Interestingly enough, being called a racist by a comic book creator on Twitter does crazy things for the traffic on your blog. That blog post got more views in the two hours after I put it up than most of my posts have gotten in their entire existence.
I got a lot of nice responses from people, too. I got them on Facebook, in the comments section of a friend's blog, and even in person. But notice what's missing from that list; I didn't really get any on Twitter.
The comic book creator in question was Steve Niles. It occurred to me that, while I was taking the high road by not naming him, he called me a racist in a public forum, so fuck that noise.
Anyway, Steve Niles and I both have public profiles on Twitter. We also share a few followers, which means that there were more than a few people who could have seen both sides of my exchange with him. And aside from one person making my tweet about my blog a favorite, no one said anything, either during or after. Nothing like "hey, man, that's not cool" or "you're really taking this too far."
This was, I will admit, a bit disheartening. I'll also admit that it was only disheartening when my wife pointed it out to me. The only person to jump into the fray, so to speak, was a friend of mine from high school who seldom uses Twitter.
Here's the thing: I understand it. The fact that people who know me and know Steve Niles in some way, didn't make any kind of comments is a product of the social networking system. I know this because I've stepped into arguments between two people that I follow and watched as it quickly turned into an argument between one of them and me.
This all leads me to a list of reasons why no one got involved:
1) Experience. Like I said, I've jumped in to defend someone before and been lambasted for it. I'd probably react the same way if it happened again, but I know what a pain it can be.
2) It's arguing on the internet. There are few things as stupid as arguing with someone online. I say that as a man who is constantly sucked into exactly that. Even worse, I'm so neurotic that I obsess over these arguments. Just imagine how many times I refreshed my browser, waiting to see that the aforementioned Steve Niles had read my comments. Imagine my disappointment when I saw what he wrote.
3) Fear/Denial -- Let's face facts, a big part of my shock about this whole thing stems from the fact that I really respect Niles' career as a comic book creator. I would imagine a lot of people who follow him on Twitter feel the same way. So when he has a moment when he acts like an asshat, would any of those people step in? It's far easier to write it off as a one-off, that he's still the respected creator we thought he was. Or, on the flip side, it's easier to just ignore it, for fear that he'll block us if we speak up, because that's exactly what he did to me.
4) No one cares. It's no coincidence that a friend I've had since high school was the only one to take to Twitter in my defense. My wife was going to, but I asked her not to. These are both people I know well, and who care about me. While I've met a lot of the people I interact with online in real life, I can't say that I really know them or they really know me. A dust up between me and some comic book writer may make them cringe, but there's no reason to believe it will bother them to the point of getting involved.
5) This happened? Seriously, I follow enough people on Twitter to know that it's often impossible to keep track of everything that happens. And while I managed to talk about it over the span of a few days, it's entirely possible that people who follow either or both of us didn't see any of this go down.
Still, like I said earlier, it was disheartening, and feels like a lesson on social networks. For all the lack of civility that most people see, there's an element that swings to the opposite extreme, particularly on Twitter. It is the easiest way for us to connect with those we admire, and no one wants to ruin that. I surely don't.
But, apparently, I did.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
When Twitter Ruins Things
Living in the age of social networking is great. I use and enjoy both Twitter and Facebook. I wrote about the appeal of both of them here.
The other day, though, I experienced part of the down side, at least to Twitter.
I'm a big fan of comic books, and lately I've been on a big push for creator owned books, as I believe they are the future of the business. I follow a number of comic book creators who feel the same way. On Monday, one of them posted a link on thinkprogress.org about the smear campaign against Trayvon Martin.
If you've been following the Trayvon Martin story, you probably know that Monday was also the day that the police department released the version of events told by George Zimmerman, as well as statements from witnesses. It was a fairly big development in the story.
When I read the article at the link above, I thought it was a missed opportunity. I think only people who were already biased would believe the smear campaign, and it would have been better had the column been about the questions that arose from the day's news. So I said that in response to the aforementioned comic book creator:
@ I think it's the supposed witness statements that are giving most rational people pause, not what's on that list.
