Some of you may recall that a few years back – approaching midlife and experiencing a general personal and professional meltdown – I decided it would be a good idea to go to art school and recharge my creative batteries.

While I had hoped to get intensive training in computer graphics, I ended up spending most of my time creating color wheels and writings essays. I didn’t actually get a single class that taught me anything about computer graphics, and I realized that the school was pulling a bait and switch – the computer graphics classes were all extra; you had to take every single computer graphics lesson at Lynda.com, negating the entire purpose of signing up for the very expensive art school in the first place. The classes at Lynda.com only cost $25 per month. The art school cost $80,000.

I filed a complaint with the president of the school that would have blistered his hands when he received it. I got a personal call from him by the end of the day, was able to withdraw from the school without penalty, and received a full refund on tuition for my last class. I was stuck with what I had already completed, but at least I can honestly say I went to art school and got straight A’s.

And this brief return to academia made me appreciate my professional life even more. My troubles seemed small after realizing I had nearly been suckered into paying for an $80,000 bachelor’s degree which wouldn’t actually teach me any new skills, and I went back to my real work.

But before I got to that point, I became increasingly hostile to the school and my assignments, and began writing essays that dripped with sarcasm and scorn.

The more obnoxious I got, the more my teachers loved it. Snark your way to a straight A!

Here’s one of my analytic efforts from my art school days.

Double Meanings in Advertising Phrases

I cannot be the only person who read the requirement of this assignment, and then immediately began making dirty jokes about almost every advertising line I have ever heard in my life. Rendered completely incapable of thinking of anything not filthy, I decided to run off to the grocery and see if I could find something to break my train of thought. Everything I saw looked like a dirty joke, and I am not sure they will ever allow me back in that Food Lion store.

The first thing I saw, right there in the pharmacy aisle, was a tube of toothpaste labeled “Cinnsational!”, I realize this is an attempt to meld the word “cinnamon” and the word “sensational”, but I would not be marketing anything that is supposed to clean my mouth that also sounds like an amalgum of “sin” and “sensational”. I would certainly not market it to kids. As an adult, I can’t get the neuro-association of mouthy sin out of my mind. But my nephew would likely not get the reference and would probably love it. Would I buy it for him? Heck, no.

There are a lot of jokes I could make right now, but I won’t because I am afraid I will be expelled.

Now, there are two advertising slogans from Burger King that are rather telling; “You’re the boss!” and “Have it your way!”

Both of these slogans give a sense of power to the kind of person who would be likely to be dining at Burger King, no one’s first choice for breaking one’s fast. However, at Burger King, even if you’re a shlub who has to eat there, you’re the boss! You’re the king! You rule! You can even request no pickle if you want! Wow! You’re a man! You will order a big, manly, massive burger that will shore up your self esteem with big, manly advertising slogans of massive powerfulness! By the time you get out of Burger King, you will be as massive a world leader as Kim Jung Il!
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Allan Harvey found a very amusing little two-pager in an old DC Comic about the joys of visiting the DC Comics offices.

Six months back – after receiving an hysterically weird letter from someone who seems to think anyone who works at DC Comics is some kind of gender traitor because DC Comics is the place where blood drips from the walls and women are herded like cattle – I wrote this, but didn’t post it. (FYI, no I really don’t get a lot of disturbing mail, maybe a few times a year…so don’t cry for me, Argentina.)

I was accused of covering up for abuses at DC Comics because “…they sign your paychecks!” which is odd, because even though I do work for DC Comics occasionally, over the last 15 years DC Comics has neither been my primary client, nor the source of most of my funds, accounting for roughly 10% of my average annual income.

If they are paying me off, it’s the worst bribe ever.

I also don’t get up to the offices much, so I must assume that whatever tortures and terrors are going on on a daily basis are carefully hidden before I arrive, perhaps behind Scott Nybakken’s Simpson toy collection.

Regardless, here is “A Visit to DC Comics”. Hold on to your hats. The scandal will dazzle.

I stop by Godiva chocolates first and buy everyone little gift boxes before I drop by my publishers. Because that’s the kind of hairpin I am.

Then, I go to the office and get lost, because I always forget which side of the street the main entrance is on, since I only visit about once a year or so. In a really wild year, twice.

Then I stand in line at the security counter, while I wonder if my name is on the visitor’s list. If my name is on the visitor’s list, then I go to the elevator and realize I can’t remember which floor the main office is on. I may have to try three floors to get to main reception. I usually end up at the MAD offices.

