Trying to get everything done so I can get out of her for the Thanksgiving break, but I was hoping to get at least one more blog entry up before I went. So begins the quest for the easy win-something that I've got stashed away in my files that I can simply reproduce here and entertain you with, but that won't take me long to do.
And so, here's an e-mail that I wrote to a well-established creator concerning a project that wound up not quite happening. I've taken out the one or two telltale signs that might indicate who it was, since there's no reason to air that sort of dirty laundry publicly. But hopefully, this will give you some idea as to how we might communicate with a creator when there's a difference of opinion on any number of story matters:
CREATOR'S NAME,
It seems as though you took offense to my comments on your outline, but really, no offense was meant. I've got great respect for your many accomplishments in the field. I certainly realize that you're not an amateur, and had no intention of treating you as one--if my comments came off that way, I apologize. But you know as well as anyone that it's the job of the editor to scrutinize the work, to examine it and see if there are any areas that could be made stronger, any options that may not have been considered. I certainly don't have all the answers--heck, I may not have _any_ of the answers--but it's a part of my job to ask these kinds of questions, and to offer up options and another perspective.
You're a professional. I'm a professional. I have confidence in your ability to tell a coherent story, and I'm aware that this is just an outline, with many details and specifics left open until the actual execution of the project. From my experience, however, it's always a mistake to hold off on voicing a concern or offering up an opinion until later in the process. If there's something I see, I'd rather put my cards on the table and discuss the issue up front, rather than have us take two steps forward and then have to take two steps back. If I don't state even what seems obvious up front, then if it doesn't end up in the final work, the fault is squarely on my shoulders.
I don't expect you to simply do what I say, but I think it's reasonable that if I have a question about why you're approaching a certain character/scene/idea/whatever a certain way that you articulate your point of view, and convince me of its correctness. If the logic is impeccable, then it's impeccable. But you and I could both point to plenty of mediocre comics that have been done by talented, seasoned professionals. I don't want to risk contributing to that pile through inaction, and I'd rather look like a moron and state the obvious than run the risk of having something get lost in the process. A good final product benefits all of us, and bringing up seemingly basic issues diminished neither of us. My focus is on the work, not on the individual behind the work. None of what I wrote was intended to be taken personally (bearing in mind that any act of creation is a personal affair), and I certainly didn't mean to insult or belittle you in any way.
So let me throw the ball back in your court. I'd still like to move ahead with the project. I hold to some of my reservations about the specific points raised in my first response, but we can work those out through discussion. But if you think this is just an unworkable situation, let's shake hands and walk away now. And if you'd like to speak about any of these issues directly, you can always reach me at PHONE NUMBER.
Had an interesting conversation with somebody the other day about the evolution of our collecting habits, and he said something that set my mind racing down particular corridors. In talking about how what he was purchasing had changed, he remarked , "I can't justify paying that kind of money for a comic book I might read only one or twice before I die."
Now, focus on impending mortality aside, I've started to feel the same way a little bit in some respects. I don't have quite the same hang-up about the money-it's the time I don't seem to have. My 12-year-old self would be horrified by the three long-boxes of comics that I have sitting around unread, all stuff I've gotten in the regular weekly freebie bundles that I haven't had a chance to dive into just yet.
And that stuff has already made it past the first hurtle, in which I immediately discard anything that I know I'm never going to get around to reading. More recently, though, I've been cherry-picking this stack a little bit, because I've fallen so far behind-and now I can't even seem to keep up with the cherry-pickin' pile on a week-to-week basis.
I'm about as fast a comic book reader as there is. The typical issue of any title will take me under five minutes to polish off, less if I'm not engaged by the material and am just skimming through it. But there's so much good material out there, and so many different options, that I find I'm having to limit my choices and decisions simply in order to be able to get through it all. I find the same is true with other media as well-I watch far fewer movies than I used to, and there's almost always a stack of shows waiting for me on my Tivo at any given point.
What this all means is that the bar is being set higher and higher. I simply don't have enough time to stick with mediocre comics over the long haul. And I suspect, whether it's a financial imperative, or a time one, or an aesthetic one, there are a lot of readers who are feeling the same way. It's no longer good enough to just be good enough.
It's been a while since I last did one of these, but I didn't want to let this occasion pass without acknowledging November 1999. Because that was the month where my office set a personal record for the most books edited and released in a given month. Now, since then, I've topped this amount handily a number of times-and once you factor in the titles I currently oversee as well as those I directly edit, I demolish it at this point. Still, fifteen releases in a single month is still a pretty strong showing-especially during a period when the average editorial office was producing in the neighborhood of six.