This is the response I got:
@kylegarret What are you implying? If it's what I think, that is messed up.
Given the restraint of 140 character comments, it's not unusual for things to come across the wrong way. Since I knew what I was saying, I couldn't really imagine what he thought I meant, but it didn't sound good. So I tried to explain myself:
@ I don't think it's what you're thinking. I think the people who believe the smear campaign are already biased.
@ I also think the fact that they don't go into detail about the witness statements and Z's testimony is a missed opportunity.
Hindsight being 20/20, I realize that saying those who believed the smear campaign were already biased didn't connect with the "rational people" comment from earlier, so I suppose it seems like I didn't explain that part of my initial response.
Still, I thought my two, additional tweets at least gave a fuller picture of what I meant.
This is the response I got:
@kylegarret Are you implying I'm not a rational person? Are you implying the kid deserved death? Let me imply something. You are a racist.
As you can probably imagine, I was taken aback by this.
Now, I can perhaps see thinking I said he wasn't a rational person. I actually mentioned "rational people" in my initial comment. But for the life of me I can't find anything that would suggest I was saying that "the kid deserved death." I just have no idea where that came from.
And, obviously, calling me a racist was just insane on a number of levels.
But, like I said, I have (had?) a lot of respect for this creator, so I wanted to try to explain myself some more:
@ What? Woa. I was calling the people who believe the smear campaign irrational.
@ I think most rational people would see the news that came out today and wonder what else was going on...
@ ...like who are these supposed witnesses and why did is that just coming out now?
I never got a response from any of those tweets. I'm not sure, but I think he might have blocked me, which is too bad. I shared the fact that he called me a racist and that it was disheartening. A friend of mine decided to step in and sent this to him:
@ @kylegarret I find your implication of racism to be in stunningly poor taste.
I thought that was a reasonable thing to say -- I kind of felt the same way.
My friend got a response:
@(my friend) @kylegarret Well, he started it implicating me. Have a nice day.
@(my friend) @kylegarret And I find his racism in poor taste as well, so I guess we're even.
I only saw these tweets by actually checking his timeline; they don't show up in my timeline, which is why I'm guessing he blocked me.
He still maintained that I implied he was irrational -- and this was like 14 hours after I'd told him that's not what I meant. And he accused me of racism again.
I thought I'd give it one last shot:
@ I sent you like 5 tweets explaining that's not what I meant. I don't understand why you would jump to that conclusion.
I haven't heard anything back and I suppose I won't. I doesn't seem like he was even seeing some of my earlier tweets, or at least I hope that was the case, because the alternative is that he was just ignoring what I said because he'd come to a conclusion about me and that was that.
It's weird. I feel bad about all of this. I mean, I don't think I really did anything wrong, aside from failing to articulate my point better in 140 characters. It's just...well, I've always liked reading his tweets. I've always like what he stands for as far as creator rights are concerned.
It's amazing that, given the constraints of Twitter, anyone would jump to any conclusions, particularly like this.
It's just sad, really. I'm trying not to think ill of him based upon this one interaction, but given the severity of it, it's not easy.
I suppose this will ensure that I take a step back whenever someone says something to me on Twitter that seems off. At the very least, I'll give them a chance to explain themselves before calling them horrible things.
The other day, though, I experienced part of the down side, at least to Twitter.
I'm a big fan of comic books, and lately I've been on a big push for creator owned books, as I believe they are the future of the business. I follow a number of comic book creators who feel the same way. On Monday, one of them posted a link on thinkprogress.org about the smear campaign against Trayvon Martin.
If you've been following the Trayvon Martin story, you probably know that Monday was also the day that the police department released the version of events told by George Zimmerman, as well as statements from witnesses. It was a fairly big development in the story.
When I read the article at the link above, I thought it was a missed opportunity. I think only people who were already biased would believe the smear campaign, and it would have been better had the column been about the questions that arose from the day's news. So I said that in response to the aforementioned comic book creator:
This is the response I got:
Given the restraint of 140 character comments, it's not unusual for things to come across the wrong way. Since I knew what I was saying, I couldn't really imagine what he thought I meant, but it didn't sound good. So I tried to explain myself:
Hindsight being 20/20, I realize that saying those who believed the smear campaign were already biased didn't connect with the "rational people" comment from earlier, so I suppose it seems like I didn't explain that part of my initial response.