Sometimes I try to pretend I am just visiting lots of people on different floors because people look at you funny when they see you going up and down the elevator without actually stopping anywhere, and I feel so uncool asking which floor I’m supposed to be on, because I am a Big Name Pro and am supposed to be so familiar with all of these things.

If my name is not on the visitor’s list, security has to call some editor to get me. If they show up, skip the next two paragraphs. If the editor doesn’t show up, security just keeps calling different editors until someone comes and gets me to let me in the office.

If I have spent too much time believing I am a Big Name Pro, the utter indifference of the receptionist cures that right quick.

If I have gotten through the scary elevator experience unscathed, I finally find the main office, and sit under the flying Superman statue which springs out of the wall. Then sometimes I have to wait for some editor to come and get me. If it’s Harvey Richards, so much the better because he’s kind of hot. If it’s Jonathan Vankin, way better because he’s hot and single.

Ha ha.

Anyway, I go up to the office with whatever editor came to get me. I sit in the office and trade jokes. Then I wander into the hall and trade jokes. Sometimes they are dirty jokes. Then Will Dennis comes out of his office to remind me about the DC Comics policy on dirty jokes.

Then I dole out chocolate.

Then I go from office to office doling out chocolate to editors I like, and pretending not to see editors I don’t like.

Now that I have made this public, more editors will expect chocolate.

All the editors promise me work, but they are lying. I pretend to believe them, and then we tell jokes and gossip. And since I have no idea who is being gossiped about half the time, whatever I am told goes down the rabbit hole. I don’t have a clue who half the people in the business are supposed to be.

Bob Shreck has been promising me a Batman gig for years. He never delivers, but I still like him. And now that he is gone from DC, I’ll never get that Batman job.

Curse Bob Shreck.

I go through all of this and hope someone buys me lunch. If not, I go to the Marvel office and repeat all of the above and hope someone there buys me lunch.

If I have an assignment to turn in, I do so. If I don’t, my editors and I lie some more about how much we are all dying to work together. They will either hire me or they won’t. I don’t get too upset about it either way. There are lots of people looking for work, and I don’t expect to get every job.

I do have to keep reminding people I actually like superhero comics. I have to do this a lot. Every time I talk to an editor, they are surprised to hear I want to draw The Legion of Superheroes. This gets tedious.

I just did an interview for one of my former DC Comics editors. One question started out, “You don’t care for superhero comics, preferring science fiction and fantasy…” and the other was “You’ve always avoided working for Marvel and DC Comics…” This was funny to hear from an editor I once worked for at DC Comics.

We have a failure to communicate.

I like superhero comics.

OK, here’s my big beef with the mainstream companies right now: I wish DC and Marvel would put me on their comps list. My editors have been promising to do so for years, but never have. I didn’t even get any freelancer presents this year. I suck.

I subscribed to Marvel’s online comics service. I did a bunch of Marvel trading cards over the last year and it was quite handy for reference. Worth the subscription price for that alone. It wasn’t terribly user friendly when I started using the service, but now I am getting some real enjoyment out of it. However, most of the comics they have up are over two years old, so I am not current.

I wish DC would put up online comics.

I would like very much to have drawn X-Men Fairy Tales. But I was working on The Book of Lost Souls at the time. Wouldn’t I have been awesome on X-Men Fairy Tales, too? Just lookie:

No, wait, I should be drawing Doctor Strange. Seriously.

Sorry, I wander.

About the halls of DC Comics, trying to figure out where the heck the out door is.

c

Breeding in Horse Country

It’s Horse Country, and the Old Money lives in mansions the size of hospitals. The one down the street is 23,000 square feet and sits on 4,000 acres. The money is old, and you can tell, because it is running out. The conservatory has been falling to pieces since the Depression and the family can’t raise the two million bucks for repairs.

No one’s going to cry for them, but it is a shame to see this grand dame of a house tattered at its edges. The people there are lovely, with gracious manners and a sense of responsibility. They have hunts and races to finance the estate, which takes an army to run and endless reserves of cash. It’s the ultimate, class conscious money pit.

Houses have names here: Keswick, Grand Oaks, Fox Run.

