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SGTDF #3: Comic Book Conventions

Early Thursday at SDCC '22, my brief stint on the exhibition floor.

As I mentioned in the last issue of SGTDF, I’ve been very careful in this COVID world and conservative in the number of events or large social gatherings I’ve attended. But some things aligned in 2022—mainly that San Diego Comic-Con returned the same year I suddenly had new comic book work to promote—and I decided it was time to make my return to the public eye. I could get into the stress that came along with a return to SDCC—why is my anxiety at an all-time high? Will I really be able to sustain a conversation with someone who is not my wife for more than three minutes? How far has my social threshold plummeted during the COVID era? Will people recognize me with how my body has changed, let alone wearing a mask? Am I finally going to get COVID? and so on—but more than anything, it got me reflecting on my history with comic book conventions and how my relationship to them has evolved.(Answer key: because ::gestures broadly::, not well, VERY far, no and it's awkward every time, and not yet 🤞)No matter how exhausting, humbling, exciting, or stressful conventions are, I usually come away from them rejuvenated about the medium I love and have chosen to work in.Here's my messy ongoing collection of badges and lanyards dating back to 2005: 

  Cons as a Fan

My first comic convention was somewhere in central Massachusetts, if I remember correctly, when I was probably eight or so. The Death of Superman was the biggest thing going at the time, so it must have been 1993-ish.I don’t remember a whole lot from it, other than purchasing Adventures of Superman #500 (which has a cover date of June ‘93, so my timeline seems to line up) and reading it intently the entire car ride home, struggling to catch glimpses of the art as we passed under street lamps. The main feature of this issue was written by the incomparable Jerry Ordway with pencils by legendary workhorse Tom Grummett, and it’s about Pa Kent having a near-fatal heart attack following the death of Superman/Clark Kent and having visions of his past in the Korean War, the death of his brother, and trying to stop Clark from giving himself over to the afterlife, only to awaken convinced that Clark’s not really dead. It’s a really affecting issue about a father grappling with the death of his son and whether or not he even wants to be around in a world without him. While I can’t say I fully digested the emotional complexity of these ideas as an eight-year-old, this issue also served as teasers for the Reign of the Supermen mega-arc to come—in which four impostors show up in Metropolis in the wake of Superman’s death, all claiming to be the real Man of Steel—introducing the four different stories that would be followed up on in the four ongoing Superman titles of the time.Coupled with the final reveal that Superman’s tomb in Metropolis was in fact empty, well, it blew my mind into a million pieces and made sure I was a weekly comic book reader for life. Walking into SDCC... 2013, probably?All of this is to say there’s something inherently pure attending a convention as a fan. When you are there simply to enjoy. Not to work, or schmooze, or sell your own comics. You’re there to dig through long boxes and fill in gaps in your collection, hunt down hard-to-find action figures, and find good deals on the last day of the show when the retailers put everything on a steep discount so they don’t have to haul it back. Later in college, I’d attend my first major convention with Star Wars Celebration III. This too was a transformative experience for me on a few different levels; it was 2005, before the release of Revenge of the Sith, at the time the final entry (lol) of the Star Wars saga I love so dearly, and so being able to attend this one specifically was meaningful to me. I attended with a close friend I not-so-secretly had a crush on for many years before and after, but as a 20-year-old inexperienced doofus, nothing happened except for an increase in my indie movie-esque pining for her.Less importantly, it was the first major road trip in which I drove (from Long Island to Indianapolis). So expenses were tight (we ate a lot of Taco Bell and stayed in a very shitty motel, but gas was still a normal price), but it was truly a defining weekend that I think about a lot.I recall being very well-planned out with our time, knowing which panels we wanted to attend and when we could make it to the show merch booth to grab the exclusives or whatever we wanted.The most important thing, though, was making it to the discussion with George Lucas himself, where I fantasized about being the one person to ask him about American Graffiti instead of Star Wars (alas, this did not happen).We stood in line in the snow (in April!) and got in, and 17 years later I barely remember what he said, but I know it changed my life. 

Making my way into NYCC in 2008.

Later, New York Comic-Con became a thing and I attended my first major comics-specific con as a fan. My friend Erik came up to New York from Delaware and we went together, trekking into Manhattan from Long Island and walking the freezing cold corridors of the city in February (there were no subway stops near the Javits Center yet; thankfully they later moved NYCC to the fall instead of DEAD OF WINTER).I remember grabbing ALL the free swag I could, being nervous to walk up to my favorite creators, and attending all of the panels about the DC Universe and the upcoming slate, cheering enthusiastically and getting revved up by all the teasers they showed. It was a simpler time, before realizing I wanted to be ON the panels, not just attending them—or perhaps more accurately, before realizing being ON the panels was even an option.There’s something lost once you move from being purely a fan to working in the industry—not just comics, this is true of any industry—and I think it’s easy to forget how excited you were when you were just there to celebrate a thing you love. And frankly, it's something most professionals could stand to reconnect with from time to time. What I didn’t realize back then is that the old adage “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” is the biggest piece of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Work is work, whether you love it or not, and I’d have that realization soon enough. 