Still, I thought my two, additional tweets at least gave a fuller picture of what I meant.
This is the response I got:
As you can probably imagine, I was taken aback by this.
Now, I can perhaps see thinking I said he wasn't a rational person. I actually mentioned "rational people" in my initial comment. But for the life of me I can't find anything that would suggest I was saying that "the kid deserved death." I just have no idea where that came from.
And, obviously, calling me a racist was just insane on a number of levels.
But, like I said, I have (had?) a lot of respect for this creator, so I wanted to try to explain myself some more:
I never got a response from any of those tweets. I'm not sure, but I think he might have blocked me, which is too bad. I shared the fact that he called me a racist and that it was disheartening. A friend of mine decided to step in and sent this to him:
@ @kylegarret I find your implication of racism to be in stunningly poor taste.
I thought that was a reasonable thing to say -- I kind of felt the same way.
My friend got a response:
I only saw these tweets by actually checking his timeline; they don't show up in my timeline, which is why I'm guessing he blocked me.
He still maintained that I implied he was irrational -- and this was like 14 hours after I'd told him that's not what I meant. And he accused me of racism again.
I thought I'd give it one last shot:
I haven't heard anything back and I suppose I won't. I doesn't seem like he was even seeing some of my earlier tweets, or at least I hope that was the case, because the alternative is that he was just ignoring what I said because he'd come to a conclusion about me and that was that.
It's weird. I feel bad about all of this. I mean, I don't think I really did anything wrong, aside from failing to articulate my point better in 140 characters. It's just...well, I've always liked reading his tweets. I've always like what he stands for as far as creator rights are concerned.
It's amazing that, given the constraints of Twitter, anyone would jump to any conclusions, particularly like this.
It's just sad, really. I'm trying not to think ill of him based upon this one interaction, but given the severity of it, it's not easy.
I suppose this will ensure that I take a step back whenever someone says something to me on Twitter that seems off. At the very least, I'll give them a chance to explain themselves before calling them horrible things.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Wanted
Warning: Posted without proofreading. I'll get to it tomorrow. Leave me alone. I've been drinking.
Stop the spiral! Turns out my YA book made the next round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest, after all. So I didn't go down in flames, although it did make me realize how much I have invested in this contest, and how that's probably not a good thing. After all, getting to the next round made me happy, but then I realized that the closer I am to the end when I get cut, the worse it's going to hurt. And so the cycle repeats.
Anyway, the other day on the way to work I was listening to the latest CSS album (which I've had for months but am just now getting around to listening to). There's a song called "City Grrl" which is ostensibly the lead singer's story of growing up and wanting to move to the big city. She rattles off all the things she wanted her life to be like when she finally got to the big city, from partying to making her dreams come true -- the usual, really.
Listening to someone sing about what they wanted as a child made me think about the fact that I've managed to go most of my life without really wanting anything, at least not in a large sense. Part of this stemmed from the fact that I was, more or less, a pretty joyless young man, so it's hard to really want anything when you don't find much joy in anything. Part of it was the fact that not wanting things had worked out well for me, or so I thought. I basically just went where the wind took me.
When Nicole and I moved up to the Bay area, one of the things we talked about was how nice this neighborhood is and what a good school district this house is in. We don't have kids. Yes, we want to have them some day, but as I was fond of saying at the time, I felt like I was being forced to make decisions based upon things that hadn't happened yet. Most people call that "making plans." That's just not something I really did.
Honestly, I spent a long time not even wanting to be a writer, at least not entirely. I spent my childhood writing, I spent my teen years writing, and when it came time to go to college, I chose an English major because writing was ridiculous. I'm from the Midwest; we have to be practical.
I wrote throughout college, but even going to graduate school for Creative Writing was something of a desperate move to prevent the collegiate clock from striking zero.
