Thursday, January 12, 2012

It's tough being a fanboy...

Popular culture can be an interesting place to spend your time, whether it is movies, collectibles, comic books (my particular favorite), and even obscure plushy toy knickknacks. The time spent engaged in enjoying these particular activities for some is time well spent. We find a certain amount of enjoyment through the possession of these items, the amassing of these items, and even the imagining of the process it took to invent these items. It is a way for adults to return to that pleasant childhood environment where imagination was the only entertainment that we needed, to up lift our spirits or transport us to a place that we didn't have to be bothered with the world at large.

I think that's why, in particular, being a comic book fanboy is something I'm both proud to pronounce, and excited to be a part of. But it ain't easy being a fanboy.

Fanboys are a rare breed of pop-culture enthusiasts. Our fetish of choice (and I call it a fetish not in any sexual way, but in of the traditional sense collecting an item that matters greatly to us), is an ever evolving form of storytelling. For most that don't know and I will not hold myself up as an expert in popular culture, but I do know a great deal about comic books, comic books are the beautiful alchemy of the written word coupled with glorious illustration.

And when it is done right, the confluence of colors shapes, and form, along with how even the words/symbols being what they are, turn what most consider an ordinary book into an interactive piece of art. And it is when comic books, at their best become transcendent. If you can get a brilliant writer, and a brilliant artist, with a brilliant idea orchestrated in such a way as to create a true emotional response from its reader, you have a thing that is quite possibly beyond the description of words.

And it is our love of this medium, these and those who create treasures for us, that we can sometimes lose our perspective, and our ability to see boundaries. In short, we lose our freaking minds.

At an annual gathering, throughout the country, at various times throughout the year there are comic book conventions galore. And the frenzied fanatical fans that attend these conventions, bursting with the overflowing congress of love that we all have, we can sometimes lose sight of the fact that the people who write and draw these things we love, are actually very much like us. However we've lofted them to a status where they are now rock stars, and or pop-culture icons, and justly so. These men and women create dreams for us on paper and they work very hard to do that. They spend countless hours formulating ideas, battling deadlines, feeding their families, spending time with their families, in order to meet weekly, or monthly deadlines to get us our visual crack on a regular basis.

This is their job, and is a job that they have taken willingly, but they still have lives, and they have to live them. And they have to live them free of the sometimes overbearing love that we give them. No, I'm not saying that they should not be loved, for what they do. I'm not saying that they are not deserving of our adoration and admiration. In point of fact, I'm saying they should be truly admired and, we should be grateful for what they do for us.

What I am saying is, that that love should not come in the form of a large slobbering dog that pounces upon their chest looks than from head and neck, and then have us sit on their lap and ask them to tell us a story written especially for us and only us.

I know it's hard to contain oneself when you're excited, you find yourself overwhelmed with the flow of adrenaline, and maybe even a little bit of dopamine, when you see your favorite comic book writer, or artist at a convention, and all reason and rationality evaporate as quickly as free snacks in the food court. Like most of us who attended, the convention, we've gone to panels we've seen artists and writers talk about their upcoming books or their past books, and we ask them questions of a dizzying variety about obscure points in their career.

We bring our favorite issues, hoping that they will be signed, and that we will be able to share a significant and intimate moment with someone who wrote a story that touches or made us think further than we thought we were able. Or share a laugh, become friends, trade recipes, and maybe even if were lucky hold hands walking down the concourse.

And of that scenario we really should only hope for a polite discourse, a handshake and a smile. And of course a signature.

t happened to me, I had a particular moment, where I walked up to Robert Kirkman, Rob Liefeld, and Shawn Martinbrough, and had them sign a baseball. That baseball is now one of my prized possessions. I was nervous, and sweaty, and a loss for words in front of these men who have written stories I have deeply enjoyed. And was dumbstruck.

All 3 graciously signed the ball, all 3 were kind and generous men, and I was delighted to find out that they're basically comic book fanboys just like me. The only difference between them and I, as they did the hard work wrote the stories put in the years and got the job they wanted. I'll be there soon I still have dues to pay.

