Author: Marc Alan Fishman

Marc Alan Fishman: The Responsibilities of a Show Promoter

Having concluded an exhausting round of conventions (with one more to go in November, baby!), I find myself in awe of those brave soldiers who put on the shows themselves. From the giant conglomerate-hedge-fund-corporations with deep pockets, to the lonely islands that build their shows in small hotel ballrooms (like Days Inn… screw those who can afford the Embassy Suites!), VFW halls, and auditoria that double as bingo halls on off-nights. Simply put, a comic con is equal parts conference, summit, trade show, and flea market. Balancing these elements into a single entity is like throwing your kid’s birthday during your wedding with a Bar Mitzvah taking place in the adjacent ballroom. So, what makes a good show… from the eyes of an artist?

When I made the transition from fan to creator, my expectations for a show runner where slim to none. I honestly figured buying a table granted you… the table. Maybe a few chairs. But over time, those wants have shifted decidedly towards needs. Not that Unshaven Comics is in much (if any) position to have desired expectations, the glut of shows that exist now pull for our attention – and table fees – and word travels fast when it comes to which shows are must attend and which are must give a crap.

The Cost of the Table or Space

First and foremost, the cost of the table must be in proper ratio to the number of butts in the building. Wizard charges artists upwards of $350 – $450 for an Artist Alley table. In Chicago though, the stream of traffic typically matches the price – allowing most Bohemians behind their buffets to earn back the cost of said countertop in advance of the show coming to a close. I imagine much is the same for a vendor seeking exhibition booth space. And where applicable (see: ReedPop!) finding ways to nickel and dime us at every opportunity – want another chair for that booth? $85! – isn’t the best way to earn our love. We know we’re a captive audience… but that never means we have to like it. And for those vendors who aren’t being backed by marketing budgets, the added cost to power a booth for four days may not be worth it after a while.

The Fans in Attendance

Table price aside, I’d mentioned traffic. Here, the correlation between happy fans and happy artists are one in the same: if one group ain’t happy, the other won’t be far behind. I can’t count how many shows we saw fan after fan in a slump because of any number of reasons: perhaps waiting on line for hours at a time for a ticket for the voucher for the opportunity to look at the door outside of the hall where they are letting that one guy sign autographs for 20 minutes before his handlers whisk him off for a two-hour lunch. And when that fan is just three people in line after they set the cut off? Guess who he’s going to take it out on? Us. A lot. He’ll listen to the pitch for our book. In another world where he got that ticket, he may even give us a shot (he needs something to read during the hour long queue to sit down). But when the day started with a four hour wait for that McGuffin pass, followed by a half hour waiting to pee in a bathroom that Cthulu would be appalled by, followed by dropping over ten bucks for a hot dog, chips, and a soda… multiplied by the thousands who felt the same pains? Doesn’t make for a buy-happy experience. But I digress.

Traffic Needs Roads

The show floor (and corresponding venue) must be a planner’s nightmare. Organizing the fan areas (for photos and the like), gaming zones, autograph areas, the Artist Alley, vendor space, and panel rooms is a dance most choreographers would shy away from. The key to it all from the artists’ perspective? Flow. We want a stream of traffic to mill about the aisles in a steady queue that keeps our hands busy. When the only draw of a show during a given day takes place (“See Patrick Stewart high five Billy Shatner in Hall H!”), the monsoon of militant attendees makes for an awkward hour. Suddenly free-wheeling loiterers are collapsing in a heap to find a seat elsewhere, and you hawking your wares becomes plain insulting to them.

Fans Need Incentive to Become Fans

Simply put, a convention show runner is responsible to entice their attendees to explore every nook and cranny of their convention hall. I can’t count how many times we’ve heard how someone stumbled across us never expecting to purchase. While a decidedly pious few announce their love of shows specifically to seek out the new and odd… most are there to snag that deal on back issues or trades, get the autograph of that now-B-Lister from the Show-They-Love(d)-So-Much, and maybe waste some time at a panel or two. Artist Alley is always feels seemingly like an afterthought from show runner’s perspective. We pay the least to be on the floor, and our DIY table-scapes are rarely seen as a draw large enough to bolster attendance.

But consider my hypothesis: the Artist Alley is the lifeblood of a show. Yes, celebrities and razzle-dazzle gets people in the door. But those precious minutes spent on line, and then snapping that quick photo are only a small percentage of the opportunities that exist in a given con. If I’m to be bold, more often than not, fans discover in the alley. They have the chance to meet face to face with creators and pick their brain (while conducting business, mind you), as well as see the past, present, and future of the industry that spawned the cons in the first place.

I’d put the onus on the show runner’s to push the artists (and dealers to an extent) just as much an attraction for their conventions. Introduce attendees to the notion of making a sketchbook filled by artists in attendance. Consider “con bingo” where fans are rewarded for making purchases from every zone on a given floor (or even just for listening to the pitch). In essence: reward the fan who chooses to enjoy the entirety of their admission. At the end of it all… no one can complain (within reason) if they felt that they saw every fan have the opportunity to converse. That is to say (ahem, Mrs. Dorman), the biggest responsibility of the show runner is get butts in the hall, and get them mingling. The responsibility of we who man the tables… is to make it worth their while.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: The Road Less Traveled

A little over a day removed from the New York Comic Con, I found myself in a bit of an existential funk. My bearded brethren of Unshaven Comics and I had seen a whopping 40% increase in our book sales. On all accounts, we should have been cheering and rejoicing the entire 14 hour ride home. But, after our 36th hour in the car over a span of five days – with highway hypnosis beginning to creep around the edges of our vision – we turned to a game of “Would You Rather.”