Don't get me wrong, I had to write. I've always had to write. And I always had those pipe dreams of becoming the next great American author. But that was a different reality. Writing was something that Kyle Garret did, not what Kyle Vanderneut did (my real name, by the by). Kyle Vanderneut had to be responsible and he had to maintain a life where he could roll with the punches and take whatever came along.
Even with a Master's degree in Creative Writing, the idea of being a writer seemed alien to me. I think it was probably because, deep down, it was something that I really wanted, and I wasn't entirely sure how to handle such a thing.
It wasn't manufactured, either. That was the big thing. I'd let my chemically imbalanced, neurotic brain manufacture desires before. I spent a good twenty years of my life convincing myself I was lonely and that I really needed someone to be with. But it wasn't real; it wasn't true. A string of failed relationships do a pretty good job of illustrating that.
Funny enough, it wasn't until I quit wanting to be with someone that I met Nicole. And after that I didn't want to be with just anyone, I wanted to be with her.
That's actually a pretty good marker for me. The first few years of my life in Los Angeles stripped me down and forced me to acknowledge both the things that I really wanted and the things that I'd fabricated. I wrote some short stories. I wrote a book. I met Nicole. I self-published a short story collection. I wrote another book. I got that book published. I got a few short stories published. I wrote another book. It's made it to the third round of a big time contest.
There's probably some crazy "don't be afraid to want things" moral to this story. I suppose that's a fair point. I often wonder what my life would have been like had I actually pursued my passion from the start. As much as I loved my time at Ohio University, I sometimes wonder what would have become of me if I'd gone somewhere like NYU, perhaps gotten out of Ohio and pulled away from my Midwestern pragmatism.
Huh. Maybe that's why I feel like I really started writing when I moved to Los Angeles. Maybe being there, being away from what I knew, being surrounded by millions of people all pursuing their ridiculous dreams, made me feel comfortable enough to try it myself. That would certainly explain why L.A. is romanticized in my head.
Don't get me wrong; I was born and raised in Ohio and I'm proud of that fact. I'm a Bobcat from Ohio University and I will be wearing my t-shirt at work tomorrow. Ohio is who I am, or at least who most of me is.
But I think part of me was born in Los Angeles.
Who knows what the Bay area will bring me? If Los Angeles allowed me to start wanting things, maybe Danville is when I get them.
Danville has certainly provided for me on that front already.
Stop the spiral! Turns out my YA book made the next round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest, after all. So I didn't go down in flames, although it did make me realize how much I have invested in this contest, and how that's probably not a good thing. After all, getting to the next round made me happy, but then I realized that the closer I am to the end when I get cut, the worse it's going to hurt. And so the cycle repeats.
Anyway, the other day on the way to work I was listening to the latest CSS album (which I've had for months but am just now getting around to listening to). There's a song called "City Grrl" which is ostensibly the lead singer's story of growing up and wanting to move to the big city. She rattles off all the things she wanted her life to be like when she finally got to the big city, from partying to making her dreams come true -- the usual, really.
Listening to someone sing about what they wanted as a child made me think about the fact that I've managed to go most of my life without really wanting anything, at least not in a large sense. Part of this stemmed from the fact that I was, more or less, a pretty joyless young man, so it's hard to really want anything when you don't find much joy in anything. Part of it was the fact that not wanting things had worked out well for me, or so I thought. I basically just went where the wind took me.
When Nicole and I moved up to the Bay area, one of the things we talked about was how nice this neighborhood is and what a good school district this house is in. We don't have kids. Yes, we want to have them some day, but as I was fond of saying at the time, I felt like I was being forced to make decisions based upon things that hadn't happened yet. Most people call that "making plans." That's just not something I really did.
Honestly, I spent a long time not even wanting to be a writer, at least not entirely. I spent my childhood writing, I spent my teen years writing, and when it came time to go to college, I chose an English major because writing was ridiculous. I'm from the Midwest; we have to be practical.
I wrote throughout college, but even going to graduate school for Creative Writing was something of a desperate move to prevent the collegiate clock from striking zero.
