What's Important 7: Validation

About 13 years ago, I wrote a song that would eventually be called "Not So Much a System as a Theory," which was something that actually came out of my mouth one day.  Anyway, the crux of that song got played by a couple of different groups of people, and to this day I couldn't even really tell you how it's supposed to go, just how it could.

All that really mattered with "System/Theory" was the riff at the end and, I think, the vocals that went along with it (ideally sung by someone who can, you know, sing).

A good ten years after I wrote that ending, I realized that I'd stolen some lyrics from an obscure Jawbox song.  The bit in question was from a song called "The Big Shave" and went "I don't want to/be the one who/reassures you."

Anyway, this is actually a round about way of getting to the line in "System/Theory" that follows it (yet with the same melody, more or less): "I don't want to/be your/be your/validation."

As I have been struggling with my quest for, well, I guess you would say acceptance of life, or, perhaps more accurately, the ability to be happy with what I have, I keep tripping up on my writing.  There is no other aspect of my life in which I feel the need to prove to others that I'm successful.  It's nice if people find out that I'm a loving husband, a wonderful grandson, a great son, a pretty good brother, and a reasonable friend, but it doesn't keep me up at night.  While there is fault to be found with all of those things, I've made peace with them and accepted that it's all a part of who I am.

It doesn't matter to me if people know how responsible I am, or how personally I take almost everything I do.  At this point in my life, I don't even really care if anyone finds me attractive or not, just as long as Nicole does.

I am probably more confident about myself than I have been at any other point in my 37 years, save perhaps a single summer in 2004.

And I still crave recognition for my writing.

I'm going to do something I try not to do in this blog, but I don't think I have much of a choice, given what I'm writing about: I'm going to talk about my family.

Because here's the thing: I want a great writer to tell me I'm great.  I want to sell a ton of books.  I want to

be a full time writer.  I want to do these things to prove that my decision to write wasn't just some weird, flight of fancy.  I want to show that this thing that I do that was wholly my creation and my creation alone is valid.

It's not that my parents ever actively discouraged me from writing (although there were a few moments).  It's just not something they really understood.  Honestly, they still don't.  And that's fine.  I can't imagine that I'm going to understand everything that my theoretical child values.

But I'm a Midwestern kid from a middle class family and importance is placed on things that don't include writing.  Importance is placed on crossing the T's and dotting the I's.  You go to high school to go to college to get a job to meet someone to get married to start a family.  You might take a winding road to get there, but those are the main stops.

And there's nothing wrong with any of that.  For as hard as it's been for me to adjust to my new, suburban lifestyle, I've started to accept it, and realized that there's nothing wrong with it.  There's nothing wrong with a house in a cul-de-sac in a good school district.  There could be worse paths for me to be placed on.

But writing was never a road that was laid out for me.  Writing was a road I created because some stupid part of my brain said that I needed it.  Writing is my thing.  And for some reason, I want to prove that it's worthwhile.

The dichotomy at work there is interesting.  If I've learned anything since I was a little kid, it's that writing is a singular pleasure that can only be experienced by the writer.  It's not that other people can't enjoy what someone writes, but they will never get the thrill out of it that the writer does.  On that level, writing is something you can only ever do for yourself, because only you can fully appreciate it.  And yet I still want people to read my work, and I want them to enjoy it and eagerly anticipate more.

I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing.  I think being aware of a theoretical audience has ultimately made me a better writer.  I could churn out pages and pages of junk and never bother to edit it if I was only thinking of myself.  After all, why re-write those pages if they're just for your own enjoyment?  If it's just for fun, it really makes no difference.  But if it's to express something, then someone else eventually has to read it, unless you're in desperate need to express something to yourself (which is another issue entirely).

I've started to get better about these things.  I still day dream about a book deal, about giving notice at my job because I can afford to write full time.  I've written entire interviews in my head with Poets and Writers.

I think the weight of the life my parents always wanted me to have has lessened; it no longer crushes the life I chose for myself.  There's a balance starting to form, one which hopefully allows me to be content with the process of writing.

Now I just need to figure out how to do that without alcohol.

 Not the song I ripped off, but Jawbox's cover of Tori Amos' "Cornflake Girl"

What's Important 6: "Writer"

It's 9:03 on a Tuesday night and I'm sitting in front of my computer, much like I do most of the nights of the week.  My wife is in the living room watching television and it was all I could do to force myself away from her and into my office.  My desk is covered with papers, vaguely organized by story.  There are pens of every color all over the place.