This is one of those silly time-wasters stoners and the road-weary play to stay alert. One plays it by coming up with increasingly insane parameters from which each party member must choose. Generally this comes after an hour of Marry, Boff, Kill, which for the sake of this article, will not be discussed. But I digress.

Amidst choosing whether we’d “choose to suffer from an hour long seizure once a week”, or “have all our teeth removed without anesthesia,” I’d landed on a very controversial question. It’d been a query long-standing amongst us since the transition from our long-time friendship to a budding business venture. I asked, coldly:

Would you rather make it in comics, and know that the other two would never enjoy… or be in Unshaven Comics together and know we’ll never see the success we’re continually chasing with each passing year?

The question came to me after six years of attending conventions, with a résumé that still would appear no better than an intern’s after some time fetching coffee. Or, perhaps, far worse. To date, Unshaven Comics has produced a single commissioned piece, for which we were paid essentially Five Dollars an hour, to split between the three of us. Beyond that, we’ve been a solo show, self-financed long before the word crowdsourced was in the vernacular of today’s con-goer. As we were placed on the outskirts of the Small Press Zone of the NYCC, we had front row seats to Marvel, Boom!, Image, Dark Horse, and the like (DC apparently is so West Coast now they only sent some Batman suits). Forced to look at every publisher we Unshaven Lads had pipe dreams of working for left me thinking about those roads not traveled. It reminded me of Mark Waid’s non-joke about how breaking in to comics was like breaking out of prison – as soon as you figure a way to do it they seal it off. After six years in the trenches, I’m apt to believe it.

Before nodding off one of the late nights during the show, Matt lamented to me. His friend, now working as an inker for Marvel, was not much of a name when they went to college together. As he put it “he was just sort of there, and then, he wasn’t.” To see him now, with several variant covers, and the inking gig next to his name, Matt was remiss not to think why he hadn’t been lucky enough for the opportunity. When pressed, he recalled said friend landed at the House of Mouse by literally hanging around their booth so long they eventually threw him a bone. And like so many (so I hear) who actually make it, he took the assignment, completed it to satisfaction, and did so as fast as he could. Reliability is the secret sauce in the comic game, so I’m told.

Through the trials and tribulations of becoming an Indie Creator™, I’ve come to the conclusion that making it into the business (as in having one’s name under a known masthead, instead of a self-made vinyl banner) is akin to finding love. It’s not so much about desperately seeking it out, as much as being ready for it when it comes. If I’m to be brutally auto-biographical, I was a bleeding heart in high school (like many, duh). I was always in a constant drone on how woe I was over the fact that seemingly everyone was dating, kissing, and being in love… whilst I pined, and grew a pair of bitching sideburns. I moved on to college having only dated a very nice girl who in retrospect pity-loved me long enough to give me some semblance of confidence. After what I’d dubbed the truest breaking of my heart, I decided that I’d spend my time working on me instead of lamenting for my litany of lonely nights to follow. Less than two months later, I took a girl out to dinner. She’s now the mother of my son, and the love of my life. Natch.

But, back to that errant question. My brothers-from-other mothers did not hesitate in their answers; both opting to go down with our ship over the notion that there can only be one. I should note that Matt also started his answer with “Eh, don’t let the curb scrape yer’ asses too hard!” before digressing. It’s part of his je ne se quoi.

Their answers rekindled my waning spirit. After six years spent making great comics, and earning the respect of those who sit next to us in parts of the con floor the real publishers pity-date on rare occasion, I’m proud to declare I could give two farts in the wind if I never pen an issue of Batman or The Strangers. I’m making books that a continually growing base of connoisseurs plunking down their cash. I’m working beside two rare talents whose ambition, desires, and fit snuggly over my faults. Together, we’re not a lonely island. We’re a team built to succeed on our own terms. And six years of continually expanding sales numbers will build bridges elsewhere in due time. And if it never happens? Well, then I double-down on the ideology:

It’s not about where you’ve been. It’s about where you’re willing to go… and who’s willing to come with you.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: New York, New Sales, New Aggravation

So Unshaven Comics finds itself once again in the loving bosom of the Javits Center and the New York Comic Con. As I reminded you last week, Unshaven split its booth space with ComicMix in 2013. This year we split with the lovely Jim McClain of the Solution Squad (and subsequently Reading With Pictures). As of this writing ­– literally being written hours before you are likely seeing it posted – Unshaven has had some significant ups, and some hilarious downs. Let’s list them until I’ve wasted enough of your time.

Up: Sales!

It’s always good to see a rise in sales. Given our booth placement (ahem, Marvel-Adjacent) we figured we’d either be in the money or left drowned by lines, crowds, and cheering… and find ourselves in Bone City. Luckily for us, Marvel erected a large wall across from our table. This houses their crowds well enough, and allows us ­­– with a little strain ­– to be heard. And when we have someone’s ear, according to my data, we’re 40% likely to get that sale. We love those odds. And suffice to say since we learned to upsell our typical single comic to a four-book pack (which includes some freebie swag we’re willing to lose profit on to bolster a larger book sale), we’re seeing far more than the 10% growth in books moved that we seek as a baseline for a return con visit.

Down: Pitches!

Data is Unshaven Comics’ friend. It allows us to transcend anecdotal feelings, and instead supply ourselves with factual evidence when it comes to figuring out if a convention is doing us well or kicking our keister. With that being said, I am sad to report New Yorkers aren’t the nicest people we’ve dealt with. In the same amount of time spent on the show floor, Unshaven Comics is pitching about 20% less than we did at C2E2, or Wizard World Chicago. NYCC boasts traffic on the floor greater than both Chicago shows combined. The simple fact is that people are on the move at this convention. More movement means less fine folks to pitch to.