Don't get me wrong, I had to write. I've always had to write. And I always had those pipe dreams of becoming the next great American author. But that was a different reality. Writing was something that Kyle Garret did, not what Kyle Vanderneut did (my real name, by the by). Kyle Vanderneut had to be responsible and he had to maintain a life where he could roll with the punches and take whatever came along.
Even with a Master's degree in Creative Writing, the idea of being a writer seemed alien to me. I think it was probably because, deep down, it was something that I really wanted, and I wasn't entirely sure how to handle such a thing.
It wasn't manufactured, either. That was the big thing. I'd let my chemically imbalanced, neurotic brain manufacture desires before. I spent a good twenty years of my life convincing myself I was lonely and that I really needed someone to be with. But it wasn't real; it wasn't true. A string of failed relationships do a pretty good job of illustrating that.
Funny enough, it wasn't until I quit wanting to be with someone that I met Nicole. And after that I didn't want to be with just anyone, I wanted to be with her.
That's actually a pretty good marker for me. The first few years of my life in Los Angeles stripped me down and forced me to acknowledge both the things that I really wanted and the things that I'd fabricated. I wrote some short stories. I wrote a book. I met Nicole. I self-published a short story collection. I wrote another book. I got that book published. I got a few short stories published. I wrote another book. It's made it to the third round of a big time contest.
There's probably some crazy "don't be afraid to want things" moral to this story. I suppose that's a fair point. I often wonder what my life would have been like had I actually pursued my passion from the start. As much as I loved my time at Ohio University, I sometimes wonder what would have become of me if I'd gone somewhere like NYU, perhaps gotten out of Ohio and pulled away from my Midwestern pragmatism.
Huh. Maybe that's why I feel like I really started writing when I moved to Los Angeles. Maybe being there, being away from what I knew, being surrounded by millions of people all pursuing their ridiculous dreams, made me feel comfortable enough to try it myself. That would certainly explain why L.A. is romanticized in my head.
Don't get me wrong; I was born and raised in Ohio and I'm proud of that fact. I'm a Bobcat from Ohio University and I will be wearing my t-shirt at work tomorrow. Ohio is who I am, or at least who most of me is.
But I think part of me was born in Los Angeles.
Who knows what the Bay area will bring me? If Los Angeles allowed me to start wanting things, maybe Danville is when I get them.
Danville has certainly provided for me on that front already.
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Spiral
There's a quote from the movie "High Fidelity," which I'm told is also in the book by Nick Hornby (I've never read it, so I'm not sure) that goes: "Do I listen to pop music because I'm miserable, or am I miserable because I listen to pop music?"
Today, I thought to myself "Do I write because I'm crazy, or am I crazy because I write?"
I should point out that the above quote is meant to be cute. I point that out because I generally hate it when people call themselves crazy. It seems like a popular thing to do these days. "Oh, I'm just crazy like that." I think it does a disservice to the word. If you're actually crazy you wouldn't really be aware of it, or at least you wouldn't talk about it. But I suppose the idea of losing your mind is so frightening to me that joking about, at least regularly, kind of weirds me out.
Anyway, this was all precipitated by these three events:
1) I did not win the Independent Literary Award for Biography/Memoir. I lost to "Little Princes," which I actually expected, as the book sounds like it's great. Losing runner-up to the Tiger Mom wasn't as easy to take, but I'm basing that upon what I've heard about the book, so I suppose that's not entirely fair.
2) One of the judges posted her review on her blog, and it wasn't particularly positive. She gave it 2.75/5. It was a perfectly fine review, to be honest, as she raised legitimate points about the book, things that were ultimately a matter of opinion (unlike certain other reviews I've gotten). Still, a bad review is a bad review, and I get so few reviews that the bad ones always hit me pretty hard.
3) I finally looked and learned that the next round of cuts in the Amazon/Penguin book contest will be announced tomorrow. The first round cut the group of nearly 5,000 to just 1,000. The next cut will drop that number down to 250.
It seems to me that good things and bad things tend to happen in clumps. The day I was told that I'd been nominated for the Indie Lit Awards was the same day that I got the release date for the book on Joss Whedon that features an essay that I wrote. A few years ago, I had two agents reading my first novel; I got rejection letters from both of them literally within the same hour.
