Posted on by michaelwconrad

Bad Advice.

I have posts coming about Wonder Woman and Midnighter and all the excitement I have about those projects, but I figured it might be a good time to talk about something that has bothered me for years. I’m not going to include names because the players involved are insignificant. I am only able to see this now, because of the confidence afforded through the forward momentum of my writing. There were long stretches of time where stuff like what I’m about to share really bothered me. If anything I’d like to think that the pain that comes from striving has made me only less likely to push that pain along to others.

It was maybe 8 years ago, I was very early in my efforts to self publish comics and had formed a collective called Mystery School Comics Group. The purpose of the group was to create the illusion of legitimacy, to give myself and the others involved a sigil under which to build our resumes, and mostly because it pleased me to do so. Early on it was myself, my brother Winston (who designed much of the imagery still in use), along with our friends Justin McElroy and Jef Overn. We had others jump in and out, but really that was the roster. We all tried our hands at writing and drawing with varied results, but it was our enthusiasm that fueled the whole thing. While sales were never great we weren’t in the practice of keeping count, we were there for the passion of doing it.

Part of the fun, but also part of the struggle was getting accepted into conventions. Most of these charged a lot, but they were also very choosy about who they would allow to table. I remember sending countless applications and only hearing back from a select few. When we would do shows it was always a party. We would get a hotel room and make a whole thing out of it. Nothing nefarious, just a couple dudes trying to sell comics and zines, drinking too much at the hotel bar, and retiring to the hotel room to shared beds and bad reality tv. None of us had interest in much beyond sharing our work, checking out the work of others like us, and spending time doing something that was ultimately quite costly but fun. Between the tables, the room, the tab, and all the comics we would buy we would VERY rarely even break even, most often taking a loss. No one cared. We were happy.

Around this time there was this influential comics creator who was well known for hopping on a soapbox and telling everyone the RIGHT way to do things. He was in our orbit as he had expressed some interest in Justin’s work, and rightfully so, Justin is a beast. This creator in question once again undertook to deliver unsolicited advice on a thread that several of us were participating in on an indie creators group on social media. Someone outside of our group had lamented the high cost of tables at shows and was asking for advice as to how to deal with this. Several from my group chimed in about the value of collective investment in projects, understanding that loss is almost guaranteed, and how we go about feeling ok about what others might see as a something less than successful.

So this established creator pops onto the thread and basically is like “If you can’t make money at a con you shouldn’t do them.” This might seem like sane advice, but we took it a bit like “If you fall off of a skateboard while attempting a new trick, stop skateboarding.” We said as much, without any disrespect, and were met with a really aggressive response from the dude in question.

“Comics aren’t for everyone, if you can’t make money that’s saying something, it’s saying they aren’t any good. Good comics sell, bad ones don’t… this is tough for some people to understand. If you do a convention and can’t make money you might wanna look at doing something else with your time.” I’m not exaggerating, this is almost word for word what he wrote. I remember my brother being like “Yo, fuck that guy.” But we all made excuses for him, and defended his stance by reworking the message to feel less gross. It turns out my brother was just the only one among us who wasn’t starstruck by some passing interest from someone in the industry.

This guy turned out to be a real shit. A couple years later it became public knowledge that he was a fucking creep. While we were losing money at conventions, he was using some of those same places to harass women. While we were drinking budget beers in the budget inn, he was using the perception of authority he carried to manipulate and deceive. This information wouldn’t come out until years later, I wish we had known it at the time, it would have been easier to shrug off his dumb comments.

Anyway, we kept it up, but the damage had been done. We couldn’t shake the nagging self doubt he had inflicted on the group. We didn’t slow down because of what he said, but we weren’t exactly empowered by it either. When you’re striving toward a goal the LAST THING someone should do is suggest that you aren’t growing, and that the struggle isn’t worth it.

This kind of gatekeeping bullshit has been the bane of my creative life. It was like this in music, and to see it in comics as well is incredibly disappointing. Art and storytelling serve a lot of purposes for folks, for me at the time it was giving me a reason to dream. I was working in a very taxing field, I had stopped playing music (unable to find time with the kind of work I was doing) and comics were my escape. I found myself dreaming of some of the things I get to do now, and really that memory is so strong, and so close, I don’t see how anyone can get anywhere in comics and manage to forget the fight. Maybe it’s easier for folks who have an art style that immediately grabs the attention of publishers? Maybe this creator never had the kind of struggle we had? Or maybe he had supportive voices in his life rather than the flat disinterest or discouragement most of us face?

With my achievements sometimes I fantasize about telling off doubters from those times. I daydream of my work being celebrated in the faces of those who didn’t believe in me. I want them to know that I kick ass, and I want them to feel ashamed for missing that. Of course this is the wrong way to engage with growth as an artist, but I’d be lying if I claimed to never have thought such things. 