The reason why I thought I needed to write this particular blog about fandom, is that I see a great many fans personalize their love of both the book, and those who create the book and become personally vicious towards those who created it. A level which I find disturbing. Disturbing in the sense that if you truly love the medium that you have immersed yourself in, you must take time to remember the humanity behind the creation. The level of practice, and sacrifice, and diligence that these individuals have placed in their work is and should be a matter of high esteem. And any level of personal criticism leveled at their personalities, or how they feel, and what they say about a particular non-comic book topic, is a bit like sniping.

Taking long-distance potshots at an attractive target, only to soothe your own particular pique over the story arc of a particular character, or your opinion about the implausible and inaccurate environment that the story was set in. These are aesthetics that only the writer and the artist should be privy to. We're not supposed to be a part of the process as fans. We can voice our opinions intelligently, passionately, and with as much enthusiasm as necessary. But to have a disagreement escalate to the level of throwing hot syringes filled with personal bile, is a lot like buying any product, not liking it, and sitting outside the door of the inventor of that product, waiting for him to come outside so you can stick a sticky dorito cheesy finger in his face. Telling him you didn't like what he did, you want him to change it, and that's that. And walk away, ass clenching tightly behind you.

I have to say my position is a bit biased. My writing career is just starting I have aspirations just like any brand-new comic book writer, but I am a fan. I have read comics all of my life. And will continue to, until I am a wizened, toothless old Crone, pinching the bottoms of my plump yet appealing younger nurse. Comic books saved my life, and it is my hope to return the favor to anyone else who reads anything I write or draw. I don't believe that I can do it any better than anyone currently working, and I have no plans to change the industry and turn it on its ear. I just want to write good work, that people truly enjoy, and feel as though the money that they sacrificed in order to eat in another bowl of Ramen noodles, and instead bought my comic book.

That's it. I love the industry, and I want to be a part of it, a contributing part that just wants to do good work for good people.

That's why it pains me to see fans lambaste, or the artists that they admire. Or the writers that they admire and find meaning in their words. It pains me to see writers and artists have to defend their aesthetic choices to fans who, however deeply they feel is justified, to not only attacked the work but attack the integrity of the artisan who created that work. Although a comic book is a collaborative effort, it is not a community effort. And nor should it be. If the storyline it is not to your liking, or the interplay between one character and another character, isn't something that's flipping your switches, you vote by not buying that book.

Or if you're a devoted fan you write the letters column, letting them know that what they're doing isn't working for you, and… well, you know how this works.

The creative team will come together to make assessments, the marketing team will check the profit of the book, and then they'll make a decision. But you vote whether you're going to buy the book, or whether the book does well, based on how much money you put down. If you put nothing down, that book will show in its sales, and you won't have to worry about it anymore. But don't attack the people who write it, don't attack the people who draw it. Yes there are terrible artists, yes there are terrible writers, and the best way to let those people know how terrible they are is by not buying the book. Eventually the publisher will get the hint and they will find someone hopefully better to punch you in the face with a hot new idea, that makes all of the hairs on the backs of your neck, and even your ballsack stand on end until you read the next issue.

And it is tough being a fanboy, were pitched between adulation, and the desolation of waiting for our next issue. Left were own devices like a virgin on prom night hoping to get laid by the hottest chick in school. Having her touch us all over getting us excited to the point where our eyeballs literally would will burst out of our heads. Only to be met with her telling us not right now in a month I'll give you a little bit more. To which we reluctantly, yet happily say yes I will wait and hopefully in a month's time you will give me something that will make me want to smack my relatives, and forsake my house, because it is just that damn good.

I truly believe this is the life of the family. And it's not a life that week had forced on us it's one we chose willingly. No one showed the comic book of our hands and told us to love it, we picked it up on our own chose to love it, and at the time we chose to love it without reservation, or even the hope of reward for loving it. We love it without measure, without restriction, and with endless hope.

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