More bio stuff: An early lesson: Editors will lie to you about the deadline. Comic book editors, mostly old-school will make you feel bad, at every turn, even if you are on deadline. It’s stuff like this which kept me out of Comics for the better part of my life. When I finally gained entrance into the kingdoms of Marvel and DC, I finally got to see how the business worked from week to week, from the inside. It was a transition period for Comics, with the old-timers out the door and the new-timers trying to stay afloat without instruction. A strict system, invaded by mammals ready to eat the reptile eggs. Simply a matter of evolution where the non-thinking was about to be replaced by the hardly-thinking. And, at twenty years of age, it pretty much crushed my dreams of being a Comic book artist. “I have to work with THESE people?” Huge dicks identified early. The domains of the paperback publishers were far kinder, and true. When the A.D. at some other publishing company offered you a job, it was a done deal. The backing-out thing rarely seen. They said ‘Yes,’ I did the job, they cut me a check. Not a whiff of politics involved at my level. People whom I felt confident working with. Unlike the down and dirty world of Comics. None of my illustration clients ever tried to make me feel bad. And so, I drew a line in the sand, and didn’t make many friends in doing so. Carl and I would arrive at some party, and some catty, snot-nosed Comics artist would say “Who invited THEM?” Not really part of the Comics community, but not far from it. And I simply couldn’t wrap my mind around it at the time. “We love Art, we love Comics, what’s the problem?” I think, in part, it had to do with the big fishes from America’s small Comic Art ponds disapproving of the idea that two guys who hadn’t had to deal with snotty-nosed Comics editors got entrance to a Comic creators party. Jeff Jones understood the prejudice, and always made us feel welcome at his invitation. And I even recall calling-out the guy who said with a very-pointed-call-out finger. “Who invited THEM here?” I repeated to Jeff, in retribution. In his very kind, and gentle way, Jeff whispered, “They just don’t understand.” And, Carl and I finally felt invited to the party.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Jul 2013 18:04:38 +0000
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