As you can imagine, I'm not particularly optimistic about what I'm going to learn tomorrow.
Here's the thing: I can spiral downward with the best of them. I'm a neurotic person and I spent a large part of my life being sad and angry, so it's very easy for me to fall back into that. Yet here I am, sending out my stories to the world, even thought I know rejection will kill me every single time.
It seems, well, crazy that I would pursue a profession in which the rate of failure is so incredibly high, given how drastic my mood swings can be.
But am I like this because I write, or do I write because I'm like this?
So I'm preparing to spiral tomorrow. I've warned my wife. Tomorrow I'll be at work which, while actually perfectly fine as far as jobs go, is still a constant reminder that I'm not writing for a living. And, you know, even that is kind of hard to handle at a certain point.
I'm just going to have to hold out hope that there's some karma yet to come to me, and that even if these bad things happen in succession, I'll get a few good things to even them out. I don't really have any reason to believe that, but it would be impossible to keep going otherwise.
Honestly, there's more to it than what I've written, but I think I've rambled on enough for now.
Besides, I need to try to get some writing done.
Today, I thought to myself "Do I write because I'm crazy, or am I crazy because I write?"
I should point out that the above quote is meant to be cute. I point that out because I generally hate it when people call themselves crazy. It seems like a popular thing to do these days. "Oh, I'm just crazy like that." I think it does a disservice to the word. If you're actually crazy you wouldn't really be aware of it, or at least you wouldn't talk about it. But I suppose the idea of losing your mind is so frightening to me that joking about, at least regularly, kind of weirds me out.
Anyway, this was all precipitated by these three events:
1) I did not win the Independent Literary Award for Biography/Memoir. I lost to "Little Princes," which I actually expected, as the book sounds like it's great. Losing runner-up to the Tiger Mom wasn't as easy to take, but I'm basing that upon what I've heard about the book, so I suppose that's not entirely fair.
2) One of the judges posted her review on her blog, and it wasn't particularly positive. She gave it 2.75/5. It was a perfectly fine review, to be honest, as she raised legitimate points about the book, things that were ultimately a matter of opinion (unlike certain other reviews I've gotten). Still, a bad review is a bad review, and I get so few reviews that the bad ones always hit me pretty hard.
3) I finally looked and learned that the next round of cuts in the Amazon/Penguin book contest will be announced tomorrow. The first round cut the group of nearly 5,000 to just 1,000. The next cut will drop that number down to 250.
It seems to me that good things and bad things tend to happen in clumps. The day I was told that I'd been nominated for the Indie Lit Awards was the same day that I got the release date for the book on Joss Whedon that features an essay that I wrote. A few years ago, I had two agents reading my first novel; I got rejection letters from both of them literally within the same hour.
As you can imagine, I'm not particularly optimistic about what I'm going to learn tomorrow.
Here's the thing: I can spiral downward with the best of them. I'm a neurotic person and I spent a large part of my life being sad and angry, so it's very easy for me to fall back into that. Yet here I am, sending out my stories to the world, even thought I know rejection will kill me every single time.
It seems, well, crazy that I would pursue a profession in which the rate of failure is so incredibly high, given how drastic my mood swings can be.
But am I like this because I write, or do I write because I'm like this?
So I'm preparing to spiral tomorrow. I've warned my wife. Tomorrow I'll be at work which, while actually perfectly fine as far as jobs go, is still a constant reminder that I'm not writing for a living. And, you know, even that is kind of hard to handle at a certain point.
I'm just going to have to hold out hope that there's some karma yet to come to me, and that even if these bad things happen in succession, I'll get a few good things to even them out. I don't really have any reason to believe that, but it would be impossible to keep going otherwise.
Honestly, there's more to it than what I've written, but I think I've rambled on enough for now.
Besides, I need to try to get some writing done.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Walking Away From the Monthly Big 2 Fix
Last week, I pulled the Band-Aid off. I dropped all comics from the Big 2 from my subscription with Tales From Another World.
It was strangely liberating.
I had a lot of people asking me why I made this move. After all, why such a blanket decision? Was it to save money? Because I was boycotting corporate comics?
