My mom called me right before Super-Con and told me she’d read my horoscope and it said that this year was going to be my best year ever. And for everything. Family. Business. Well-being and contentment. Everything.

I joked that when I heard the good news, I was so excited, I quit my day job, and climbed onto my couch and started watching TV. I’m all set, so I’ll just relax and wait for all that great stuff to come my way.

The truth is, I would love if it were true. I would love it, but I just don’t believe in that stuff anymore. I’ve gotten too many horoscopes and psychic readings and fortune cookies that didn’t come true. I’m a skeptic. I don’t really believe in horoscopes, and good fortune, and luck. I believe good or lucky things happen to some people, every now and then. I believe in happiness and success. But I believe, for the most part, the people who really achieve it either have simple expectations, or they work their asses off, and earn it.

It reminds me of an Oprah Winfrey show my wife told me about. Oprah is someone who I think really earned it, incidentally.

Oprah had a contest, where Joe and Jane Everybody could apply to become the next “guy-next-door-who-always-dreamed-but never-had-the-chance” American Singing Superstar. She was actually giving out a free recording deal.

So when I heard about this (and my wife thought it was such a great and fun opportunity for people), on the one hand, I thought, Wow, is there a way I could apply to this, and isn’t it great that she’s giving people a chance to fulfill their dreams.

But on the other hand, I thought…In life, if you want to succeed at something, of course it’s nice if you have some talent and support, and a fair amount of luck. And maybe some connections. But the most important thing you need is to work your ass off, and give and give and give, and practice, and work, and study and be critical and learn and improve and find ways to become what you want to be.

So in my usual negativity, I envision old, washed-up nobodies, whose lives went down some dreary path they never wanted or expected to find themselves in. Maybe they had a great singing voice in high school, or friends thought they sang well along with the stereo in the car or at their sister’s wedding, or at the karaoke bar. Or maybe they tried to put a band together in middle school, but nothing ever came of it. But then they accidentally got knocked up, or wound up in some drudgery-filled, exhausting job, and then their husband left them, and they couldn’t pay the mortgage any more, and the harder and longer they worked, the more they realized they had no other skills and could never get out into some other decent job, without years of schooling and training, and what’s the use now, so late in the game. So now their lives are just a routine of making it through the day, and in their fantasies they imagine it was all because they never followed their dreams. And if only they had followed their dreams, their lives would have been different! They would have been superstars! They would have been millionaires! They wouldn’t have had any of these daily toils and boredoms and problems. They would have had fame and respect! They would have married the most gorgeous models in the nation!

Of course, Oprah didn’t bill the contest exactly this way. She had a more positive slant on it, believe it or not.

Now for myself, I don’t have time to watch tv or go the movies, or socialize with my friends or family, because I’m trying so hard, for the last eight years or whatever, to be the best comics artist I can be. I’m upsetting my wife that what little spare time I have, all I do is draw, and she would like to have a social life.

And every few months I look back at my work and realize how much better I’m getting, with control of the brush, with making better compositions and choices, with being able to draw and express what I’m trying to express. And that took a lot of time and practice and dedication. I work at it. I really work hard at it.

So this contest kind of says, Oh silly, none of that is important. You don’t need to work hard and try to earn your profession. You just have to have a little talent, and feel like it’s something you’d like to do. You just have to dream it. You’re a divorced dad trying to raise three kids, and you got a high-paying tech job, but your dream is to rock out, so let’s just give you a recording contract.

That’s nice for the guy who never could have done it otherwise, but really… What about all the people who left their friends and family to move to L.A., who are trying to be musicians, and they spend hours a day just trying to get gigs for themselves, and three or four nights a week performing in bars, writing a few songs mornings, and getting together with their band five days a week, and only have time to squeeze in a day job maybe bussing tables, just to eat, so that they can try and achieve their dreams?

And maybe what makes me the most sarcastic of all about this is the fact that Oprah’s contest really is just how life is. It’s just random, lucky, unjustified, and completely unfair. Because people work their asses off and are never discovered, and other people just had their horoscope stars in line, and it all just fell into place. And try so hard. Why haven’t the stars lined up for me with my comics career yet?

Until now! Thanks, horoscope! Well, great! Now I don’t have to worry about all this struggling and working to accomplish my goals. The horoscope says I’m home free, so I’ll just sit back with my mouth opened to the sky, and wait for my meal ticket to drop down my gullet.

Actually, the horoscope did get me amped, but it got me amped to be active and get working, and try to make things happen. I’ve decided I want to try to pump out three comics before the end of the year.

After the first day, many artists who we spent a little time with said they weren’t planning on showing up Sunday. Ryan Sook had driven home, Arthur Adams’ table was empty. Of course, this made the guest list smaller and smaller. One artist who did come out told me he had a lot of work to get done at home, and was also tempted to duck out.

On Saturday, Travis Charest’s booth said he’d be there Sunday, but by Sunday, the sign was long gone, and of course Travis was never anywhere to be seen.