This is about as true a picture of my existence as you're going to get, but chances are good I would never tell you that I'm a writer.

Every once in a while, I'm social.  It's almost always with Nicole next to me, and usually it's with her family.  But there have been occasions where I've been social with strangers, although still with Nicole by my side.

Inevitably, the strangers will ask me what I do.  And, inevitably, I will pause before I answer.  If she's quick enough, Nicole will interject, and tell the stranger that I'm a writer.  They will ask me what I write and I will become even more socially awkward than normal.

This is what Dictionary.com has to tell me about writers:

writ·er

[rahy-ter] Show IPA

noun

1. a person engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., especially as an occupation or profession; an author or journalist.

2. a clerk, scribe, or the like.

3. a person who commits his or her thoughts, ideas, etc., to writing: an expert letter writer.

4. (in a piece of writing) the author (used as a circumlocution for “I,” “me,” “my,” etc.): The writer wishes to state….

5. a person who writes or is able to write: a writer in script.

So I guess technically I'm a writer.

But I have a hard time making that claim.

I've written three books.  One of them has been published.  I've just started the process of getting the last one published.  The other one has been sitting in a drawer for a while.

I've had a few short stories published by fairly obscure literary journals.  I'm a finalist for the next issue of Best New Writing.  I've got an essay in Joss Whedon: The Complete Companion, published by Titan Books.  I've even got some various pop culture reviews floating around the internet.

I still have a hard time calling myself a writer.

My problem, as always, is that I consider the title "writer" as something you have to earn, and you earn it by being a good enough writer that you can make a living at doing that and nothing else.

There's a certain level of snobbery in that.  The way that I look at it, anyone can call themselves a writer.  Any person who puts a few words on a few pages can say that they're a writer, and that diminishes it for me.  It belittles something that I think is incredibly powerful.

Writing is not something I take lightly and it bothers me that those who do take it lightly can call themselves writers.

The reality, however, is that the aforementioned people are few and far between, certainly fewer than those of us who take writing seriously.

This is my first problem.  I believe that the person who sits at their desk for hours a day writing Star Trek fan fiction for their Star Trek web site doesn't get the same things out of writing that I do, so it must not mean as much, and is therefore not really writing.

I'm wrong about that.  I will admit that right now.  It was pretentious and more than a little bit cruel of me to believe such a thing.  I don't think I even realized I believed that until I really thought about it.  Perhaps that's the price I pay for going to grad school.

Anyone who writes gets something from the writing that they need, and who am I to say that what they get and what they need are any less than what I get and what I need?

If I can get past my arrogance on what a writer is on that level, then why can't I consider myself a writer?

There's something holding me back.  There's something that won't let me call myself a writer even though I know that's what I am, even though it's something that has defined me for as long as I can remember.

It is, as always, a matter of self-confidence...

This entry, and it's sequel (coming next Monday), are a part of a series of blog posts that just seem to keep going and going.  You can find them here:

What's Important 1: Twitter Tortures Me
What's Important 2: The Social Tank
What's Important 3: Happiness
What's Important 4: The Zen of Art
What's Important 5: You Can Get With This 

Fixing DC Comics 2: Know Yourself

The average person doesn't know the difference between Marvel and DC.  I say this as a guy who has had to, on many occasions, inform people that Batman and Spider-man do not exist in the same universe (or Superman and the X-Men, or Green Lantern and Thor, etc.).  There's really no reason why the average person would know.

But comics fans know.  They know to the point of cult like behavior.  I can remember being guilty of it.  When I started reading, I embraced being a Marvel zombie like it was free candy.  I scoffed at anything with a DC logo on it.  Surely they had nothing that could compete with my Spider-man and X-Men books.

That wore off eventually, and the bulk of my comic book buying years have involved buying titles from both companies (and, eventually, a half dozen more).  I think that division is less extreme than it was when I was a kid, mostly because the demographic for comic book fans has gotten older.  It's still evident online, of course, but all stupid human behavior is evident online.

Comic book fans are well aware of the difference between the two companies or, more specifically, their lines of comics.  Part of the problem with DC New 52 is that they've turned their backs on what made the unique.

Marvel has always gotten away with playing the anti-establishment card.  It stems from the books they produced in the 60's, when Stan Lee and Jack Kirby infused personality and character conflict into stories about people in spandex hitting each other.  It was completely counter to what DC was doing and appealed to teenagers, which almost automatically made it anti-establishment.  Marvel was smart enough to ride the counter culture credibility through the 60's and 70's and even managed to maintain it during the 80's, when they were very much run like a corporation.  Still, they were their own business, while DC was the comic book arm of Warner Bros.