There are a lot of reasons, most of which stem from the inherent problems with corporate comics.
Cost played a part in my decision, for sure. DC's insistence on maintaining 52 monthly titles, many of which are starting to take part in multi-book crossovers, was part of it. They're not making me buy all of those books, obviously, but the intent is to maintain that number in an effort to maintain some kind of bottom line, which is perfectly understandable for a corporately owned company. They have people to answer to, and it's going to take 52 comics to get them what they need. But for those of us who aren't interested in the business, just the medium, maintaining that artificially chosen number seems kind of crazy.
Marvel's new double publishing decision is obviously an issue. It's a big one, actually. Say I bought 3 of Marvel's $2.99 books every month. That was costing me $9. If they all started double shipping, I'm now at $18 a month, and I'm on a limited comics budget already. I'd have to drop other titles to make up that extra $9 a month. But if I just drop those three books completely, I now have an extra $9 to put towards something else.
Again, from a business standpoint, you can see why they would do this. David Brothers discusses the issue nicely here and here. Brian Hibbs, who's a fairly prominent retailer in the comic book world, makes some great points on how the double shipping will impact sales. His follow-up post is also worth reading. Like I said, though, you can see why Marvel would make this move. They need to make more money, and getting people who are already buying a book to buy an extra issue every month seems like a pretty easy move. Comic book fans are willing to put up with a lot.
Tom Spurgeon probably says it best: "This is a really interesting example of a mainstream comics publisher favoring short-term gain over long-term benefit. Ostensibly the practice of using other talents, particularly those that might not mesh smoothly with the more closely-affiliated comics-makers, would drain readers from the regular reading experience over time. I say "ostensibly" because like many practices in comics it's not just there's an aberrant, anti-conventional wisdom policy in play as much as there's an odd practice in play and a market that's been conditioned not to punish such practices. It may even reward them."
Which, of course, is the theoretical part of my reasoning (as good a way to put it as any). Because I think this IS a short sighted strategy that will invariable fill the coffers now, but ultimately drive away more readers. And it's true, that comics, unlike pretty much every other industry, often rewards short term thinking on a great level. But the risk of losing readers due to a doubling of cost, or multiple creative teams, is worth it for the additional, immediate sales, or at least that seems to be the idea.
Therein lies the problem for someone who loves comics and wants to see them vital and strong for decades to come. By now, it's probably clear that Marvel and DC don't seem to be doing anything to expand the medium's audience. Why would they? They are owned by Disney and Warner Brothers, who could probably care less how well the comic book industry is going, so long as they maintain copyrights on their characters. The money is in movies, TV, and licensing. It doesn't matter to them that their comics make a lot of money, just as long as they break even.
A big part of this, and yet another reason why I've dropped these books, is that stories from the Big Two tend to be ignorable. Is there a better example than Fear, Itself on how cosmetic and temporary these stories are? So much was reversed just a few issues after it happened. But, of course it did. Real change can't happen in titles featuring core characters, because they're not characters any more, they're brands, and the brands must be evergreen.
I realize this is something of a generalization, but it's gotten to the point where the comics that the Big Two are putting out are stuck in story loops, unable to move forward. With the costs increasing and the sheer number of books stretching the limits of creators (are there really 52 amazing creative teams out there, DC?), why should anyone stick around? Particularly when better comics exist?
Comics are a hard habit to break. Comics from the Big Two are the worst of the bunch. We care about these characters and want to know what happens to them. We're given the illusion of change, because it's all they can really offer.
I said that dropping all of the Big Two books from my pull was liberating. It was. I suddenly found myself with extra money and the desire to start looking into some of the creator owned books I'd always wanted to try.
I know how stupid this sounds, but comics from the Big Two tended to be package deals. I really couldn't buy just one. And I always had to allow for the eventually tie-in book or annual. Going cold turkey cleared the decks. Suddenly all those slots I held in reserve for corporate superheroes were free for...well, anything at all.