Cons as Press

In 2007, I started writing for a small site called CC2K. I built their comics vertical from scratch and was able to get on publisher distro lists and use my bylines for press passes at comic conventions. A dream come true, surely, to get free comics and access, even if I wasn’t being paid for the stuff I was writing. My foray into comics journalism was not spurned by a love for reporting or anything even close, I just wanted to talk about comics and get free shit in the process. I didn’t know how to get serious about making my OWN comics, because who knows anything at 22, so this seemed like the next best thing.I was SO committed to this new venture that I recruited friends to write for me (suddenly I was an editor!) and was organizing coverage of events like NYCC, coordinating interviews and panel coverage, plus reviewing comics weekly as they came out, trying to compete with IGN’s great coverage at the time (but without paying anyone except for in free comics). Me chatting with a pal while waiting for something or other at... WonderCon 2013, maybe?One time, I wound up in the hospital for a surprise appendectomy and I made sure my girlfriend notified the Editor-in-Chief of CC2K that I probably wouldn’t be able to get the reviews up in a timely fashion that week. Truly unhinged. If that happened in 2022, I would be on medical leave for a month and not think about work for a single second of it.Eventually, my writing at CC2K got me a gig as the Comics Editor for CraveOnline, wherein I wrote a ton of stuff every day, including some male-focused listicle garbage (think Maxim for even bigger dorks than Maxim subscribers) that I’m not particularly proud of. But at the time, I was VERY proud to be making some real freelance dough.But with a real paying writing job and some actual notoriety—DC didn’t put me on their press list until Crave, for example, and I was pretty pumped to soon be getting a buttload of free DC books—meant it was in my best interest to REALLY ramp up convention coverage.Look, I got paid per piece and it was the wild west as far as invoicing goes, so I’m not ashamed to say I made the best of it. I got fucked on taxes for sure, but I was rolling in easy money and free comic books.But that meant conventions during this time quickly became hectic and stressful, running from one room to the next, usually recording the panel you were in because you were still typing up the last one.It meant fighting shitty convention center wi-fi, eating bad food, and staying in gross hotels or making very long commutes for an entire weekend. Expenses were out of pocket, so I had to be sure to write enough to make it all worth it. Not surprisingly, profit margins were slim.And then I got called up to the major leagues, the very same IGN I’d wanted to challenge, where conventions took on an entirely different life. I still felt a little scrappy, since IGN Comics was always the lowest on the priority list at that place, despite a loyal and dedicated readership, but it was a whole organization coming together for a singular purpose. Crew wrap for IGN's SDCC weekend long live show in 2013. I miss that Wonder Woman shirt.Planning meetings, budget meetings, travel meetings, being asked to MODERATE panels—all things I never really considered before then. Suddenly conventions were truly work rather than a perk of the job, and once San Diego entered the equation (my first was in 2011), it was a whole different ball game.It’s like thinking you’re ready to tackle DisneyWorld in a day because you went to a carnival once. But, at least I got to stay in nice hotels and expense my meals. Still, suddenly there’s podcasts and on-camera work involved, and you’re having too many nips from the flask in a bathroom before moderating a panel with Stan Fucking Lee and Todd Goddamn McFarlane because you’re terrified (even before the pandemic, public speaking was not my forte) and Stan keeps calling you Jerry but you’re definitely not going to correct him, and Todd’s publicist is adding new talking points as you’re walking to the stage. Here's photographic proof of an unintentionally drunk person on stage faking it until he makes it: Utter shame.Where this really became work was having to cover the things I didn’t care about or wasn’t familiar with.I remember fumbling my way through moderating the panel for Cartoon Network’s Thundercats reboot, a show I never really watched as a kid nor had any fond memories of. I got roped into interviewing the cast and creators of Nickelodeon’s then-new TMNT cartoon that I hadn’t yet watched, and the creator called me out on it on camera. I interviewed Christian Slater for a short-lived TV show nobody remembers, but only because I had a good spot in the room and was waiting to talk to Neil Gaiman in the next session. And of course, with the major leagues there are some perks, particularly in San Diego, with all the parties (including IGN’s) and mixers and access you get, where you will inevitably go too hard because it’s easy to do so.But also during this time, I’d already started making my own comics and suddenly I was taking advantage of working these conventions in order to try and “network,” whatever that even means, for my creative work. Doing an interview at the DC booth at WonderCon 2013.As you can imagine, this got muddy for me at a certain point and I ultimately decided I was going to quit IGN to focus on making comics rather than promoting them. A move that devastated me financially and didn't exactly pay off right away (in 2013 I had a big meeting and completely blew it, a story for another time), but ultimately was for the best—I met my wife a year after quitting IGN and moving back to New England, the best thing that has ever happened to me.Being a journalist at a convention, particularly SDCC, is both rewarding and absolutely soul-crushing and it very nearly depleted any sense of joy I got out of attending. At least until they gave me a pass because of my work, not because of my job. 