Up: New Fans!

As I mentioned above, seeing such a high closing rate is compounded by the fact that 90% of our sales are to new faces. New faces to me, proves several fun notions. It stands to argue that seeing new folks continually buy our li’l rags proves our product (and likely our passion and pitch) are worth their mettle. It also stands to consider then that the audience for sequential fiction isn’t on the outs like some would have you believe. While yes, I’m sure DC and Marvel and the like aren’t thriving on the racks like they used to, with the continuing growth of the convention scene, we’re seeing a real change to the shape of the market at large. While fans may not flock to the local comic shop every Wednesday as we’d all hope… New York Comic Con continues to instill in me the idea that maybe the fans are just more apt to explore and sample when they can meet creators face to face.

Down: Our Old Friends! Buses! The Price of Tater Tots!

OK, call this my little rib and stick at those we know and love (and New York at large). We’re two days into the convention, and no one save for Media Goddess herself, Martha Thomas, has made pains to say hello. While our editor Mike Gold dined with Debutantes and Dames at the Puck Building Party, and other East Coast Corroborators did whatever it is they do, they’ve not even waved a “Hi, and go ­hug­ yerself!” to we bearded lads. And on top of it, tonight I paid two dollars to upgrade my fries to tater tots, only to be given five of them as a serving. Sorry New York, Chicago understands portion size. And before some crazy Yankees fans point me to Manny’s or what-have-you, Mid Town and sore asses aren’t conducive to jaunts elsewhere. But I digress.

Ups, Down, and All Arounds:

Ultimately, New York Comic Con thus far has been everything we’d hoped it would be. Our sales are tracking on point as desired. Matt and I have enjoyed a few commissions. Our tablemate Jim is learning some valuable lessons (and apparently eating a hell of a lot better than us). And our hosts, the lovely Glenn and Brandy Hauman have been nothing short of perfect inn-keepers. We remain hopeful with two days left on the show floor, the best is yet to come.

Once again, Unshaven Comics would like to remind you they are at booth 1361, and could sure use some extra business to make life dandy. Stop by and mention this article? And Marc will personally thank you, and toss in some free swag with your book purchase.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: When Unshaven Comics Took On Marvel…

…and won? Well, we won’t know that until October 13th when all our data is tabulated. But the old adage applies: it’s not so much about the destination as it is the journey that matters. In this case, the journey is that of the punk rock garage band attempting to overcome the man. But first, a little history.

Unshaven Comics partnered with ComicMix in 2013 to exhibit at the New York Comic Con. Over the course of four days, sales records were decimated. Beards were bristled with pride. New York’s con felt like a wave pool, where every few minutes, a shallow tsunami rolled past our booth, and thanks in part to a helpfully pitiful sign (“Can I tell you about my comic book?”), customer after customer soon parted ways with our book(s) in hands. Here we are a year later, and ready to return with the loftiest goal we’ve ever uttered. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

At this year’s NYCC, Unshaven Comics is untethering ourselves from ComicMix (but we know they won’t be too far away… like the paternal nudgeniks we know them to be) and shacking up with Jim McClain of the Solution Squad to staff a small press booth across from the biggest and best publisher working today. You may have heard of them. No, not First Comics (Boom, roasted.). Marvel Comics. And with but a swatch of carpet between their monstrous exhibit and our little meager table? Well, it’s either going to rock like an Eddie Van Halen solo over a Flea bassline with a little drum fill from Neil Peart… Or it will suck like Courtney Love.

I’m all about transparency kiddos. Last year, Unshaven Comics sold 524 books over a four-day period. Our business plan is built around setting a goal to see 10% growth in book sales every time we return to a convention. That would mean we need to see roughly 53 more books sold. Given how sales looked at our most recent conventions, we’re very confident we can see that happen. I am a “pie-in-the-sky” kinda guy, so I’m personally looking to leave the Javits Center 800 books lighter. And because I’m not one to hedge bets, we’re packing 1,000 of them. This isn’t hubris, kiddos. This is positive thinking.

As it stands, Marvel Comics is crushing it with their movies and TV shows. DC isn’t far behind with decent love for Arrow, excitement for the Flash, and “it doesn’t suck that much” feelings over Gotham (and truth be told, I’m liking it so far). But let’s not beat around the Groot here. Marvel is in charge right now, as they should be. And to be sitting across the aisle from them at the second largest convention in the country is an opportunity me and my chiseled-chinned cohorts will face in a few days. The run-off from a “destination” booth such as theirs alone will rival the total traffic we saw on the outskirts of the far wall, back a year ago. And knowing that our Samurnauts pitch is only 30 seconds long (see Gene Ha’s video here), it shouldn’t take long for us to pitch, wow, sell, shake hands, pass over to Jim… and move to the next awesome fan.

It will also help that above our table will sit a pair of posters to catch a wandering eye. We’ve decided it’s always a good idea to make a bad impression, so we’ve made “The Hipster League” as well as the “Brovengers.” They are both worth a chuckle, and will do what we need them to do: Disrupt someone who is wandering (with or without purpose) and get them to stop and listen to what we have to say. As more and more conventioneers question how to make a show more profitable, Unshaven always takes the simple solution. In this case, make em’ laugh, make em’ laugh, make em’ laugh. After the guffaws comes sincerity and the promise that our books were made with our tongues no where near our cheeks. Much like a little company I know that promised a picky movie-going audience they’d root for a talking raccoon with a gun. Natch.

