overall negative
vibe can only be mined for so much material before it just starts
eating away at you.
I got obsessed with this one aspect of my life, and instead of building
everything around it, so that I had some balance, I allowed it to
dictate how I felt about myself. What I hadn’t accomplished became more
important than what I had, and the worst part of it all was that this
was all self-inflicted. Instead of sucking it up, getting a “real” job,
and moving out of a house that was retarding my development on all
fronts, I sat around, fingers crossed, that Marvel would swoop in with
a couple mini-series and change my life. Again, the word stupid
probably isn’t strong enough, but this is what I actually did---put
every ounce of my focus into forcing my way through the strongest
barrier, really believing that if I hit it that one good time, money
would fall out of it and all my obsessive focus would be well and
justified.
My best friends in college were all football players, and they used to
say that my approach to writing (and probably life in general) was to
line up in a power formation and just run the ball up the middle until
the game ended. Yes, it’s a reliable play-call, one that consistently
moves the ball up the field two or three yards at a time, but the level
of difficulty and the punishment you take along the way doesn’t make it
worth doing. Still, this was how I did most things back then---find the
most bruising and unforgiving obstacle and pound into it until my hands
broke. I guess you could suggest that my willingness to do this for so
long is the reason I’ve been able to achieve a modicum of success, but
it’s hard to look back and think, “Yeah, I’d do all that ____ exactly
the same way.” Sometimes you just gotta run the rock to the outside or
switch to the passing game, you know? Gives you more ways to win.
And that is what the title of this piece actually means to me---the
vital importance of preserving and defending a state of mind that will
make it easier for you to get good work done, and survive the natural
setbacks that comes from needing to be involved in something like
comics. Like many other entertainment mediums, it will prove
unreliable, unpredictable, and will stomp and grind even the most
considerable resolve into the ground. This is why you need to be
incredibly prepared, patient, and smart in how you go about it. The
ability to pay for your car and Discover bill cannot become even a
marginal concern while breaking in.
I allowed myself to be somewhat seduced by the hope and possibility
that I was a lot further along than I actually was, and to be terrified
that a 9-5 was going to stop me dead. The opposite is true of course,
having spent almost two years waking up early and driving a few hours
everyday in traffic is probably the best incentive to keep writing and
keep pushing forward. It’s not giving up, and you find the time to get
the work done regardless. More than that, my approach can be more
precise now, and I’ve found that when you’re entering into something
that could take ten years to accomplish (which is probably a good
barometer for any decent “dream”), peace, quiet, and stability are your
best weapons. In the same way you have to isolate yourself from people
who don’t believe, you have to insulate your goal from the financial
obligations everyone has to deal with or it’ll break you.
What happened with Miranda Mercury would’ve crippled me a few years
ago. My team and I made everything about getting this project out the
door to create a foundation for 2008. After the first issue dropped, we
started to make some progress in securing more projects that would’ve
helped keep the book going and elevate its profile. Hell, Lee is
turning down stuff to draw now, and that issue doesn’t even represent
his best work. All of this was very important to us, and as frustrating
as it’s been, it doesn’t even approach the level of frustration I was
holding for much of 2006. I made some critical adjustments and am now
settled in for the hopeful completion of this long, winding road.
And at the end of it, I plan to run as hard as I can from “civilian
life” and do everything possible never to come back. I expect the same
from you as well, and to make it far easier on yourselves than I ever
did.
Thanks for listening, and when we return to this subject, we’ll address a natural extension of all this---don’t over pursue.
B