Even now, when Marvel is a division of Disney, Marvel still manages to come across as much, much cooler than DC.  Marvel seems more creator driven while DC seems more editor driven.  Marvel seems able to maintain the carnival barker persona that Stan Lee created fifty years ago and, in turn, are able to generate excite about their books.  They've mastered the art of the illusion of change, even while they're beholden to the movie versions of their characters.

Marvel is a superhero company.  The company name appeared on two non-superhero books before Fantastic Four #1 was released, and from then on it's been 90% superhero titles.  The company has a history of westerns, romance, and monster comics, but those were all pre-Marvel.  In a way that DC isn't, Marvel is synonymous with superheroes.

And that's not a bad thing for either company.

Marvel has tried to tie its pre-Marvel history into their line of comics with varying degrees of success, but it's ultimately irrelevant.  Its fan base wants superhero comics and Marvel does a nice job providing what their audience wants.

DC is different, or at least it used to be.

Technically, DC didn't officially go by DC until the 70's, but the DC brand could be seen on their comics in the 40's.  It may seem like a small distinction, but it's an important one.  DC's long history was ever present, to the point where they were still publishing war and horror comics well into the 80's.  Those books came out right next to their superhero line.  For better or worse, the company that popularized superheroes was less of a superhero company than their main competition.

Seventy-five years of history gave DC two very clear differences from Marvel: they had a large, complicated, crazy past to draw from, and they had legacy characters.

Legacy Characters

The legacy characters made DC unique among comic book companies.  Marvel has never warmed to teenager sidekicks, in no small part, I would imagine, to the fact that most of their initial superheroes were teenagers themselves.

The legacy character ensured that each generation of fan would have a character right about their age that was a part of their favorite family of characters.  Teenagers could follow Robin, twentysomethings could follow Nightwing, and thirtysomethings could follow Batman.  There was a sense of history because of these legacy characters.  There was an idea that the mythology of superheroes was bigger than the individual characters.  It made them iconic.

The Batman Family, found here.

It also created families in a way that Marvel characters can't.  Oliver Queen was a father long before he actually had a biological child.  Wonder Woman isn't just an example to mankind, but an example to Donna Troy and Wondergirl.  Bruce Wayne created the family he never had.  A unique bond was on display with these families, and the personal relationships underscored the iconic nature of the "parents" of these groups.

All of that is gone now.

Wally West never grew up to become the Flash.  He doesn't even exist anymore.  The new Kid Flash seems to have little to do with the current Flash.  Batman's sidekicks have been written off.  Red Arrow and Green Arrow appear to be about the same age.  The team that makes up the Teen Titans has nothing to do with the adults bearing similar names.

The families are gone.  The legacies are gone.  And the DC superheroes are less important because of it.

History

This might be the thing about the New 52 that bothers me the most.  This annoyance has been underscored by what the New 52 has done since launching.

Supposedly, the New 52 was going to be, well, new.  They relaunched a ton of their characters with brand new origins, updated for a modern world, I guess.  But since then all they've done is build this universe around new versions of previously existing characters.  The marketing for the books has been something along the lines of "see what the new version of your favorite character is like!"  And that's asinine.

If the point was to bring in new readers, they aren't going to give two shits about new versions of old characters.  The hook isn't going to appeal to them at all.  The only people it will appeal to are long time fans who would be perfectly happy to see the characters they've known and loved for 70 years.

If the New 52 isn't about creating new characters, then what's the point?

Marvel has been very good about creating new versions of their characters without wiping out the past.  They keep the rich history of these characters and, hey, sometimes they even incorporate that history.  Believe it or not, it's possible to tell an accessible story without ditching a character's past.

DC's history was crazy, I don't deny that.  Their attempts at "fixing" it didn't help matters.  But that crazy

history is part of what made DC so great.  Morrison's run on Batman may be polarizing, but part of the appeal was how he managed to incorporate supposedly deleted moments in DC history into the modern day.  He didn't do it by erasing Batman's history, he did it by embracing it.  Did he tweak a few things?  Sure, but he still kept them.

Fans love the insanity.  When I eventually gave DC a shot, it was the rich, complex history that sucked me in.  I didn't know everything after reading just one issue -- I didn't even know everything after reading for five years, but that was the appeal.  There were so many stories, so many characters, such a diverse universe that I wanted to learn more.  Sure, not every concept was a winner, but there was so much creativity on display that it was hard not to get lost in it -- in a good way.

