Montreal Comic Con: part 1

Here we are, finally.

When I decided back in early Spring to focus energy on a self-publishing venture, I set the Montreal Comic Con as a deadline of sorts. I figured 4 solid months was plenty of time to create an ashcan, which would showcase 4 of my concepts, as well as a couple ad pages. The deadline forced me to accomplish a set goal of work, which wasn't too hard.

Mission accomplished.

Despite a few hiccups (mainly involving printing of the booklet itself), I now have a small box of the things, to be sold to the masses this weekend. I booked a half table awhile ago (although too late to take advantage of early bird prices), and will be seated there tomorrow, ready to face the public, Sharpie in hand.

As this is my first con, I'm curious how it'll go. I'll be certain to provide a detailed report next week.

Deciding to do it was definitely stepping out of my comfort zone (for which I have to acknowledge the amazing support of my wife Isabelle). The weekend will be long, but potentially enlightening; I hope to meet Gail Simone and Dale Eaglesham if time permits. I'm proud of how the ashcan turned out, and seeing a physical version of my concepts only inspires me to take the next step (which I'm still mulling over).

I have a pdf of the ashcan available; for a Paypal donation of 1.00, I'll email you one asap.

I'm sure you'll like it!

Next week: con report

A new focus

Continuing to mull over the future of my publishing endeavor, I had (as always) a thoughtful chat with my wife. She'd been glancing thru a marketing book recently purchased, and noted that small businesses can succeed if they focus on a niche market.

I'd had a similar revelation a couple days before.

While watching my 6 year old leaf thru a graphic novel, it struck me: although the tween, young adult, and early reader markets are flooded with material, there aren't alot of comic books directly squarely at young kids. I was inspired by her eagerness to look thru a book (albeit she was interested only in the pictures) and decided that I could tailor one of my concepts to the pre-reader crowd.

One of the interesting qualities of comic books is the use of still images to tell a story. The word balloons, thought balloons, and caption boxes are all tools to reveal essential information, but a comic reader should be able to get the gist of what's happening via the drawn panels. Comic books have mutated over the years into static panels with page after page of talking heads. Critics argue that these works are mature and dramatic, and showcase the brilliance of a given writer.

I disagree.

Comic books have become a series of storyboards for talky scripts. It's obvious how the lure of Hollywood success has transformed the medium, and not for the better.

Sore Thumb Press is aptly named; my goal is to bring back fun comics that feel as timeless as those I remember fondly from my youth and can be appreciated by anyone, which isn't an approach that's very popular by today's publishers. I think I can produce a comic without dialogue that pre-readers can enjoy, and adapt my other concepts to other age groups, equally neglected.

Hopefully, focusing on the readers, rather than releasing a 'product' that fits a certain demographic, will result in books I'm proud to publish.

Which hat to choose?

My decision several years ago to take the plunge into developing my concepts didn't seem overly complicated. I'd filled sketchbooks and sheets of paper with ideas and plot notes, and all it took was a leap of faith to decide to spend time on these concepts (considering how thrilled I constantly feel to see them 'come to life' tells me I made the right decision).

Thanks to the artistic help of Ash and Grant, I have a solid inventory of material to ink and format for four of my concepts. Having an inked backlog of pages in preparation for my September ashcan, I'm experiencing a dilemna: do I devote my energies to producing completed issues with my concepts, or do I pitch them to prospective publishers?

The latter is certainly tempting; having someone else take over the hat of publishing and promotion is extremely appealling. At the same time, signing my creations over to a publisher that may not feel as passionately about them as I do gives me pause.

The former involves a tremendous amount of work and familiarity with both the artistic and business sides of the coin. I'm really not certain if I have the knowledge, drive, and energy to do it all. On the other hand, having complete control over my concepts warms my heart.

That's where I'm at: I'm mulling over pitching certain concepts to publishers, yet half-heartedly. I guess I should find out more about what being published entails, as well as what I really need to know to do it all myself.

My wife feels (and I do agree) that my focus should be on producing completed stories. For the time being, that remains my focus, although I have fresh ideas that I wish I had time to work on as well.

Oh well, whatever happens with the future of Sore Thumb Press will be revealled here every Friday!

Twilight of the super-heroes?

Since the mid 1980s, comic books have become more sophisticated (although it can be argued that many have become sophmoric and pretentious), reflecting the influx of creators who were weaned on them, as well as the maturing audience. While publishers like Archie and Harvey kept their characters more or less timeless, Marvel and DC took the approach of having their heroes grow and change with the times.

While this certainly lead to exciting, thought-provoking work, it ended up alienating the core audience that super-hero comic books should have been directed at: kids. Instead of continuing to appeal to successive generations of young readers, the suits at Marvel and DC focused on appeasing the fans that started reading decades before.

As a result, super-hero comic books have dwindled to a tiny niche market, with repetitive gimmicks and decompressed storylines milking the wallets of the few readers (and occassional speculator) who manage to find a given issue at some specialty store.

I recently stumbled across colorful drawings I did as a teen; I created a bunch of generic super-heroes and villains, all quite lame (but cool to my adolescent eyes, of course). As I got older, my ideas began to evolve outside of the super-hero genre, or trying to find a new spin on the conventions of traditional super-heroes. Instinctively, I geared my concepts toward younger readers, not because it was a hot demographic, but because comic books and kids are a natural fit.

I admire folk who produce 'graphic novels', with avant-garde artwork and intense, adult themes; that being said, they're not really my cup of tea, and I'd rather produce work that will appeal to my own kids.