And if Marvel should be leading a rousing crowd in a fury of ear-peeling cheers for their wares, well then, we’ll hold our signs higher, and be just that much more desperate for attention. Trust me, it works.

The key to it all – as is the key to whatever success we’ve enjoyed thus far – is really in catching someone’s eye, and then being passionate about our product. Backing that up with a unique concept, and a quality product priced appropriately certainly helps too. It also never hurts to use what little attention we can garner prior to the event to help amplify our plea. So, to all my east coasters making travel plans to New York in the coming week, I have but one simple question to ask:

Can I tell you about my comic book?

Unshaven Comics and the Solution Squad will be at the New York Comic Con in Booth 1361 across from… well… I am Groot.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: The New Breed of Con Goer

This past week, you’ve likely seen it: Denise Dorman, wife of “Famed Comic Book/Sci-Fi/Fantasy illustrator Dave Dorman,” decided to write an op-ed concerning the decline of sales she and her husband have been privy to over the last years. She has since posted a second response to make her points more clear.

Denise’s original piece began: “Privately, famed comic book industry personalities everywhere are discussing with each other whether to stop exhibiting at comic book conventions. There’s a fine line between being accessible to and pleasing the fans vs. losing money at these conventions.”

Unshaven Comics has been independently producing comic books and attending comic conventions regularly for only seven years or so. In no way, shape, or form do we come close to the level of fame and success her husband has enjoyed. But in the time that we have been active, I have never heard a single peep (and we in the Artist Alley tend to be a gossipy bunch to begin with) about this discussion. In fact, at the Cincinnati Comic Expo I attended this past weekend, with Mark Bagely, Marv Wolfman, George Pérez, Neal Adams, and Bob Layton I saw only smiling faces – even when lines weren’t incredibly overcrowded. And while I did hear from some folks around us that the show wasn’t bringing them tons of business, only our neighbors decided to cut ties early. And for those playing at home, Unshaven Comics beat our desired sales goal by over 25%.

At first, Bleeding Cool would have you believe that she blamed the Cosplayers. This is not true. In her second blog on the matter, Denise points blame to the “new breed of attendees who are there because someone said its cool to be there.”

To that point: Comic Conventions weren’t founded with the expressed concern of making creators money, they were ways to bring a community of fans together for the opportunity to commiserate, a way to trade and purchase issues to build budding collections, and meet those would-be creators who were the reason the conventions were created. These conventions were small – starting out in gymnasiums, VFW halls, and hotel ballrooms. This new breed (and those who specifically come to the new larger shows), per Denise, are hangers-on to the fad; those who come because they think it’s en vogue. Those who show up not being card-carrying comic book fans.

Her column went on to note as sales were simply non-existent at ole’ Wally World:

“…You know, you start to get paranoid. You start to think, ‘Is it only us? Is Dave no longer relevant?’ So I began covertly asking around. Asking artists equally in demand, equally famous. No one I interviewed made money at that show.” Ultimately Denise falls back on her assertion that it’s these quasi-fans that are most likely the culprit to her husband’s decline in sales specifically at conventions. Mrs. Dorman continued “I have slowly come to realize that in this selfie-obsessed, Instagram Era, cosplay is the new focus of these conventions – seeing and being seen, like some giant masquerade party. Conventions are no longer shows about commerce, product launches, and celebrating the people who created this genre in the first place.” She’s absolutely right. And may Rao bless that fact from here to the next Crisis.

Comic book conventions have become less and less about comic books. On this, I don’t disagree. In addition to comic books, they now encapsulate science fiction (like Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek), fantasy (like Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter), and gaming (like Magic: the Gathering, and Warhammer). A cursory glance back at Mr. Dorman’s Wikipedia page celebrates that he has created artwork for Batman, Spider-Man, Harry Potter, Star Wars… and Magic: the Gathering. Curious then that he’s not connecting to the larger audiences coming to these shows. But I digress.

The point made was that the flux of cosplayers and their subsequent fans are now taking away from the open commerce, Marvel and DC press release parties, and the creator-gushing of yesteryear. You might say that the conventions are becoming more about a gathering of a like-minded community coming together to celebrate their loves and less about dropping ducats on merchandise from people who now can be accessed via a personal website, or any number of social medias.

What troubles me is this: My table of artists (including me) who aren’t in demand or famous saw an increase in book sales upwards of 10% at the show (over last year) Mrs. Dorman most recently attended. This included a day where we set a single day record for total books sold – 225 of them to be exact. How would it be then, that a table of peons would somehow out-earn those who are known in the industry? Did our nefarious plan of installing a toll booth actually work? Someone better go back and get a shit load of dimes!

Denise went on to ask: “At what point do you start to wonder if – other than your faithful, loyal regulars who are like family and who find you every time – the general fandom population even gives a shit about the creators more than they care about their Instagram profiles?”

Allow me to answer in kind. The general population – those Instagram-obsessed fans – gives more than just a shit for those creators who take the time to reach out and communicate. I say this admitting freely I’ve never seen Dave Dorman. And we’ve exhibited at the same shows more than once. I don’t know how specifically Dave exhibits. But if he is like others I’ve seen over the last seven years… he may sit, smiling, awaiting those loyal regulars to come with cash in hand. In short, it’s not enough anymore. It hasn’t been that way in a long time.