That's not the way it is anymore.  Now we get rehashes.  Now we get "iconic" versions of characters that are actually less iconic than their previous incarnation.  Now we get a DC universe that has gotten rid of the things that made it special.

What we're left with is a pale imitation.

What's Important 5: You Can Get With This...

"Hooray for Everything!" from the Simpsons

...or you can get with that.  I think you'll get with this, for this is where it's at.

Many, many moons ago, at some indistinct time and immaterial place, I heard or read the phrase "you have to choose to be happy."  And I chose to believe it was a load of shit.

To me, the idea of choosing to be happy was simply living in denial.  It was also about giving up.  I didn't want to do either of those things, although I was, at that time, doing both.

I still don't like the idea of "choosing to be happy."  It's simplistic and, well, wrong.  The more accurate way of putting it is "question your assumptions."

Over the course of a few decades, I've gotten a few ideas into my head, a good many of which aren't particularly right.  But, you know, over the course of those few decades, they stuck.  As with anyone, I've found that I believed things about my life that weren't necessarily true.

Here's a mild example: A few days ago, Nicole and I went away for our anniversary.  We went to a resort in Sonoma.  We got massages at the spa.  While I was getting the massage, I thought "I'm bad at relaxing."  And then I stopped myself.  Because "I'm bad at relaxing," while it may or may not be true, is self-fulfilling.  If I believe it to be the case, then I'm making sure that it is.

Now, I'm not saying that believing that I'm good at relaxing will make that so, but at least I'm not boxing

myself into a corner.

And it works for everything.  "I'm a bad person."  "I'm stupid."  "I'm fragile."  "I'm bad for the people around me."  You can go on and on (note: those are just random examples; I've never, ever thought I was stupid. If anything, I probably have the opposite problem).

My big thing, lately, has been trying to face the preconceived notions of what my life would/should be like.  Don't get me wrong, living in the suburbs is still freaking me out, but just because it might be different than the life that I thought I'd be living, doesn't mean it has to be bad.  And, hell, if I'm being totally honest, I really didn't have much of an idea of what my life would be like at this point, anyway.

The problem is that this philosophy forces me to second guess my initial reactions to pretty much everything. I've spent most of my life second guessing every decision I've ever made (or could make), but it's not those decisions that are problematic, it's how I react to things.  Forcing yourself to take a beat before reacting to something is very, very hard and, really, at odds to how pretty much all of us are raised.

I know I sound like a New Age hippie; I accept that.  I suppose living in Northern California will do that to you.

Four Years

Four years ago today, Nicole and I got married.

Weddings make me nervous.  They made me nervous before I got married and they make me even more nervous now that I've been through it myself.  I might actually get more anxious at weddings than the people getting married.

As is my way, I was disturbingly calm when it came to my own wedding.  Yes, I was anxious about it before, but when it happened I was the picture of serenity.  I am, if nothing, cool under pressure.  It's the time leading up to the pressure that always freaks me out.

I remember when our photographer, Wendy, came to where my brother and I were standing.  She had just come down the elevator with Nicole.  She said "you're a very lucky man."  I said something along the lines of "oh, I know, believe me."

Weddings make me nervous because the bond that makes up a marriage is private.  What Nicole and I have is no one's business but ours, even if I do seem to make a habit of writing about it.  I'm all for big parties with your family and friends, but the whole ceremony proclaiming your love in front of a bunch of people never sat well with me.

I managed to get through it, though, and it's ultimately the shortest scene of that particular wedding movie.

I remember going to Round Table pizza with my friends from Kent just a few hours before I had to get ready.  We watched the Bulls play the Celtics in the NBA playoffs, as our Cavs had already beaten the Pistons by 18 earlier.  I had no idea that the Round Table we went to was not far from Nicole's parents' house, because I didn't know the area that well.

I remember my brother and my parents coming to my room beforehand.  The Indians were in the process of beating the Yankees 22-4, which was just about the best wedding present I could have gotten.  Clearly, it was a sign.

I don't spend much time with my family.  I think my mom was just happy that this day had finally arrived, and that the girl I was marrying was smart and responsible and didn't have a bunch of tattoos.

It's weird to think that Nicole got ready for our wedding at her parents' house.  She had pictures taken with her dad and her maid of honor, Nina, in the back yard.  That all happened here, in a house that's now ours.  We had no idea back then, of course.