The con opened, and it was desolate. About an hour in, we joked that hopefully the con would be opening soon. I snapped a photo of Mick Gray for laughs, because there wasn’t a person in sight anywhere near him, in the aisles OR behind the tables.  We found out that there was a parade and a ball game, or something like that.  This attracted a lot of people, but also made getting out difficult.

Someone came by my table and told me she’d picked up the first couple issues of Tabloia at her local comics shop, and she wound up getting the rest, as well as Doris Danger. That’s a nice feeling, knowing the book was read by someone, and they enjoyed it enough to pick up some more.

I took some time to go over and see if Sergio had had time to think about doing a pin-up. We ended up talking about his career. He’s contributed to every issue of Mad magazine for I don’t know how many years, and on top of that, he did maybe a dozen of those silent pocket-books. For a huge stretch of that period (ten years?) he did a monthly Groo comic as well. He’s been doing car commercials, and every week he does a comic page for a European magazine, where each one has a theme, and you have to find ten objects within the picture. His amounts of detail remind me of Where’s Waldo, where you can just stare at them and catch all these little funny nuances. But he did it first.

I told him as a kid, I’d loved those between-the-margins strips, and then when Groo came out, my limited eye still realized he was the same artist. And then I started seeing his little cartoons for Funniest Home Videos. That was all real special to me, growing up. He was a crucial stage in my developing eye.

He started opening up some of his books and showing me pages he’d drawn. He showed me big page spreads he did of the Simpsons, or of comics conventions. The comics convention pages were fun, because he’d draw all the different comics creators, or else comics characters wandering around the aisles.

It was a real nice visit, and by the end, he’s agreed to do a monster pin-up for me. He said maybe he’d have it done by San Diego, which is when we’ll see him next. I felt so warm toward him.

Popping over to Adam Hughes’ table, I heard Allison telling some fans that Adam has such a good relationship with his editor, he’s not really interested in switching out of DC at this time. He did some work for another company, where he was paid better, but even so, the editors were so fussy about what they wanted, he had to work harder and longer to make all the corrections they demanded, so his “per hour” pay probably wasn’t actually much better in the long run. Especially once you added the time in for all the re-working and the stress of dealing with these editors who wanted changes, it just isn’t worth it to him. Where he’s at, with DC, his editors are happy with his work, and happy to let him do whatever he wants, and that’s such a good working environment for him, he’s glad to stay with them for the foreseeable future.

Back at my table, with the “this-place-is-empty-and-what-the-hell” negative vibe, I noticed, more than other cons for some reason, how many of the indie artists around me had been doing this for ten years or so, and it seemed like they were still in the same place as me. Still not making much money at cons, still struggling to find work and often not finding any, still basically unknown names in the industry, still working day jobs. It was quite discouraging. They’ve just continued to put out books out of love, just like me, but I think some of them made less than I did over the weekend. How long does an artist go at this before he decides, it just isn’t going anywhere? How long do we keep paying to get our stuff self-published, pounding out all this money, and not ever making any of it back, and not getting any recognition, or readership? How long do we wait for a readership to grow, when it just isn’t growing? Shouldn’t ten years be long enough to say, Yeah, I guess I’m just not going to make it in this goddamn industry. Sobering. I guess you wait and see, and if it hasn’t happened in ten years, you think, well, I’ve still got a couple stories I want to tell. No harm if I’m enjoying myself. What’s another thousand bucks to print them up.

Overall, we did fine. We made our table cost back (it was a cheap table) and had enough left over for dinner. Like I say, that was better than a lot of the others. I’m hoping my own table figures continue to keep going up like this, because a year ago, I never even made the table costs back. If we can continue this trend of paying our table off each convention, then I’m heading upward that little amount at least. Gotta just keep plugging away I guess. Maybe for ten years.

Toward the end of the day, we asked Ryan Sook if he had any dinner plans, and he invited us to join him and a couple of his self-publishing friends, Alex Sheikman and Norm Felchle. As the con was wrapping up for the day, and I was over visiting with him and Ryan, Mick Gray asked what we were up to for dinner, and Ryan invited him along as well.

Elizabeth and I talked with Ryan about coming down to his home in Cambria and spending some time with him. His wife had offered when we saw them at Wondercon, and it sounded like fun. We didn’t realize he had a four hour drive to get home, and told him we’d reciprocate, and let him stay with us for the next Wonder- or Super-Con. He said he may just take us up on it. That would be a fun slumber party.

We just walked across the street for dinner, because we thought that would be quick and convenient. The restaurant said to seat ourselves, so we picked out a table in back and waited. No one came to bring us menus or water or see how we were doing. It didn’t bother us too much, because we were enjoying ourselves visiting. But then a couple other tables filled, and the waitress went to each of them and gave them menus, but was still ignoring us.

Finally we caught her attention when she was taking the other tables’ orders, so she brought enough menus for half of us, and took our drink orders. I ordered water.