Super-hero comic books have mutated very far from the innocence of the first issue of Action Comics in 1938. I figure that if you read a comic book and are hung up on why the hero doesn't trip on his cape, then perhaps you've outgrown the genre. I still find charm in super-heroes, specifically the notion that folk choose to do good simply because it's the right thing to do, not on account of some deep and 'realistic' motivation.

Hopefully my love of the medium in general, and super-heroes in particular, will shine through in the concepts I try to get published. Although I've become pessimistic about the survival of the medium, I hope people will flock to comics born from a distinct admiration and respect for the magic possible from the genre.

A problem with 'spandex'?

When I discovered comic books as a young teen, I became instantly and irrevocably hooked on super-heroes. I'd previously been exposed to them in blurry Saturday morning cartoons (our rabbit ears had a hard time picking up the Saturday morning NBC Fun Machine) or French translations of the campy Batman live action series. I disregarded other genres like horror, mystery, or funny animals, focusing on the four-color heroes.

I remember clearly that I never questioned why they were wearing costumes; I took it for granted that being a super-hero involved a specific attire, often including domino masks to obscure secret identities (although when I discovered the Fantastic Four, I realized that was a non-issue for them). I wasn't distracted by the number of radioactive accidents causing super powers, I wasn't worried how capes might hinder crime-fighting, nor did I find it weird that Batman, Flash, and Aquaman were flanked by teenage side-kicks who kicked ass.

The thing is, I was subconciously made aware of the 'rules' of super-hero comic books, and went along (happily) for the ride. Creators were carrying on the tradition of Golden Age super-hero stories, filtered through a 'modern' lens.

A new breed of creators gradually replaced the old guard: Frank Miller turned Daredevil into a ninja-fighting thug at the mercy of a city run by gangsters; Jim Starlin dealt with theology and the meaning of power in Captain Marvel; Chris Claremont and John Byrne turned a cancelled series featuring mutants into a soap opera of epic proportions. Super-hero comic books were growing up, and the old rules were slowly being ignored.

It all came to a head in 1986: Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons released Watchmen, a maxi-series that helped spiral super-heroes into a grim and gritty period that lasted years. Watchmen was a highly realistic portrayal of super-heroes; not only were the logistics of certain conventions dissected, but character instabilites (to explain the need to dress up in a costume and fight crime) were dredged up.

Critics hailed it as a masterpiece, but unfortunately, it was, in retrospect, a big nail in the coffin of modern super-heores.

Next week: to be continued (what else would you expect?)

Concept 5: The Temp

One of my concepts is pretty well developed, but ironically is one of the least advanced. A few years ago, I came up with a comic series set in an office environment (reflecting some personal experience). I thought it could be fun to have rejected or unemployed super-villains working a call center, and recycled some character designs that suddenly fit in really well.

Over time, an interesting plot took shape in my brain, and I found my 'hook': a slacker gets a job (thanks to his Dad) at a down-on-their-luck super-villain call center, run by a very crabby supervisor. While getting to know his fellow co-workers, he starts getting suspicious about the purpose of the center itself, and manages to thwart a devious plot by the boss behind the scenes.

Originally, I considered having the lead character fall for a co-worker; recently, I've decided to keep romantic shenanigans out of the first story (which I figure would work well as a finite graphic novel), maybe to be used in a possible sequel.

Although I found it easy designing the co-workers, I had a hard time fleshing out the look for the main character. I was never happy with my sketches, something was missing; one afternoon, an individual ambled in front of my car, and I thought to myself excitedly: There's my temp!

I've whipped up a bunch of design sketches, as well as an ad that will appear in my soon-to-be printed ashcan:

I hired an artist a few years ago to take a stab at a few pages, but I really didn't think his approach fit the concept at all. I'd been intrigued by the samples of work he'd done in the past, but discovered he'd selectively showcased pages that were strong. Unfortunately, the work he gave me would have to be completely redrawn, so it's back to the old drawing board.

This concept has recently moved to the front burners; my goal is to have a solid synopsis and preliminary script completed as soon as possible. Next will be finding the perfect artist to fit my vision, but that'll be down the line. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this brief glimpse into the world of The Temp.

Character design

When I started as a clean-up artist at Cine-Groupe (a local animation studio) a decade ago, I sat near a character designer. He'd receive written notes on characters required for a given episode, and would whip up drawings that blew me away. Although I've always enjoyed designing my own characters, I recognized early that it wasn't my forte. Design is incredibly challenging; coming up with something distinct, expressive, and visually interesting can be a long, difficult process.

Some characters I've created sprang from my pencil sketches almost fully formed. Others required alot of tweaking until I felt satisfied. My fish-wearing-armour super-hero (who is now a turtle), went through many revisions over the years:

1 My first idea, a fishbowl that walks. A bit boring.

2 Reworked as a deep sea diver... interesting, but awkward.

3 Looking a bit robotic, but getting closer to what I was going for.

4 I like this guy and his fish-cycle, but felt it a little too cute.

5 Star design element creeps in, and the suit is starting to look sleek. At this point, the character started to look heroic, and the concept firmed up from there.

6 At one point, I replaced the fish with an electric eel, hence the lightening effects. I still like that idea, but eels are dull to draw, visually.

7 Trying to figure out how to make the character move, this action-figure design was an inspired solution. The belt and guantlets are looking good!

9 Almost there; the shoulders flow better and fins pump up the arms and legs.

10 A stylized sketch that I really like.

11 A flying manta replaces the fish bike; shield and staff give him a knight vibe which I enjoy.

The design hasn't evolved much from this one, although I've replaced eel with leatherback turtle.

And there you have it. I think the many years of sketching were worth it, ending up with a cool character I love to draw, and hopefully readers will enjoy as well!