Cons as a Pro

I admit it feels good to be given a professional badge to a convention, particularly one like SDCC, because it means someone else is acknowledging you and your work. You send your credentials, be they small press, self-published, or Big Two (Marvel/DC) credits, and the powers-that-be either deem you worthy or not. I’ve been worthy since 2014, and I am very grateful for that.It’s a huge cost-saver, of course, considering how pricey SDCC badges are by themselves, not including hotel and travel and other expenses. And I’ve still got plenty of room to grow—there’s being a “guest” of a show where they include you in promotional materials and possibly even put you up in a hotel or provide meals or other perks, a VIP status I'm far from attaining—but the biggest and best change to the convention life as a pro is being intentional with my time.Tabling at Amazing Las Vegas Comic Con in 2013, I think.Now when I attend a show, like SDCC a few weeks ago, it’s to meet with collaborators, industry friends, non-industry friends who love cons, and to try to get face time with people who I don’t yet know but would like to, either for new work opportunities or because I’m a supporter of their work. Barring any panel or signing commitments (or, if you’re actually tabling at a show and selling your stuff, sitting at your table and shilling), you’re free to structure your day however you need to.Plus—and I don’t mean this in a jaded or cynical way—I’ve seen all the cosplay there is to see, gotten all the free swag, and seen some variation of everything on the exhibition floor, that I don’t feel the pressure to make sure I walk the floor or do the activations.I’m glad it’s there and people are having fun, I just don’t care about that stuff anymore, and ignoring it frees me up to do what I’m there to do.Paparazzi pic of a rare 2022 Joey Esposito talking with my old pal Matt Fowler at an SDCC partyThe challenge with cons as a pro, aside from my utter fear of making a fool of myself while also trying to “promote” myself, is balancing fun with IRL friends who are attending for either their own work or simply for pleasure, and trying to be “on” for schmoozing purposes.I’m not a particularly smooth operator, and I very easily get in my own head about interactions I think have gone poorly. This year, for example, I rode the high of being invited to a happy hour for DC creators, my first time being on the other side of the fence (I likened it to being one of the freshmen in the Hellfire Club).It was a great feeling to be welcomed into a room like that as a peer, even if on the inside I felt like an impostor paralyzed with certainty that someone would find me out and throw me into the bay.Me and bestie/co-creator Ben Bailey on a panel promoting our book Captain Ultimate at SDCC '13On the flip side, the next afternoon I was ghosted by someone I was supposed to meet with at a publisher I’ve been interacting with for months. They were not where they said they’d be at the time we agreed on, so I called, texted, and emailed them like a true psychopath, and they have not, as of yet, responded.They were very responsive to me up until this point—we’ve emailed a bunch, they’ve considered my pitches, we even had a Zoom call—so it’s pretty weird. They currently have a pitch of mine under review, which I guess I can assume they passed on? That put me in a weird place for the rest of the day, which didn't end the show on a great note, but it is what it is. All of this is to say conventions, in any form, can be a wild ride. But I was working on a Batman script on the airplane to and from San Diego, realizing my dream of “having” to work on the plane to a convention because I was under a deadline that was not self-imposed. And man, that felt fucking great. Conventions, for me, have evolved from a thing of pure fandom to a really weird work retreat, but functionally they serve the same purpose: to remind me of what I love and why I love it. And, of course, it's always great to catch up with friends you only ever see at a convention. Even if you’re a casual fan of comics — or horror, or sci-fi, or whatever it might be — I recommend checking out a convention, whether it’s something on the scale of SDCC or a small local show in a Holiday Inn.Both have their pros and cons, but I guarantee you’ll come away energized about the things you love, and at this point, that’s really the only thing worthwhile in life. Hope everyone is staying sane,JoeyP.S. My friend Max is running a Kickstarter for his teen-horror-musical graphic novel. I've read it and it's great, you should back it if you can. 

Coming soon from DC Comics, I've got a short story in BATMAN: URBAN LEGENDS #19 (this cover by Claire Roe) with the unparalleled Mikel Janin that I'm super, super pumped about. It's a two-page Two-Face story that I'm very proud of, on top of working with one of the biggest comics superstars around. I'm very lucky. On sale Sept. 13! 

And then in October, the biggest DC story I've had the opportunity to write — a 4-part Batman arc called "The Murder Club," which kicks off in BATMAN: URBAN LEGENDS #20 (this cover by Edwin Galmon)! This arc is drawn by Vasco Georgiev, who is an absolute beast and future superstar. This is a pretty big deal for me, personally, so I hope you'll check it out. On sale Oct. 11!