So let's see what was going on back then, and if any of it was any good.
AVENGERS #24 marked the two-year point in the Kurt Busiek/George Perez award-winning run (as was commemorated on the cover here.) This was the follow-up to the "Eighth Day" storyline that played out through a number of books the preceding month or two, and which introduced a family of characters centered around the Juggernaut, the Exemplars. Unfortunately, while there were some cool designs generated by Jose Ladronn for those characters, they never quite caught on. I think the idea was too cerebral-it's easy to understand that the Juggernaut is a guy who can't be stopped, but the other Exemplars all had attributes that weren't as straightforward. And they couldn't help but come across as merely just another super-team.
THOR #19 continued the Dan Jurgens/John Romita Jr/Klaus Janson era on the series. I don't remember all that much about this particular issue-other than that I think it was around this time that my assistant, Gregg Schigiel, wrapped up his running "Saga of Thor's Lost Helmet", which ran through the letters page for around six months.
THUNDERBOLTS #34 was the first issue of the series written by Fabian Nicieza-which means that a decade has now gone by since originator Kurt Busiek was regularly on the title. I can't remember offhand if the first hints were dropped here, but Fabian brought some fresh attention to the series by introducing a new incarnation of the mysterious Scourge. Strangely enough, the current version of Scourge is leading the T-Bolts today.
AVENGERS: DOMINATION FACTOR and FANTASTIC FOUR: DOMINATION FACTOR went through a strange birthing process. At the time, AVENGERS FOREVER was just wrapping up, and had been received well. Speaking with then-EIC Bob Harras, Dan Jurgens mentioned how he'd love to do a sort of "Fantastic Four Forever" in the same vein-and Bob, not realizing that Dan and I had never spoken about this, immediately approved the project. After some tossing around of ideas and concepts, we wrangled in Jerry Ordway, who had been helping out on the main AVENGERS series, and made this a larger tale that bounced back and forth between the two limited series. But I was too smart by half when I proposed the odd numbering system, in which the first digit denoted the issue of the particular limited series, and the second the chapter of the overall story. All this did was confuse almost everybody.
The real reason that this month was so heavy with books from my office is that I released a "fifth week event" this month-a series of seven connected specials revisiting some of the leftover concepts and characters from the successful-yet-critically-panned Heroes Reborn era.
HEROES REBORN: DOOMSDAY kicked off the event, with a time-displaced Doom (who hadn't returned to the main marvel Universe along with the rest of the displaced heroes) crashing back down onto the now-decimated heroes Reborn Earth and deciding to claim it for his own. Writer Chris Claremont was on staff at this point, and was writing FANTASTIC FOUR, so it made sense to me to have him develop the spine of this story, around which the other one-shots would revolve. Mike McKone turned in some excellent artwork.
The following week saw the release of five one-shots, some of which were troubled in their birthing, many of which changed from their initial conception.
HEROES REBORN: YOUNG ALLIES was originally conceived as a buddy book starring the HR-Earth Bucky and Falcon, along the lines of the Star-Spangled Kid and Stripesy where the teenager was the lead character. But this all had to be reworked when I discovered that the HR Falcon was the actual Falcon, and had returned to the MU along with everybody else. Instead, Fabian Nicieza pitched the idea of a new Young Allies team, with a cool new Toro, and interesting approach to a character called Kid Colt, and a few other new characters. These guys were among the very few of these concepts to be used later, as the team showed up again in THUNDERBOLTS a few years later.
HEROES REBORN: ASHEMA continued the spine story, written by Chris Claremont and illustrated by Michael Ryan. The title character was a Celestial who'd fallen from grace, and who was attempting to save the HR Earth that the others of her kind intended to destroy, most notably the Dreaming Celestial. Not much to say here, the least interesting entry in teh lot, despite nice Michael Ryan artwork.
HEROES REBORN: REBEL went through changes similar to those of YOUNG ALLIES. Initially, it was to star the guy who wore the prototype of Tony Stark's HR armor, his best friend. But when we realized that the character had been killed during the HEROES REBORN IRON MAN run, we switched gears. Joe Kelly did an excellent job conceptualizing this as a post-apocalyptic western in a Midwest irradiated by gamma fallout. And the artwork by Matt Haley was lovely-what there was of it. When I was forced to call in Mark Bagley to complete the job over a weekend in order to meet our strict street date, in a fit of pique I credited him as "Matt Haley Bail-Out Brigade." Matt eventually forgave me for this, I think.
HEROES REBORN: MASTERS OF EVIL by Joe Casey and Charlie Adlard was similar in spirit to Joe's recent DARK REIGN: ZODIAC limited series, though unable to push boundaries quite so far in a Comics Code world.
