in 2011, I went to San Diego Comic-Con to have my first ever signing.
I was so excited, not only to finally see Ichabod Jones in print, but also because signing at SDCC meant I was a professional. The publisher gave me a few copies of the book to hand out to people, and I was so excited to give them to other professionals.
I eagerly took the books around the show floor and, with shaking hands, approached some professionals who I admired. One of them was Richard Starkings, creator of Elephantmen and legendary letterer.
I walked up to him and said: “Excuse me, Mr Starkings, but I would like to give you something I made.”
I handed him the book and looked at this. “You drew this?”
Back then I wasn’t aware that EVERY HUMAN I would meet for the rest of my life would ask if I drew every comic I made. It never gets less deflating when people immediately think the artist is the one that makes the book, but I held my head high. After all, I was just a dumb kid, and didn’t know how much hearing those words sucked.
“No, sir.” I replied. “I wrote and created it.”
He handed the book back to me. “You should give up now. You’ll never make it as just the writer.”
What? But I had made it just as much as the artist. I was signing on the same floor as him. I was a professional and he just insulted me. I was soooo pissed. I thought about that interaction for YEARS. Every time I saw Richard at a show, I would seeth in anger.
I was going to show him. Every time things got hard, I would think about that interaction. I couldn’t quit. I was going to make it, just to spite him. Well, years later, I’m a semi-successful comics human. I had made Ichabod Jones, Katrina Hates the Dead, Gherkin Boy, Pixie Dust, and Monsters and Other Scary Shit.
I had a stack of books on my table, is what I was saying, and I was FINALLY ready to tell Richard to piss off. It was the end of a show, and I grabbed all my books and brought them over to his table.
He was busy packing up, but I didn’t care. I was going to have my moment.
“I met you a long time ago, and when I did you told me to give up because I couldn’t make it as a writer. Well…” This was it. I had dreamed of this moment for so long. I took the books and slammed them down on the table. “I just wanted you to know, that I made all these, and built a successful company, so you were wrong.”
He looked down at the stack of book, a rather impressive stack of books might I add, and then up to me. He smiled a devious smile. “Well, of course I did. If you were going to get stopped by listening to me, you deserved to give up.”
I was floored. All my anger fell away. How to do you respond to that? Well, I blathered on about something or other, and basically ran away. I was ready to tear him a new one, but instead, I learned a lesson.
Sometimes, people give you a harsh truth you take as an insult, but more often than not they are trying to help you.
Now, I am the one giving the harsh truths, and I’m never trying to be mean, but what I say often comes across as mean, because it is a harsh truth somebody isn’t willing to accept.
And all I can do is sit back and say that if they could give up because of something I said, well then maybe they didn’t have the grit to survive this harsh business. I fully expect somebody to come up to me with a stack of books in a decade and tell me how wrong I was about them.
I look forward to smiling at them, and telling them exactly what Richard told me.
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