I temper this egotistical thinking by reminding myself that I’m extremely lucky. I have been granted access that few manage, I have been encouraged by more folks over the past few years than I have deserved, and maybe most of all I’m thankful that I am the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. I’ve had more dark nights of the soul than I care to admit, and it has really added gas to the tank. In many ways I feel like these are the last days I will be able to work with the vigor required to get where I wanna go and I don’t want to miss my chance. The hardship reminds me that the stuff I get sore about is much closer to my dream than the previous concerns.

This all comes to mind when I see how folks engage online today. Things have become even more aggressive, dismissive, and rude by orders of magnitude. I see people take shots at peers for sport, and grind their heels into those “beneath” them. I see putting on airs of superiority that’s almost laughable, but not entirely, because I know for those on the receiving end it can be a real wound. I’ve been wounded before, and will be wounded again, seeing it happen to others sucks.

So I try to be kind and to share the very little I know. In truth there isn’t a huge gap between the most established folks in the comic industry and those losing money at shows. We’re all just making things and hoping they make others happy. 

Not long ago I offered advice to folks looking to self publish. I had 2 individuals take me up on it. One was not motivated, the other dismissed my advice by saying he “wanted to do it for real.” Two polar opposite ends of the equation, both completely understandable, both as right as they are wrong. The lesson was mine, I can’t show others the path, that’s for them to discover. Their path will be invisible to me, occulted by my own experience. I’ve found all I can do is not stand in anyone’s way, to welcome them to this world with stories of my own, and to hear theirs with unbiased ears.

We need each other, we always have. Maybe when we realize this people will be less concerned about status and more concerned about the responsibilities we often neglect in pursuit of feeling important.

Posted on by michaelwconrad

What do I know about immortality?

So here we are, a handful of days following the announcement that I will be part of the creative teams for DC Future State “Immortal Wonder Woman” as well as “Midnighter” and I wanted to share the story about how these things came to be and some reflections regarding them.

At the beginning of 2020, I, like many creators, felt like the future was mine to take. I was to attend several conventions, notably one of my favorites, ECCC in Seattle where I was to meet with a number of upstart publishers that are currently the source of many of your favorite books. I had my foot in the door to work on an IP that is super near and dear to my heart, and I was beginning to think I could wave my hand and make things happen. “Doom Patrol” and our “Tomb of Dracula” story in Marvel’s “Bizarre Adventures” seemed to have captured the imaginations of readers and “Tremor Dose” my OGN at ComiXology Originals was getting more than its share of attention. 2020 was mine to shape and define.

Covid fucked up those plans, as well as the plans of everyone I know. Everything shut down, doors swung closed, and the thing I had spent years of my life striving toward fell into a deep set relief on the wall I had battered myself against. I wasn’t back to square one, but this was a major wound that would take the better part of the year to heal from.

So, I tried to do the thing we all promised ourselves we would do. I made stuff. In the first two months of Covid I made two comics while working on a video game. I was really proud to have done those books but they made it very clear to me that while I had an audience, it wasn’t growing much at all. I spent too much time wondering how one develops and expands an audience. It remains a mystery to me, but I do know that it took a bit of a toll on me creatively. You see, I’m used to this kind of shit. I played music for many years and most of the bands I played with made it RIGHT THERE to the cusp of being something people were aware of. We worked with small labels, toured extensively, recorded out of our pocket, played with bands that would shape the face of music to come and yet… we were always too early or too late, or fate would pull our card and remove us from the equation.

Becky will tell you, I didn’t believe “Doom Patrol” was gonna happen, even after being paid. I’ve been so programmed for disappointment that I figured that surely something would kill the project before it ever made it to the stands. I feared Gerard would decide it didn’t work, or that the editors didn’t want to risk their name on someone like me. When word came that Young Animal and the rest of the imprints over at DC were gonna fold I was gutted. Months had passed and I was sure nothing would come of the work we had done. Thankfully it did happen and I was able to put one up in the win category. That issue of “Doom Patrol” will forever be something that I’m grateful for, it’s quite possibly the moment when I rediscovered my capacity to hope for the best.

I can’t say that hope is always a good thing. Conceptually it works, certainly for folks in dire situations hope is often a critical component to making it through. But sometimes hope will lead to expectation, and expectation is the keystone to entitlement. While I pride myself on being humble (like the most humble, wayyyyy more humble than you could even dream of… so humble it likely deserves an award or a yearly parade), like everyone else I feel like the work I do is often overlooked and marginalized. This leads to bitter feelings and an endless quest to feel seen. I had crossed over to a foul place of feeling like I was due greater attention and more opportunities. I say this in effort to be honest, knowing full well that this is a sickening way to be, but our secret truths are often repugnant and can only be discussed openly when we see how wrong we were.

