This weekend I attended the Long Beach Comic Con. It wasn't super exciting, but I bought a few pieces of artwork from Olga Ulanova, as well as a few 1970's Sgt. Rock comics. I also happened to be there as a professional or an "exhibitor" or whatever the hell the terminology was. I was selling a book (with 23 other people) and I had a badge and a chair and that felt good and while it didn't pay, at my real work I don't get a chair.
I did so along with the rest of my friends and co-comickers at Old College Comics and as weird and as Brechtian as the whole situation was, I feel like I could kind of walk away from the whole thing feeling a bit more inspired and a bit more proud. This, whatever it is, is real.
While it wasn't San Diego (which, I have a higher chance of appearing at as an actor than I as a comic person), it was at my college town and I did have a fairly nice conversation with Howard Chaykin, even if he kind of was a dick to my artist friend Andrew Wilson.
And that sucked.
If there was a highlight it was when a Simpsons illustrator complimented me on writing a scene where a guy kills another guy with the broken handle of a spear. Now that I think about it, that is basically the high that I've been chasing since I started writing.
And that was pretty swell.
(Andrew Wilson also drew said scene with said spear.)
I'll be making a post about what I learned as a "professional" at my first con here, so stay tuned for that, as well.
Oh and I also did a minor commission for what was either an autistic or a pervert or maybe an autistic pervert. It was pretty dope.