For those new fans Dave needs to continue to be the celebrated creator he is, I ask how he chooses to engage them? Having not been a specific fan of his work (and yes, he is actually an astounding talent), if I were to walk past him, would he attempt to stop me and chat? I’m not selfie-obsessed, but I’m also not apt to make it a chore to check with every exhibitor at a convention. Especially if there’s a cool cosplay I need to post a picture of. It’s no longer enough to rest on the laurels of a resume, or even the strength of a displayed portfolio. The market has evened out. All who exhibit are slowly becoming equals amongst the growing legions of fans flocking to the shows. And it’s clear to me, as it should be to all creators: If you’re not making money… it’s not the fault of the fans, or the rising ticket prices, or food costs. The blame doesn’t get to be shuffled anywhere else but on those who make no effort to change with the rolling tide.

The fact is that the newest generation of fans that frequent comic conventions are coming first and foremost to celebrate their love of the media. That love need not be via purchases in the digital era. A comic on my table is considerably less than a commission a known artist offers at their table. When one faces a sea of new faces (heh), the easy money is on the short sale – be that a celebrated or loathed fact. Never once in my time behind the table have I heard from legit fans (including those in every conceivable generation) that the cost of a ticket, a hot dog, or an autograph prevented them from purchasing a comic or print from my table. Cons are costly, I’m not denying that. But at the end of the day, the fans are coming on their own terms, not by the financial needs of those of us behind the table.

Mrs. Dorman’s original post ended “…at what point would YOU cut bait and stop attending these shows? How do we satisfy the fans in a way that makes sound financial $ense ? ? ?”

To be blunt, here are my answers: I won’t cut bait, ever. We earn our fans one at a time. I assess the marketplace. I exhibit within my means. I analyze my sales data. I adapt to a changing market. I work my ass off. And I don’t wait for fans to come discover me. I make them discover me. I don’t want to be an instigator, or one to throw a punch at an undeserving target. The truth of the matter is that the conventions of old are dwindling, if not dead. If Wizard and their ilk don’t offer comped tables to creators who are there to turn profit, then those creators must accept that the shows are now not there the fans’ need to connect to creators. For good or bad… They’re there to connect with each other. If you want that to change… It’s not about cutting ties or holding conventioneers responsible. It’s about getting your hands dirty and figuring out how to make the change yourself.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: Sex & Drugs & Rock N’ Roll & Child Raising!

The other evening I was frequenting my Facebook parents group and a post caught my eye. A mother had introduced her four year old to Batman. “Good for her!” I thought. She went on to say she was “horrified” by her son now calling her “stupid,” and to “zip her lip,” and he was becoming more prone to poking and fighting. She was fearful what she’d started in her son, and at any request to remove the Dark Knight from her kid’s clutches was met with tantrums a’ plenty. She turned to the group for support and advice. I couldn’t help myself…

What this mother faces with her tot is what I think many creators of all ages material – myself included – fear the most: parental disapproval. When the gatekeeper that stands between you and your target audience deems you inappropriate, the likelihood of a sale diminishes exponentially. It’s a fine line to skate.

Much like a stand-up making the promise to not work blue, an all ages creator is tasked with entertaining without crossing the ever-creeping line of acceptable limitations. That entails language, violence, adult themes, and sexual activity. Show a drop of blood, a hint of boob, a mention of drug usage, or a slander on any deity being honored today? Get out, and don’t let the door hit you on the keester on the way!

That being said, as a creator, I am first and foremost about the quality and maturity of the finished product, blind and deaf parents be damned.

When I think to my childhood – likely between the ages of perhaps seven or eigth through to 12 or 13 – the media that stands out as the most beloved all contained shades of brilliance beyond the bright colors and fart jokes. Shows like Exo-Squad, the Transformers, and Disney’s Gargoyles all layered mature themes between the animated lines. And while my parents weren’t apt to purchase comics for me, no doubt any number of titles published at that time dealt in the same sandbox with aplomb. Ultimately as a creator, my responsibility is always to the book, as I said abov because if a scene demands brutality, it’s my choice as a creator to show it. How I choose to do so is what separates me from someone unrestricted.

In far too many cases, it’s often those creators who think beyond the predictable who end up elevating themselves to a better class of creation. Forgive me for reaching high, but like Seinfeld has said “…working blue is easy. Telling the same joke without having to swear doesn’t make you better. It just makes you that more appealing to more people. And how is that bad?” At the end of the day, as a creator, I see it as my duty to seek that balance, to make a book where a thirty year old and an eight year old can find common ground. To layer bits of mature themes in between the action, in an attempt to elevate the prose to exist with depth beyond the Photoshopped effects. To ultimately entertain the widest audience possible, not for profit in the monetary sense, but the spiritual one.

On the flip side to this argument comes my parental side. You see, I’m not just a creator of books. I’m a creator of life. My two and a half year old is just starting to shape his personality. With it, come those pieces of media he loves so much that he can’t live a day (truth: one hour) without re-consuming ad nauseam. Sometimes, he has impeccable taste – like his love of Peter Gabriel and They Might Be Giants. And yes, he also loves things I just can’t seem to understand – for example, videos where they repeat the same sing-songy chant about the alphabet until I want to jam a finger straight through my brainstem. But with all of it, I can’t help but put myself in the shoes of that aforementioned mother. When my boy eventually catches a love for Batman (or any comic related property) and he begins to emulate the sights and sounds, do I panic? Simply put… not one bit.

My personal parenting motto (thankfully shared by my wife) is that it’s not the fault of the media, it’s the fault of the parent. Now, let’s be clear: I’m not a dunce. It’s inevitable that my child will emulate something I don’t want him to. And when I will eventually explain that to him, his kneejerk reaction will be to repeat the undesired action until I’m yanking my beard out in anger. But the fact remains that as the parent it’s my responsibility to consume what my child consumes and to then interject perspective before, during, and after the consumption.