The New Money names their houses after things they saw in Gone With The Wind. The perfection of their landscaping – and the flawless exteriors of their homes – are flares that indicate the exact position of the New Money. The gruesomely named estates like Tally-Ho and Tara, are also dead giveaways that the money is new, because people with no class name their homes Tara and Tally-Ho.

People who name their homes Tally-Ho should not be allowed in the hunt club, but the money for the hunt club has to come from somewhere since a lot of the Old Money simply doesn’t have money anymore. Those who want to keep the hunt club up and running are forced to rub elbows with the Nouveau Riche Hunt Club set. The Old Money who must engage in the elbow rubbing are as regal as royalty, and look perpetually pained when that which passes for society passes by.

Most of these old estates pre-date Gone with the Wind (which is why none of them are ever named things like Tara) and those that don’t were built by whatever construction company best installs jacuzzis.

There are really only two kinds of people out here: rich and poor.

The Old Money is usually property-rich because Old Money is quiet money, and they don’t carry their wealth on their backs in front of people.

The New Money carries their conspicuous consumption and the ability to engage in it everywhere even to the Piggly Wiggly, because money isn’t nearly as much fun unless you can wave it in the face of someone who makes $12,000 a year and works behind a checkout counter.

OK, there is a middle class out here (like me), but even the middle class is rich compared to an average income base (for the people who don’t live in mansions) of $18,000 per annum. There are people here who live in tin shacks, and who grow their own food, and milk their own goats, and make their own cheese.

Those who live in homes that sit on concrete blocks often name their homes as well. Sometimes, the homes are guarded by stone lions or concrete gargoyles. The grander the name of the home, the more likely it is to be mobile.

We are several hours from Washington DC, so in addition to the horse country money, we encounter the Washington DC money, the source of much of the New Money.

New Money likes to have a place in the country. Why is anyone’s guess, because New Money clearly does not want to live in the country. New Money would very much like a mall within reasonable driving distance. Or, at least close enough to reach by private helicopter.

The migration of the DC elite to Horse Country is the source of much of the area revenue, and much of the area gossip. Washington DC is the power chakra point of the world. Power and money are always entertaining in a Dominick Dunne sort of way. People like to hear about rich people getting their comeuppance.

Rich people who get their comeuppance often come in the form of foolish men who marry trophy wives who are no trophy.

It is not enough for a trophy wife to look good, she must have other qualities to recommend her. It doesn’t hurt to speak a few languages as well as to know which fork to use. A true trophy wife is a torch at which the husband can light his wick while basking in the reflected glow of his gorgeous, sophisticated wife. A wife who doesn’t have to lift a finger to do dishes always has time for a bikini wax, tennis lessons, and studies in advanced Arabic, a handy skill in Washington DC social circles these days. The trophy wife is expected to be gracious and well educated, as well as beautiful.

One of our local New Money cattle barons has a wife who is something, but she’s no trophy. We’ll call her Lil.

Lil is a beautiful woman. She is 26 years old, and she doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her, except where a woman should be fat, and the jury is out on whether or not the padding is natural. Lil has a very rich husband who decorates her richly.

Lil is also the town pump. (more…)

If you’ve never been to this sit before, a quick introduction.

My name is Colleen Doran, and I am a cartoonist and illustrator. I’ve also worked as a creator rights advocate, and have written many articles about the publishing business, primarily focused on the comics industry. I’ve illustrated the work of Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, Warren Ellis, J Michael Straczynski, and Anne Rice, and am currently working on several original graphic novels for DC Comics’ Vertigo division and Houghton Mifflin.

This series of articles, written nearly ten years ago on my old message board, starts off a little slow. But stick with it for contract tips, insider info, and guest appearances from comics notables such as Frank Miller. And more than a few laughs, because at the end, it goes from supremely awful to sublimely ridiculous. The posts have been updated with more commentary about bad agents, bad book packagers, and, of course, other Very Bad Publishers.

The publisher I wrote about in the original series was the long defunct Starblaze. Initially, I avoided naming the company. However, some folks quickly recognized the culprit, and all is a matter of public record anyway, as you will see when you get to the legal papers, a suit which made state case law.

No matter how bad this series gets, keep in mind it’s the SECOND worst publisher I ever worked for. After these two disasters, every other publisher I have ever encountered seemed like a breeze, a fragrant lawn, and a tall glass of something cool.

I’ve also had no contact with either company since 1989, except for…well, keep reading.

Enjoy.