HEROES REBORN: REMNANTS gathered together all sorts of bits and pieces that were left over in the HR Universe in one wacky title (the HR Ant-Man design, for example, was adopted by the Avengers' accountant, who became Mant) and all built around one central joke: we revealed that the Swordsman of the HR universe, whose true name and history was hinted at but never revealed in the course of the run, was actually that world's Deadpool. Writer Joe Kelly was in fine, wacky form, but he really drew the short end of the straw on this assignment in terms of his artists, as again with REBEL, I was forced to bring in other hands to finish up this job from Ethan Van Sciver at the last minute, which gave the final product a very choppy feel.
Finally, a week later, HEROES REBORN: DOOM wrapped the whole thing up, with Doom transporting the entirety of the planet into the regular Marvel U and situating it on the far side of the sun in opposition to the Earth. As is typical of Chris, he'd had so many ideas and set up so many threads that the conclusion here feels rushed and he never quite gets back around to everything. Years later, Jeph Loeb and Rob Liefeld would revisit the HR universe in ONSLAUGHT REBORN, not realizing that this series of books had been done. Even more strangely to me, this whole event was recently collected in a Trade paperback along with the HEROES REBORN: THE RETURN limited series-proving that you can never be quite sure just what you do will eventually be reprinted
Until I looked at this cover, I'd completely forgotten that HULK #10 was a fill-in art job by Ron Frenz. HULK wasn't in a great place at this particular second, as it was transitioning from one creative team to the next. Jerry Ordway had stepped in to provide me with a three months bridging arc after the situation hadn't worked out with the previous writer. But two months later, Paul Jenkins came on board, and together with regular artist Ron Garney did some very nice work.
We also launched CAPTAIN MARVEL #1 this month, by Peter David and Chriscross, spinning out of the events of AVENGERS FOREVER to some extent. I really liked Carlos Pacheco's redesign of the classic Mar-Vell outfit, and I thought the character could probably sustain a series, at least for awhile (it wound up running for 60 issues in two iterations.) But the big news here was me convincing Peter David to come back on board a regular Marvel title-he was still smarting from being let go from HULK not that long ago, but he agreed to take Genis' series on when I told him that Rick Jones was one of the leads, and that he could bring in Rick's wife Marlo from his HULK run.
Finally, the third issue of AVENGERS: UNITED THEY STAND came out, based on the short-lived Avengers cartoon. There's probably an entire blog post to be written about my experiences working on that cartoon, which I'll have to get to at some point. A:UTS was written by Ty Templeton, who'd come to prominence on DC's adaptations of their animated shows, and who devoted an incredible amount of attention and dedication to this series-he honestly treated it as though it were the one-and-only Avengers title, and was great at being able to interface with the cartoon's writing staff and getting them to agree with whatever crazy thing he wanted to do that month. The artwork was provided by Derec Aucoin. While this series got some good critical notices, the fact that it was an adaptation of a cartoon that quickly vanished doomed it to a similar fate all too soon.
And that was everything! Looking back on it, while there was plenty of quantity, the quality was in flux, even on those long runs that are generally well-regarded today. None of these fifteen titles really stands out as something truly special-there were better issues and worse issues, but nothing that was so overwhelmingly memorable that it's stood the test of ten years of time. Some months are like that, I suppose.
One of the aspects of the comic book business that I don't think gets talked about enough is the sense of community that exists among everybody who's involved within it. Most often, you hear about the in-fighting, the back-biting, and the rumor-mongering, because that's a sexier story. But while there's the typical amount of all those things, and while not every single person gets along with everyone else, there's nevertheless a surprising unity that exists throughout the business. Comic book people are, for the most part, very willing to help one another out in a myriad of ways.
You can see it in the support people give to organizations like the Hero Initiative, or the CBLDF. Or the charitable auctions that are organized when a beloved writer has maxed out their health insurance coverage. But even more so, it exists in a million tiny ways that are never really spoken about aloud, when one person extends a helping hand to another within the industry, not because there's any particular relationship that exists between them, and not because there's anything to gain, but simply because people feel like part of the larger family.
I think that's a pretty special thing. This past week or two, I had a number of people step up to help me out with a situation that, while in no way life-threatening, was significant. And guys with whom I've had very little contact, people for whom I've done nothing in particular other than sit here and be part of the world-space, came through in a meaningful way. It's very much appreciated, and while I don't want to embarrass anybody by naming them and putting that kind of spotlight upon them, I do want to note their efforts --especially including those folks who made efforts to help out, but weren't able to come through in the way I needed. Their efforts are no less genuine and worthy of regard than those who got the job done.