I’m a firm believer that children are smarter than the world at large deems them to be. I’ve come to this firm belief every time I’ve told my son that an apple is actually a french fry and he hurls said fruit back at me at terminal velocity. When Bennett eventually stumbles upon something that would otherwise scar him emotionally, that’s the time Dad needs to be there to explain that the zombie werewolves on the moon were only computer made monsters. And he’ll then soon learn that The Doctor will outsmart them too. Natch.

The reality is that we can’t shield our children from the world at large. And thanks in large part to how easily media can be obtained and consumed now, there’s no fighting the tide. As both a creator and a father, I think I know how to sail through choppy waters. By being honest, by communicating in terms my son will understand, and by helping him sift through the silt to find the best pearls to enjo, I’m doing the job I was meant to do.

For the poor mother whose kid is storming throughout the house declaring a personal vendetta on crime? The response I left her on Facebook stands: It’s a phase that you’ll have to deal with. Next time, stick to Superman. Your son will have a much harder time flying.

(Editor’s note: the story about the kid who wrapped a towel around his neck, shouted “I’m Superman” and jumped out the window is apocryphal.)

 

Marc Alan Fishman: Paper Is Dead!

For those uninitiated to my writing process, allow me to be transparent: I write my column Tuesday evening. This is helpful for many reasons – mostly all revolving around having a full-time day job, a family, and Unshaven Comics. With that being said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t come clean.

Today, I’m sure there were a bevy of topics I had on my mind (whether the Sonic Screwdriver is really just a magic wand, the appeal of Attack on Titan, or why fantasy football renders my mind numb)… and then I watched Apple’s keynote. With the unveiling of the Apple Watch (sans i?!) and the new iPhone 6, I am sadly forced to deal with my Mac-ness once again.

It’s a terrible disease, kiddos. One that strikes me every few years. There was a time, in the long-long ago, when I was stronger. I was raised on a Compaq Presario, and the PC age. I openly mocked Appleites with aplomb. “My mouse has two buttons! I can upgrade my computer without voiding the warranty! And it’s so much cheaper!” I’d yell at them. And always, they would snicker, look me right in the eyes, and whisper “You’re right, and I still don’t care.” Not a semester into college, and I buckled. That is to say I forced my parents to buckle. Don’t worry. I paid them back. And funny enough, that first iMac I own still works, and still lives in my house. Natch. But I digress. Apple is great, and I love them, blah blah blah.

After seeing the debut of the iPhone Phablet (or 6 Plus if you’re being obvious) the never-ending death of paper consumed me. With each passing generation of digital technology being released to the public,  tangible media and products continue to become more artifacts of history. Even a decade ago, the notion that we’d be able to call up one of a million movies and beam it to our television instead of renting or purchasing the special edition DVD was somehow laughable. And even five years ago, could you honestly convince Johnny Average that he could cut the cord on his local cable provider and his home phone and just exist with amazingly cheap subscription services and a hefty data plan instead? I doubt it.

With each of these arguments, the last bastion of the printed form – the comic book – continues to hide in the dark recesses of specialty shops and tiny convention halls (stop snickering).

For those ready to flame me for forgetting books, just look at the sales figures for all digital publications, and count how many Barnes and Nobles still exist. You’re welcome. As screens become permanently affixed to our wrists, hands, and eye-wear, the notion of a printed piece is truly novel. As with all digital distribution models, eventually a price and delivery system becomes ubiquitous to the public at large, and eventually, the physical media is reduced to the collector’s market alone.

DC, Marvel, and the lot of mainstay publishers have all adopted digital practices. Readers of Mike Gold here on ComicMix no doubt know about how certain digital only pieces are trumping the quality of their printed brethren. As with everything else, it’s only a matter of time until our medium at large is thought of as digital first. Scary, no?

No, in fact it isn’t. With the eventual death of paper comics – aside from the collectors market (akin to how the music industry is moving back to vinyl) we’ll soon be privy to something new and amazing. Instead of odd motion-comics, or narrated comics, we’ll soon be able to purchase truly interactive comics.

Think of it. A cover with a well-rendered animation to draw you in <http://www.buzzfeed.com/adamclement1/30-animated-comic-book-covers-that-are-downright-h-il8v>. Single panels on a page being able to be instantly full-screen-zoomed so you can relish in the artwork. Interactive commentary on particular moments. Editorial annotations that actually call up the other issue in question. The possibilities are endless (and yes, some of them are potentially true now, and I don’t know it). And all of it could eventually be monetized in such a fashion that a subscription-based model could provide an unwieldy catalog of back issues for a price that feels like stealing. The best part of all, all of this could happen in another five years or less. The future is here, and its battery life mostly sucks.

Suffice to say, I’m a bit of an early adopter. But I also see the forest for the trees. Those trees needn’t be cut down en masse to make way for new comics. As I’ve explored in the recent past (Freakanomics, anyone?), we know the major publishers are likely not sweating over per-issue sales so much as potential licensing opportunities. As the appeal of moving away from ink, paper, bricks and mortar… so too will our industry look more like the music and television models.

Paper is dead my friends. And you can pay for that on your iPhone too.