So, here’s one thing I learned from my unhappy experiences with a woman in publishing (no longer in publishing, as far as I know) who shall be known only as The Woman. An editor and a fledgling writer, she had approached me about not only publishing A Distant Soil, but illustrating her GN project as well:

Small presses are very, very concerned about size issues, in the same way that some guys can get insecure about size when they are exposed to the big guys in the bathroom.

They would rather not appear small and vulnerable, even though that is what they actually are. They sometimes try to exploit their little guy status by passing themselves off as friendly mom and pop companies who will embrace you with their warmth and serve you cookies besides. But in the end, most small presses have one very important thing in common with most big publishers:

They are out to make a buck.

If they can’t woo you with the big money that big companies can provide, then they will try to compensate by giving you a better contract than you might be able to wrangle at a major publishing house.

Of course, if you are a newbie or you don’t have a particularly good sales track record on previously published projects, you will still get a crappy contract.

When wooing you away from a project at another publisher, they will often try to inflate their sales records and ability to promote your project. If there is any chance that you have something that might make them really good money, the sales record and promises for promotion may stray into the realm of fiction.

When I was a tot working in the 1980’s, the great unknown realm of publishing for comics was in the bookstore market, also known as the retail trade. If you were not doing superhero comics, you were probably getting a lukewarm response to your work by retailers and fans in the direct market, which is where most comics and graphic novels were sold.

The retail trade allows for returns of unsold product. It is a risky thing to accept returns on unsold product, but it’s a venue everyone in comics wanted to crack because there were tens of thousands of potential outlets for graphic novels that the comic book industry could not reach. The growth potential was unlimited, but no one could really seem to break out of the direct market paradigm.

The direct market allowed for comics and graphic novels to be sold in comic and gaming specialty shops to a very limited market that was, at the time, about 3,000 outlets. Later, it inflated to 10,000 outlets, but is now back down to about 3,000 outlets.

If a direct market retailer does not sell a book, too bad. He cannot return it for credit. However, the discount at which he orders the book from the distributor would be significantly higher then the discount a retail trade bookstore might get to order the same product – to reflect the greater risk of carrying a book he could not return if it went unsold.

OK. So, back in the day, I was pretty certain that my audience for A Distant Soil was somewhere out there in the retail trade, and the comics shops would always find my work to have limited appeal. I was anxious to find an outlet that would get me into retail bookstores after I left my first publisher.

I had several publishers approach me about picking up A Distant Soil including Marvel’s Epic division, and the fledgling Dark Horse.

But there was one publisher willing to promise me what the others would not: retail trade sales.

In fact, they promoted their company as being the biggest seller of graphic novels in the world, and the first to do it besides.

This was a blatant falsehood.

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Hit the Very Bad Publishers Tab for previous installments.

This series of posts was written nearly ten years ago, and while it may sound as if I’ve spent my every waking moment in publishing running from Duddly Dastardly, I want to emphasize that out of a career that has lasted more than two decades, I have only worked for a small handful of bad publishers. Unfortunately, they were VERY bad publishers. And bad publishers seek out young creators, effectively killing the enthusiasm and drive of most of them.

The upside: none of my Very Bad Publishers is around in comics today to spread bad mojo. A couple of them are still in business, but not in the business of publishing comics as they once did, and it is unlikely you will ever work with them or anyone associated with them.

OK, on to the read. Here’s what I learned from some very bad publishers.

Sometimes you’re the pioneer and sometimes you’re the canary in the coal mine.

Being the first mover in a new market can be a real advantage. I’ve been on the first mover end of a lot of comics industry events: the black and white boom of the 1980’s, the self publishing boom, the independent press, yadda yadda.

While being a pioneer gives you the opportunity to scope out a new arena and experience explosive growth in a market without much competition, pioneering anything is high risk. You experience the explosive growth before you can build up a back end plan to minimize risk. And since you start off with little or no competition, you may not be prepared the day the competition shows up.

Being the first mover gets you the new territory, but there’s no guarantee you get to keep it.

For example, lots of early US manga pioneers are sitting around with their mouths hanging open because they helped open a whole new market they are no longer in a position to take advantage of (which is why second mover advantage may be even more important than first mover advantage: you get to learn from your predecessor’s mistakes.)

Almost everyone I knew (including me) who self published experienced a blissful period where we managed to move a kajillion copies of comics one day that we couldn’t give away the next year. When there were 7 self publishers, it was easy, but when there were 100 of them, we had a problem.

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