Seems like it gets harder and harder to find the time to write up new entries for this old blog. In fact, coupled with the switchover to more immediate social media such as Twitter, I'm not even 100% convinced that this blog serves a real concrete purpose anymore, as opposed to time spent on other endeavors. Still, that's a question for another time.
For now, since it's been a while since I did something like this, here's some more preview artwork to get you through the weekend.
Before I start in on today's topic, let the record show that it was Jim McCann who at the Reading Circle a week or so ago made the point about the question of the believability of magic being largely a matter of semantics, as outlined in my last blog post.
All right, so here's another larger issue conundrum to grapple with: why is it that when something hits a certain threshold of popularity, if becomes fashionable to bash it?
Certainly, there are those series or programs or entertainers or what-have-you that lose their edge once they hit the big time, where there's an obvious qualitative difference between what they did on the way up and what they're doing now that they're on top. But I don't think the situation is as simple as that-and I think it has a lot to say about our own sense of self.
Everybody loves finding that strange niche thing that really speaks to them in some personal way. This is especially true among comic book readers, contingents among which preach the gospel of Quasar, or Spider-Girl, or Black Panther, or whatever. We love to find that cool flavor that's a bit off to the side that gives us a very specific kind of a hit. This is particularly true at the point where we're becoming a little bit bored or jaded with the mainstream.
Now, typically, one of two things happens when this occurs. Most often, the title in question has a small but very devoted following, but not enough to keep the series viable over the long haul, and it goes away. And then, for years afterwards, its hardcore devotees ask for more of it, and hang on every scrap of an appearance by its leading characters. But the opposite happens as well-the series develops a broader, larger following-and then, seemingly suddenly, it isn't any good any more. It's lost that special quality that defined it for us in some almost-intangible way. And, in fact, the more popular it gets, the more embarrassed you get about admitting that you like it, or liked it, or ever liked it.
Is this all just a function of each of us wanting to feel special, like an insider that's smarter or more in-the-know than the average person? Or is there more to it than this? And why is it that the most popular things in pop culture are almost always the ones that are ridiculed and torn down by the most hardcore devotees (including those that once loved it, in many cases)? Beyond that, why does it become fashionable? Is this simply a way for those people who are more cynical and worldly and faux-sophisticated to maintain their interest and connection to a particular thing while seemingly standing in opposition to it? I don't know the answers, but it's a fascinating question.
I think there may actually be two issues here that I'm dancing back and forth around, so depending on what shape my thinking takes over the next day or two, there may be more on this matter in the days ahead.
One day every week I head up a regular Reading Circle for the members of editorial, during which we select a current issue of a given title (from either Marvel or a competitor) to read and dissect, in the hopes of figuring out how to be better at what we do. It's always an interesting discussion to be at the center of, in that, like you guys, there's nothing a group of comic book editors likes to do more than talk about comics. We're both excited by a book that's working, and hyper-critical of an issue that falls down in some way or other.
This week, though, we hit on an interesting point about the perception of the audience that I thought was worth sharing with a wider audience. To set the stage, this week's book was the first issue of DOCTOR VOODOO, AVENGER OF THE SUPERNATURAL, edited by my office's own Lauren Sankovitch (and on sale now at finer comic book emporiums everywhere.) The debut issue went over pretty well among the group, but then at one point somebody brought up the fact that they felt disoriented whenever some element of the sorcerous milieu came up-the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, and so forth. They found these elements alienating, and felt disconnected from the story whenever they came up.
As the discussion continued, somebody (and I forget exactly who, but it wasn't me) made the point that, were this a science fiction series, and the references were to holograms rather than astral forms, or equations rather than spells, the reaction would be completely different. In each case, the underlying concept is about the same, but the instinctive response was to accept the science-based incarnation more readily, and to question or wonder about how it worked less.
Isn't that odd, the way we think? It's mostly just a matter of semantics, but it completely changed the reading experience for at least one person. And it does underline a larger essential truth about the baggage people bring with them when they crack open a comic, turn on a television or go to a movie.
There's something pretty magical about watching somebody who's about the best there is in their chosen field of endeavor do their thing. Whether we're talking about athletics, performance, magic, painting, dance or comic book artwork, the elegance of a person working with that degree of aptitude is something extraordinary to behold. In any creative medium, there are (and I don't mean to make them sound trivial with this next bit; I well realize how much talent and dedication it takes to operate on a professional level in any of these fields) dozens of run-of-the-mill talents; guys that are extremely good, but don't reset the bar. And then, there are those rare people who take things to the next level, whose command of what they do opens up whole new avenues of possibility. People who reset the game.