 

Marc Alan Fishman Celebrates the Wee Con

Kokomo-ConAs I fully decompressed from Wizard World Chicago, I looked towards the end of the Unshaven event calendar. On it: the Cincinnati Comic Expo – competing against the Cincy Comic Con, Cincinnati Comic Con, and the Cin City Comic Massacre (I think two out of three of those are real). Then, onto the mammoth New York Comic Con, which will boast near San Diego level of attendance. And, finally, gracefully, completing at the Kokomo Comic Con, in Kokomo, Indiana. You’ll get there fast, but take it slow. Sorry, it had to be said. And with it being said, I’m elated that once again, Unshaven will return.

The show itself feels like the comic cons I only heard about from old timers (like everyone on this site minus the Tweeks, Emily, and myself, heh heh heh). It’s pop-culture D-lister, and flashy/trashy exhibitor free. In their place, small publishers (ahem), independent freelance artists and writers, comic book and toy dealers, and a great handful of truly unique artisans – like the educational toy makers Cogbots, and the Highwind Steamworks, steampunk jewelers extraordinaire. The best part? The guest of honor, one Denny O’Neil.

Perhaps I’m a bit jaded in my love for the show. I was a crucial stepping stone in introducing Mr. O’Neil (who I’ll be uncomfortable calling anything but, until perhaps we shake hands in person) to the show-runners. As Unshaven had previously been attendees at the show for four years running, we had become more than a table-fee to Shawn Hilton and his crew. I dare say we became friends. Sure, his store is always ready to stock our books. And sure, I may have ensured we got prime floor real estate for making introductions for way-more-well-known-legends, but at the core of it all, the Kokomo Comic Con and its purveyors are fans first. I respect that. Hell, I live that.

All buzz marketing aside, Kokomo Con represents something I am coming to cherish more and more: a convention that can be enjoyed in a single day; where comics and community trump blatant commercialism. Before I get too deep into that sentiment, let me make something clear: I’m not saying Wizard or Reed or the San Diego Comic Con (or whatever gigantic conglomerates exist in the comic book convention circuit) are bad for building their Frankenshows.

As a strict capitalist, Unshaven Comics couldn’t exist without them. But with this past Wizard show, there’s certainly an energy drain when you sit behind the same table for four days straight, and see an unending queue of potential customers. And those customers are always quick to denote that they “just got there”, and are “checking everything out.” Every sale is a war with their desire not to miss some unlit corner of the show before potentially returning for a purchase. But I digress.

The single-day community convention is devoid of such pretense. It exists to excite for one day, and one day alone (duh). Because of that, the attendees tend to enjoy all of the convention. There’s no need to arrive hours early for the potential of snagging that autograph by the third extra in that show you watched back in the eighties.

Even if the entirety of the Kokomo Conference and Event Center is packed to the nines with booths, a show-goer will be able to peruse everything with time to confer with every artist and dealer. The air of the show itself is that which I revert to when I think of comics and my ill-gotten youth: it’s all about discovery, discussion, and debate. Find me a swatch of NYCC floor space where someone is truly digging through a long-box for that Suicide Squad #18, and I’ll eat my beard. At the smaller shows, the fans that arrive at the door are there first and foremost for guys like me (and way more for guys like Mr. O’Neil). And while we’ll never sell as many books in a given day there versus a NecroNomiCon… the sales we do make tend to make us life-long fans in lieu of passersby giving us a pity purchase.

At the end of day, there’s room of course for both kinds of cons (and to be fair, I think the Cincinnati Comic Expo will reside somewhere between the two). But phaser to my forehead? Color me simply. The shock and awe of the major shows has worn me thin, and in their wake, I yearn for intimacy. A show where one need not shout to hold a conversation. A show where you’re invited to learn, to discuss, to debate, and to celebrate specificity. A show where you can get that cherished issue of Green Lantern / Green Arrow signed, and not have a security guard breathing down your neck to move it along. A show where a truer comic book fan may truly be themselves… all without having to drop significant coin on that selfie with the best friend of The Great American Hero.

And that, my friends, is a convention worth looking forward to.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: Looking For Comics, Found Nothing But Posters

Harley Quinn Deadpool Little PonyAhoy, mates. You’ll forgive me (or not, I don’t know how easily you get ticked off) if my post this week is a bit less meaty than my norm. My excuse: Thursday morning, on the way to the top of my stairs – a box of magic monkey balls safely in tow – my cat decided he’d prefer to be under foot rather than elsewhere. I decided that kittycide didn’t suit me. So, my other other option at the time was to return down the same flight of stairs from whence I came. Unluckily for me, my shoulder (and the hard ground/basement door) stopped an otherwise elegant descent. By the end of the evening, I’d have one less arm at normal usage then I’m normally used to. So, here I sit, in mild agony, pitter-pattering away for your enjoyment. But I (as per my usual) digress.

These past few weeks I was becoming quite excited over the notion of finding some indie comics to share with you after visiting Wizard World Chicago. And while there were indie titles to be had, my injury prevented me from really digging into the alley in a manner conducive with true discovery. So, my epic journey will have to take place at the next convention for Unshaven Comics – the Cincinnati Comic Expo in September. With all of that now covered, I can still share with all of you a trend I caught at Wally World that leaves me a bit perplexed.

In my few jaunts across the Artist Alley, my gaze could not travel for nary more than a yard before it was stricken by a 10 foot tall monstrosity packed from floor to tippy-top with poster-prints of every marketable pop-culture icon, in nearly any style you could think of. Seemingly every row was packed to the gills with pin-up Harley Quinns, macabre zombie Deadpools, or Whatever Anime Hero Is Hip This Week Mashed Up With Whatever Cartoon the Kids Dig. Perhaps it’s always been this way, or maybe the Universe saw my desire for small publishers and pelted me with prints instead. Or more likely, the trend is hitting its peak. And for great reason.