Both Nicole's dad and her brother probably had cancer already at that point, we just didn't know.  Her dad would leave us less than a year later.  Her brother is currently in remission.

What we did know, however, was that there were two very pregnant women at the wedding.  One of those children would be Nicole's god son.  I suppose there's some kind of balance in there.

Our wedding was amazing, but I suppose most people say that about their weddings.  It was a blur and I know that everyone says that.  It went by too fast.



Our DJ played "Raised by Wolves" by Voxtrot and only a handful of people danced to it.  He also played "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by the Darkness.  Only a handful of people danced to that, too.

He played "Rock Lobster," all nearly 7 minutes of it.  I requested it for my brother.  He left the reception to go to bed, came back down for some reason, and it was still playing.

Our first song was the cover of Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" by Iron and Wine.  Our last song was "Question" by Old 97's.

A lot has happened in the last four years.  I know people say that, but I can't imagine that there are many newlyweds that have had to deal with as much over the first four years of marriage as we have.  We've only survived it all because we have each other.  Always and forever, we have each other.

I proposed in the rain in the parking lot of an Irish bar.  It was the second best thing I ever did at an Irish bar.

The first was meeting Nicole.

What's Important 4: The Zen of Art

I envy LARPers.

For those that don't know, LARP stands for Live Action Role Playing.  In almost all incidents that I know of, the role playing involves Dungeons and Dragons style fantasy worlds.

Here, watch the trailer for Darkon to get a better idea:

There are a lot of people out there who probably mock the hell out of these people.  After all, they're waging fake war on each other over fakes lands using fake weapons.  But I think the people who make fun of them are missing the point.

For LARPers, this is enough.  The fantasy is real enough for them that it fills a void.  They embrace the experience for all its worth and it makes them happy.

I posted something a while back about writing and how it torments me and it's really hard and really fulfilling and how I'm constantly seeking something greater for my writing.  I found that the responses I got to the blog post fell within two camps: 1) I know your pain and 2) what the hell are you talking about, writing is sweet.

The latter group of people are very similar to LARPers; the process itself is enough.  They can fully submerge themselves and enjoy the creative release for what it is.  I think that is absolute genius.

The question, then, is what's the deal with the former group.  Why do I need to be published?  Why do I desire to write for a living?  Why is writing such a struggle?  Why does it make me nearly as miserable as it does happy?

I have just listed four questions that I have no real answer for.

I mean, obviously, my desire to write for a living stems from the fact that, as painful as it can be, writing is still the work that brings me the most joy.  It's also, I think, the thing that forces me to use the talents I have, which is not something I get in my every day world.

As pretentious as this may sound, I suppose there's a certain element of the tortured artist at work.  There's a more-substantial-than-I-want-to-admit part of me that desperately wants validation for what I'm doing which, in turn, is validation of me.  Sadly, these days that validation comes in the form of book sales or, at the very least, a book deal.  It comes when someone says you're good enough that you can make this your career.

That's what it comes down to, it seems: validation.  Those people in Darkon don't need it, at least not from the rest of us.  They probably know they'd never get it, anyway, but they don't really care.  What they have is enough.

That's what's eluded me all this time, that feeling that what I have is enough.  But I think I'm starting to get there.

And, as you may have noticed, this "What's Important" series seems to be part of this process.

Fixing DC (Comics)

Apparently, DC had a creative summit a few weeks ago.  While it's probably the kind of thing that's planned fairly far in advance, I would imagine the generally negative fan feeling towards DC -- supported by a handful of outspoken creators -- was a very big issue.

It doesn't look like the summit worked out too well.  Since then, at least three writers have walked off titles for varying reasons, one before a single issue was completed.

I love DC's characters.  I'd like to see them in good comics again.

Here are a few ideas on how to make that happen:

1) Let creators create.

This was the obvious one.  I'm not saying give writers and artists a blank slate to do whatever they want with these characters (although, really, if there was ever a time to indulge creators without constraints, wasn't the reboot it?), but the constant changing of plans we've heard so much about has got to stop.  Marvel looks like a creators' paradise these days, in no small part because it seems like they let their creators have some freedom.  Remender sent Captain America to another dimension, for crying out loud.

There's a second issue here that bothers me.  It looks like DC is taking advantage of "indie" creators.  Think of it this way: You want to create comics for a living, but your creator owned title sells just enough to break

even, which means you're still sweating away at your day job, while logging ungodly hours at night and on the weekends on your labor of love.  DC comes along and says, hey, we'll actually PAY YOU to do one of our comics, enough to cut back your hours at the aforementioned day job, or maybe even enough so you can quit, and suddenly you'd be making comics for a living.  Sounds awesome, right?  You just have to do exactly what we tell you to do.