For all that I like such concepts in my fiction, I'm not one to believe in predetermination, or destiny. And yet, there is that feeling that there are people who are simply supposed to be doing a specific thing, because they're so natural at it, because they excel at it. I feel like I've made the most of my meager talents, and I'm pretty good at what I do-but I don't operate at a fraction of the level that these sorts of prodigies do. It at once makes them astonishing and frustrating, since it always feels like I should be capable of better, and it should be easier. That these skills are only developed after years of dedicated practice and study doesn't change the feeling that it all looks so effortless.
And it remains a joy to see pages come in from one of those rare talents, especially in their formative stages. With the easy access of the internet and the fact that almost every book is previewed in one unfinished form or another, it's a pleasure that even folks outside the business can experience to a limited degree. And it's even more incredible to be able to stand there and watch one of these virtuoso artists draw in front of you.
No real point to this outside of these observations-just thought it was worth reiterating, because it's very easy after so many years to take these situations for granted.
Is there anything better than finding some new, special something, and then sharing it with other people who also like it?
I live for those moments, those times where I've fallen in love with some new book, or film, or comic, or television series, or whatever, and then somebody says something that makes me think they might be a receptive to that selfsame thing. I'm a pimp, really, when it comes to the stuff I like. As are we all.
Especially the sort of person who, for whatever reason, is drawn to our medium, we love to find like-minded individuals, and to share those things we love. It's why so many fans go to conventions, or spend so much time online, posting or writing blogs or review columns or digital fanzines. Sure, we like having our tastes validated, and everybody's got a certain Johnson for the spotlight to some degree. But more fundamentally than that, we like sharing the stuff we love-spreading the gospel, as it were. And we love it when we "turn" another convert.
That's where all of those urgings to "tell your friends" come from, people understanding that this very basic viral style marketing really works, especially since, when it succeeds, you almost inevitably end up with people who are more dyed-in-the-wool fanatics than they might otherwise be. There are weeks when I live and breathe a new thing, so enraptured am I by whatever goodness it's about. You need to be careful, of course-you don't want to turn into that guy who's always pushing his crap on anybody who'll listen. You need to be selective. And it's always a bit of a letdown when you pass something to what seems to be a receptive audience, and then they either don't see the appeal, or worse, don't ever quite get around to looking at it. Still, the goodness of the wins outweigh the disappointments of those connections that don't quite work out.
So be my preachers, blogees. Tell me what you love.
For whatever reason, my mind seems to be turning towards big, broad subjects when it comes time to pound out some prose for this blog of late. I'm not sure if any of these observations are useful to anyone, but hopefully they're at least universal enough to be worth talking about.
So, switching from Ego to Fear for a moment. In theory, Fear serves a useful purpose. It's your early-warning system, preventing you from doing or saying things that are likely to get you hurt or killed. At least, that's what it's supposed to be there for.
But too often, fear goes beyond its survival parameters, and expands into more mundane situations. Fear keeps people from trying things, from attempting to grow, from stretching and taking that leap into the unknown that might end badly, but through which all good things are possible.
I'm sure almost everybody has experienced that moment of self-consciousness, that worry that we're going to be mocked for our opinions, or likes, our tastes. This has always been especially potent among comic book readers in years gone by, at a less-enlightened time when reading comics was socially considered a pastime only for little children and emotional retards. And so you hide your true feelings away, for fear of being mocked or ostracized. Fear of being cut down, emotionally.
This can be paralyzing within an organization as well. A climate can be created where liking anything is seen as a sign of weakness. It takes a decent amount of personal courage to champion a story or an idea or a creator that you believe in. And even when you do, you then have to be proven right, to the degree that it's acknowledged, or the whole exercise is self-defeating. Once you've built up a certain track record, it gets easier to get people to trust you and your judgment-but getting there can be extremely difficult, and fraught with peril. It's way too easy to be pigeon-holed as the "Indy" guy, or the "Noir" guy, or the "Teen Angst" guy, both as a creator and an editor, to the point where that's looked upon as a shorthand for the only game you know how to play.
We talk a lot about Fearlessness at our Retreats, whenever creators are in town, because what's gotten Marvel to this point over the last decade or so, a willingness to experiment and shake things up, and not be ruled by old demons (nor, for that matter, simply shaking things up to see them shake-there's often a reason a particular demon is standing there.) If you want to do this job, in almost any capacity, you're going to need to put your self-esteem on the line along the way, and that requires Fearlessness.
Speaking of which, I've got an AVENGERS retreat going on during the back half of this week, so I'm not sure how consistent blogging will be for the next few days. I guess we'll all find out together.
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