Hope isn’t the bad guy, but it’s likely to bring along his good homie Ego to the party without asking if it’s cool. Ego will always bring his cousin Disappointment, who in turn will invite his brothers Bitterness and Grief. Before you know it they start bringing in more of their people and what was intended to be a small gathering of good folks turns into the kind of rager that requires the host to secretly call in the cops to break up. We never wanna see the cops, but we don’t want the responsibility of tempering our own feelings and expectations so we put it in the hands of someone else. Editors, publishers, people who should know who I am because I wrote a hell of an issue!

I felt like I was disappearing. I’ve repeated that a lot over the past few months, a kind of fucked up way of displacing the blame. I had gotten wrapped up in my own expectant glory and was gulping down my own cyanide laced Kool-Aid. I was dumb to do so, I had ignored finding balance and feeling gratitude and had lept into feeling due more.

I share this shame as if I was stomping about with big demands, which isn’t the case. These feelings were internalized and I conducted myself in a more idealized manner. I would share the truth about how blessed I felt, and withhold the parts about wanting more. Facing myself now I understand that this kind of thing is very human and very normal. We are all seekers, even with plenty we want more, an overabundance, and even then we will seek. This is a critical element of abuse and if you don’t have moments of reflection such as this you will never be charitable, understanding, and compassionate. You will become a hoarder of emotions and commodities. You will become a dragon nested on a mountain of ill gained wealth and feelings that have been so tamped down they have become crystalline vestiges of the qualities that you have sacrificed in pursuit of the unattainable.

Do I still strive toward something greater? Of course! It’s fun to chase this vaporous idea of success, even as it changes form and deceives you at every turn. My father is an avid fisherman and he would be the first to tell you that a bass on the line is only a small part of the allure of it. It’s the ritual, the escape, the mystery of what waits in the darkened waters. The good stuff swims deep as David Lynch says, and the good stuff is only good when it’s rare and elusive. This is true in love and life and most certainly with regard to big creative goals.

Months into the Quarantine I was no longer feeling like I could keep it up. I wanted to keep making things but it felt unimportant. In addition to the disease we were seeing all kinds of dramatic and painful things happening day after day. My little dreams didn’t matter. Comics didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. In many ways this still rings true, but I worked to redevelop my relationship with the process and that continues to this very moment.

Out of the blue an email came through from the most unlikely editor. This editor is someone who I thought hated me, or at least saw me as some kind of abscess. The email specifically asked about me and my interest in writing a Midnighter book with Becky.

This was a no brainer of course, YES I am interested in writing Midnighter! I’m no fool, I recognize that Becky is the target here, but goddammit my name was there too… I was asked for! I felt like a polaroid slowly revealing its subject. I had been seen, however vaguely, and I was again visited by Hope. This time I was prepared and demanded that we meet in a public space and I let my loved ones know where I’d be and if I didn’t return to send help.

Immediately I knew what I wanted to do with Midnighter and I think my enthusiasm was appreciated. After a video conference with some of the other Future State teams I felt validated knowing that these ideas had inspired them to connect with us further to tie the pieces together. Not long after this the Goddess herself presented.

When we got asked to do the “Immortal Wonder Woman” book I was more prepared for the good feelings. I was riding high on Midnighter, and I was ready to simply smile and nod and commit to telling the best damn Wonder Woman story I could. It all came together quickly and since completing it I feel confident in saying it is going to shake people to their core. Between the recent work on Midnighter and Wonder Woman I feel like I have made the most of this opportunity and I have been a valuable asset to the team. I cannot wait for y’all to see what we’ve done on both of those books.

After these things come out I don’t expect anything. I hope that people like it. I hope I have done my editors proud, and that we’ve given the readers something worthy of attention. I hope that I find other opportunities as a result, but these are the limits of Hope this time. I have a healthier relationship with it and I feel proud to have killed that greedy nag that it can become. 

I’m one of several newer voices in Future State and I’ve seen some strange things as a result that I would like to comment on in closing. Something that has kind of bothered me is the way people have responded to some of my peers on social media as if they stumbled onto a loose bit of cash tossed down the street by some zephyr beyond their control. This is strange because getting a job is never like winning the lottery, especially in cases such as this. The folks who have contributed to the strange tapestry of Future State have busted their asses off in ways that some cannot imagine. Indeed, maybe some can, because it is this kind of heartache and soul crushing rejection and radio silence and perseverance required that keeps some from pursuing this kind of work. Even in my case as a co-writer, if what I contributed wasn’t up to snuff I would be cut. Plain and simple, this isn’t luck, it’s the product of a lot of sleepless nights, self doubt, and a willingness to walk through fire; and that’s just to get to the dance. We will only know if the pain was worth it when we are done and our self assessment is balanced against the response of the readership and critics. In the meantime we wait and develop stomach issues. We question our own value, right to the core, bypassing the work entirely. If you don’t like what we’ve done it hurts, I don’t care what anyone else says.

That aside, it’s been really neat seeing people get excited for this event. There is so much good stuff going on and it’ll be really thrilling when January and February roll around and the most important ingredient of the creative process is added. You.