As I have detailed before, an independently produced comic book is rarely a profit-making machine… unless you have the capital to afford a large (1000+) print run and don’t mind sitting on a ton of product in between shows. Prints, on the other hand, can be produced in small batches, stored in any number of space-saving receptacles, and can be produced for less than a dollar a piece at nearly any reputable printer within earshot. Prints tend to run anywhere from $5 to $20 a pop, so you can safely do the math. More to my point, a poster of a well-known character sells itself. A comic of original art and concepts does not. If I were Steven Dubner of Freakanomics, this argument would be over. And for what it’s worth, I see that point loud and clear.

But as I said: this trend leaves me perplexed. As an artist myself, there’s a desire to show the world my take on a litany of licensed fare, sure. But at the cost of doing nothing but? Not a chance. To have ambled about the Alley and see dozens of visual artists all fighting for capturing the essence of someone else’s creation in their style, all in hopes of snagging profit doesn’t ring true to me. Even worse? When those would-be creators toss a few of their actual comics into a rack and shuffle it lazily some uncared for corner of their table… capped with a scrawled sign declaring “COMICS”. As a presentation, it makes the point clear: “Buy my sexy Poison Ivy and give me money. Oh, my comic? Yeah, it’s this other thing I do.” And there my friends, is the dark truth that kept me up all weekend. It could have also been searing shoulder pain.

Let me be clear: I have nothing against those who want to showcase their ability to produce a fine pin-up. Behind me sits a coiled pile of prints I’ve dropped coin for that proves that. But when it comes at the cost of people pushing their creativity, I draw the line. Or, more truthfully, I curse our industry. Creators making original books trying to find a way (yes, internet included) to be profitable… only to find their only money-making endeavor at the bottom of a pile of Doctor Who and My Little Pony prints (made without any licensing fee mind you) represent too much of our ilk. When the Artist Alley appears more like a swap meet of grey market wall coverings, we don’t elevate the medium.

All we do is dilute our brand, and hope to have “made table” instead of making something new. There’s nothing artistic about that.

 

What Marc Alan Fishman Looks For In A Comic Book

Following up on my column last week, I had to sit down and really ask myself what it would take to sell me on a comic book. Not to toot my horn of Stereotypical Jewishness, but the thought of wasting as few as five dollars on a product I won’t wholly appreciate causes me to back out of a deal faster than the Marvel greenlights new films. The fact is I am oftentimes a skeptic when it comes to consumption of media. Either the creators have to be known to me previously, or come recommended by a trusted friend or critic.

When I self-discover, it’s typically after I’ve consumed everything else on my personal docket (which, admittedly, is rare). Most recently, I consumed the movie Chronicle. It was on my DVR, when I had two hours of alertness left in me and literally nothing left to watch. I really enjoyed it. And now because of it, I’ll be more inclined to not hiss at the next movie iteration of the Fantastic Four, knowing that the director and one of the announced stars were both great parts of the aforementioned flick. But I digress.

It starts with the pitch.

This year at Wizard World Chicago, I’m going to attempt to be a blank slate in the Artist Alley. Rather than seek out what looks interesting to me (“art first” if you will), I’m going to randomly choose tables with indie comics, and straight-up ask the person behind the table to pitch me their book. If the pitch is tight, the hook is something original, and the book is five bucks or less, I’m taking it home. Regardless of genre, art style, or any other number of factors. This is me trying to break the bad habit of judgment and reward those who know how to represent their product. I wholly understand that artists are not salesman, and I shouldn’t punish someone for not being a huckster (like me…). But in those cases where the pitch can’t sell me on a book, I know then it’ll be my duty to sell it to myself. For that to happen I need something to latch on to.

The older I get, the crankier I become when I consume media I’ve consumed before. I freely admit, I don’t tend to like fantasy, westerns, or horror because of that fact. Each of those genres tends to cling to tropes tightly, and just gnash any number of them into their prose to fill the void where originality might be otherwise. Oh, that medieval epic you’ve penned… does it have dwarves warring with elves? Egad man, it’s never been done! Oh… but this time the dwarves has mastered ice magic?! Sorry, my bad. That being said, noir, superheroes, and hard science fiction concepts wind up on my shelf more often than not. For me, those stories tend to use genre only to set mood or environment, not drive plot. Think Kill Bill vs. any anime revenge story produced in the last decade.

If the plot doesn’t grab my gonads off the bat, then it’s time to just look at the damned book. On a purely aesthetic level if the comic is doing something visually I’m not seeing elsewhere? That’s a big step in the right direction. Moreso, if the medium being used is wholly uncomicy then I’m even more apt to perk up. Not to namedrop my own books, but screw it. The Samurnauts continues to sell well – beyond the well-practiced pitch – because we combine painted panel art for half the book with more typically sterile digital fare. Should I see a book rendered originally in paint, charcoal, or mixed media? It’s going to ring a bell or two near my buying hand because the creators are changing the language necessary to enjoy their piece.

Ultimately what will sell me a comic will be the passion on the page. Certain comics and concepts just ring true when you hear them come from their creators. I’ve mentioned more often than I’d care to admit that Touching Evil by Dan Dougherty is one of the best books I’ve read in the last decade. And truth be told, the pitch did nothing for me at first. But even a single page in, after Dan let his guard down, and gave me a glint of his creative process, I was sold. And one issue later? I was a card-carrying member of the Touching Evil Empire.

So, by the time these words will hit your eyes, I’ll be milling about the Artist Alley. And next week, you’ll hear all about my exploits amongst my brethren. Until then, I bid you good reading.

 

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