What indie creator would say no to that?  And I don't blame them in the slightest.  In a lot of cases, putting up with DC's insane editorial edicts means these creators can afford to continue putting out their own books, not to mention the extra exposure a main stream comic gives them.  But they have no real leverage in that situation.  It makes what Fialkov did with regards to the Green Lantern books that much more impressive.

2) Scale down.

For the love of god, enough with the 52 fetish.  It's bordering on the obscene.  You don't have enough talent to produce that many titles that will sell.  You certainly don't have the editorial resources, it seems.  Even worse, you just simply don't have the characters for it.

You used to.  But the reboot erased all that.  The characters who can carry franchises right now are Batman and Green Lantern, the only two books that were somewhat shielded by the reboot.  Batman can have 7 or 8 spin-off books because there are enough characters in the Batman mythos to manage that.  The same goes for Green Lantern.

But the Dark line?  The Edge?  I think there are two titles left alive in the Young Justice line.  The material just isn't there right now.  Cut your losses and focus on making the titles that do work even better.

3) Build from the ground up.

I was re-reading Geoff Johns' run of the Flash recently, and noticed a note about something that took place in an issue of Impulse, a book that actually sold pretty well.  It was a book that organically broke out of the main Flash title.

You know why the Teen Titans worked so well back in the day?  Because fans knew who Kid Flash was, they knew who Aqualad was, they knew who Wonder Girl was, and they certainly knew who Robin was.  They had met all of these characters in supporting roles in comics that they already read.  Is it any wonder that Stormwatch isn't selling when it features a bunch of new characters and new versions of characters that haven't been seen in quite some time?

4) Build with specific creators

Part of the reason that Marvel's NOW launch has been at all successful is that they moved the Avengers guy

to the X-books, the Fantastic Four guy to the Avengers, the Iron Man guy to the Fantastic Four, and the X-Men guy to Iron Man, etc.  At the very least, they were going to bring fans in with sheer morbid curiosity.

DC had, at one point, 4 theoretical architects of their universe, and in three months, all but one of them will be gone.  Johns is busy keeping the core Justice League books alive, which is fine, but how long before the Green Lantern books take a downturn because he's no longer associated with them?

DC needs teams, and I don't mean in their comics.  As they consolidate their line, they can focus on their core franchises, at least until they're healthy enough to branch out.  I know, I know, I've said repeatedly that the future of the industry lies in genre diversification by the Big Two, and I still believe that.  But that also means putting big name creators on non-superhero titles, and you can't very well do that when a) you don't have a lot of big name creators and b) the ones you do have are all working on superhero books.

5) Stopping fixing things that aren't broken

I'm a broken record with this, I realize, but the whole "five year" rule has obviously not worked out.  Aside from the fact that there are about a dozen web sites out there that have attempted to track the stupid thing and determined that it's closer to 10 years, trying to compact the history of the DCU was just stupid.  Even if you ignore how rich that history was, there's the simple fact that two entire lines of books (Green Lantern and Batman) are trying to have their cake and eat it, too -- which is more or less throwing off all the other titles.

The focus from DC seems to be more on creating new takes on old characters and less on telling good stories.  That's a problem.  Because new version of old characters are going to alienate old readers, and bad stories are going to alienate new ones.  So far DC has managed to annoy everyone.

6) Make up your damn minds

Supposedly, the point of the New 52 was to appeal to a new audience, perhaps actually bring in some people who didn't normally read comics.  At the very least, they should be able to rope in lapsed comic book readers or people who knew the characters from television, video games, and movies, right?

Sure, until that Starfire fan reads the first issue of Red Hood and the Outlaws.  We're suddenly a long way from the Teen Titans cartoon.

Or what about someone raised on the Justice League cartoon?  Must have been a bit confusing to see that the Green Lantern who formed the Justice League was Hal Jordan and that there was no Hawkgirl to be found.

And I'm not even saying that they should be beholden to other mediums (certainly not the horrid way Marvel is), but if the whole point is to bring in some of these readers, why in god's name would you alienate them?  Either go all in or don't.  The half ass stuff is what has and continues to hurt them.

These are just a few suggestions off the top of my head.  I'm sure I could come up with more, just as I'm sure no one in any position of power will read this.  But I love the DC universe and I hate to see it go to hell the way it has.

I blog because I love.