A little later, she brought our drinks, but didn’t bring water for anyone, including me, who’d ordered it. To her credit, she realized it, and said in front of everyone that she’d bring my water. She was gone for awhile, again, and when we finally saw her, she returned to take our order, but forgot my water again. Again she said she’d bring it, and again she disappeared. Finally she brought my water, and that was the last we saw of her for awhile, except when she was checking on the other tables, but she never made eye contact with us, and probably would have pretended she didn’t see or hear us if we stood on the table shouting and kicking our drinks at her.

So we continued to visit, and enough time has passed that we’re watching the other tables getting their food. She doesn’t even check on us. We just don’t see her again.

We had probably gotten there sometime before 6:30 (the con had ended at 6:00, so that’s a conservative estimate). Finally eight o’clock rolls around, we’ve finished our drinks an hour ago, and still no word. She was still helping the other tables, and Elizabeth overheard our waitress tell them that the kitchen was now closed for the night.

Finally, she came around to us, and informed us there had been a situation in the kitchen, and she was terribly sorry, but it would be a bit before we got our food. How long? She didn’t want to specify, but we wouldn’t let her go until we pinned her down, at least to an hourly estimate. Finally she guessed, fifteen minutes? She asks if she could bring us more drinks, or maybe some bread. And we’re thinking, is there some reason you didn’t do either of those things an hour and a half ago?

Meanwhile, Ryan Sook needs to make a four hour drive home, so he gets up and says his goodbyes with an empty stomach. On his way out, he tells the waitress to please cancel his order.

A round of drinks and bread comes, and eventually our food too. Of course they bring Ryan’s meal, but to her credit, the waitress realizes this, and she tells us they won’t charge us. We finish and wait awhile longer for our bill. We don’t see the waitress again. When we finally got a random employee’s attention sweeping, we are told that the cook cut himself, but was too afraid to let anyone know. He tried to hide it from everyone, but finally he lost enough blood, he decided he had to go the hospital. For some reason he decided to do this by leaving and not telling anyone. When the kitchen staff realized what happened (who knows how much later), they had to close the kitchen down to get it cleaned and sanitary again. It’s a hell of a story, anyways.

We asked three people for the bill, and each one said they would make sure we got it, and then disappear. When the bill finally came, it of course still had Ryan’s meal on it, but we decided it’s worth our time to just pay for it, if it will only save us from having to wait for who-the-fuck-knows how much longer for a new bill. We walked out of the restaurant at 9pm, ready to set the goddamn place and all its staff on fire.

Getting to visit with the guys a little

Because we were there so long waiting to eat, we got some good visits in. I asked Ryan if he was still choosing not to go exclusive with any one company, and he told me he felt it was just smarter, not to get locked down. He said he’s been feeling like he’s just doing the same thing over and over, with superhero comics, and he’s losing interest in it. He said he wants to write his own stories, but he he’s having difficulty convincing editors to give him a chance. He mentioned a few of his story ideas, and I think they sound like fun. Of course, I have a bias for noir-type elements, and his stories would fall into those worlds. That was what caught my eye about his work when I first became aware of him. How his worlds were so shadow-filled, and dark.

Ryan and Mick were saying that at every convention, they only make one request, and that is that they don’t be placed near the porn stars. And they are still put over by the porn stars together, most every convention. (So if you can’t ever find them, now you know where to look.) This weekend, they said they were right by this woman who would offer willing men to use what she called her “hot seat.” I believe they would pay her, and then she would invite them to come back behind her table, and she and her john would both kind of squat down, so we couldn’t see exactly what was going on, and they’d be down there for a little while, and then when they finished whatever secret things they were doing, the guy would come back out again. “The hot seat.” I’m beginning to think I need to come up with a gimmick like that…

We discussed our personal “arch-nemeses” in the convention circuit. What’s hardest for a lot of us is the sketchers. The guys who make money drawing sketches of Wolverine or the Hulk or Spawn. What’s frustrating is that they’re so successful at it. It riles me to think how much more money they’re making than I could ever hope to make at a convention. I’ve got books! I published them! I’ve gotten paid to do professional work! My self-published work is a professional product! Why, o why?! It’s clearly just jealosy.

We were sitting across from a sketcher this week, who was always strutting around and talking really loud, so that we could hear any interesting thing he had to say. And he looked pretty busy the whole convention. And he had usually three or more people swarming around him non-stop, often a whole gaggle of them at his table.

He strutted over once to introduce himself, and looked over my books and accidentally dropped one. He picked it up and apologized, then strutted back to his booth.

Mick said, once he came to a convention at this very convention center, and as he pulled his car into the parking garage, his engine caught fire. He leapt out in stark fear and confusion, and one of his personal “arch-nemeses” happened to be right there. This “arch-nemesis” acted cool and fast. He took action into his own hands, disregarding his own safety, grabbed Mick’s fire extinguisher from Mick’s inexperienced, panicked hands, and put the fire out like a pro, saving Mick’s car, which seriously could have exploded or been totaled by the fire damage. Mick laughed, and said he had to admit that his antagonism stemmed from him saving Mick and making him not feel like a man.

Lots of good laughs.