And "anything" is the key for comics' survival. It should be clear, by now, that people who are interested in movies about superheroes are not interested in comic books about superheroes. If that was the case, the gravy train of superhero movies would equal a golden age of comic book sales at the Big Two, but that hasn't been the case at all. So it begs the question: do people just hate the medium? And, if so, will superheroes really convince them to like it?
Comics hasn't really tried diversity at a high level in decades. Marvel and DC will periodically publish titles that don't feature superheroes, but those invariably get canceled after just a few issues. I can't blame the Big Two for this -- the books need to make money to stay alive. But is a four to six month window really enough time to establish a non-superhero book? And then for said book to start getting attention outside of the comic book store? It's doubtful. Had Marvel or DC been publishing The Walking Dead, it would have been canceled after six issues.
I could go on and on, and I do, about creator owned comics and diversity and how they are the only hope for the industry. You can find more ranting from me over here and yet another post about the same issue over here.
I've rambled enough for now. Next time: the cool creator owned comics I've recently discovered thanks to my new windfall of cash.
It was strangely liberating.
I had a lot of people asking me why I made this move. After all, why such a blanket decision? Was it to save money? Because I was boycotting corporate comics?
There are a lot of reasons, most of which stem from the inherent problems with corporate comics.
Marvel's new double publishing decision is obviously an issue. It's a big one, actually. Say I bought 3 of Marvel's $2.99 books every month. That was costing me $9. If they all started double shipping, I'm now at $18 a month, and I'm on a limited comics budget already. I'd have to drop other titles to make up that extra $9 a month. But if I just drop those three books completely, I now have an extra $9 to put towards something else.
Tom Spurgeon probably says it best: "This is a really interesting example of a mainstream comics publisher favoring short-term gain over long-term benefit. Ostensibly the practice of using other talents, particularly those that might not mesh smoothly with the more closely-affiliated comics-makers, would drain readers from the regular reading experience over time. I say "ostensibly" because like many practices in comics it's not just there's an aberrant, anti-conventional wisdom policy in play as much as there's an odd practice in play and a market that's been conditioned not to punish such practices. It may even reward them."
Therein lies the problem for someone who loves comics and wants to see them vital and strong for decades to come. By now, it's probably clear that Marvel and DC don't seem to be doing anything to expand the medium's audience. Why would they? They are owned by Disney and Warner Brothers, who could probably care less how well the comic book industry is going, so long as they maintain copyrights on their characters. The money is in movies, TV, and licensing. It doesn't matter to them that their comics make a lot of money, just as long as they break even.
A big part of this, and yet another reason why I've dropped these books, is that stories from the Big Two tend to be ignorable. Is there a better example than Fear, Itself on how cosmetic and temporary these stories are? So much was reversed just a few issues after it happened. But, of course it did. Real change can't happen in titles featuring core characters, because they're not characters any more, they're brands, and the brands must be evergreen.
Comics are a hard habit to break. Comics from the Big Two are the worst of the bunch. We care about these characters and want to know what happens to them. We're given the illusion of change, because it's all they can really offer.
I said that dropping all of the Big Two books from my pull was liberating. It was. I suddenly found myself with extra money and the desire to start looking into some of the creator owned books I'd always wanted to try.
I know how stupid this sounds, but comics from the Big Two tended to be package deals. I really couldn't buy just one. And I always had to allow for the eventually tie-in book or annual. Going cold turkey cleared the decks. Suddenly all those slots I held in reserve for corporate superheroes were free for...well, anything at all.
 |
| Cold turkey |
Comics hasn't really tried diversity at a high level in decades. Marvel and DC will periodically publish titles that don't feature superheroes, but those invariably get canceled after just a few issues. I can't blame the Big Two for this -- the books need to make money to stay alive. But is a four to six month window really enough time to establish a non-superhero book? And then for said book to start getting attention outside of the comic book store? It's doubtful. Had Marvel or DC been publishing The Walking Dead, it would have been canceled after six issues.
I could go on and on, and I do, about creator owned comics and diversity and how they are the only hope for the industry. You can find more ranting from me over here and yet another post about the same issue over here.
I've rambled enough for now. Next time: the cool creator owned comics I've recently discovered thanks to my new windfall of cash.
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