
It’s funny how these things go. Just as I was writing this, I got nice notes on Discord from a couple of crossword friends who remembered my first big comics series, Fans…
Way back when, a similar note of appreciation—sent to me via snail-mail, about the series’ print edition—convinced me to bring my comics to the internet.
Some areas of comics had dried up; others had grown more fertile. The comic-strip and comic-book markets weren’t exactly falling all over themselves to woo new talent, but the internet boom was creating new opportunities. Teaming up with several artists, I seized on those and got my comics into one high-profile web-based collective, then another, then another.
For a while, broadly speaking, things seemed to be working. I got short-term gigs at publishers, ad revenue from various online series, subscription money, occasional profits from publishing trade paperbacks.
But the money was never quite enough. The readership numbers were never quite enough. I’d make a go of it with only comics for a while, stumble into side hustles that became main hustles, try again as those jobs ended, and so on.
Through it all, I tried to focus on creative satisfaction. No one but a fool stays in comics just for the money. But it’d be just as foolish to ignore money when planning one’s life.
I’ve watched some of my colleagues stand still in their careers, some vanish or leave…and a few succeed beautifully. Raina Telgemeier once shared a collective with me, and she became a household name in children’s graphic novels. Ryan North and I worked together for a hot minute, and now he’s writing Fantastic Four (and doing a beautiful job of it) after winning two Eisners on The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl. I edited Ursula Vernon’s work and it won a Hugo Award. And my occasional collaborator David Willis puts out a beautiful new color comic strip every day with Dumbing of Age, a coming-of-age dramedy of unbelievable breadth and depth.
I’m proud of them and wish them well. But every so often, I look at myself and think, “What did they get so right that I got wrong?”
Some of it was probably luck. Some wasn’t. Some career moves I made were bad ones, and I’ve never excelled at the arts of self-promotion or knowing the right people. But I have other virtues, and I feel like I could thrive in the right atmosphere. I’ve just never quite found it.
Earlier, I oversimplified the Webtoon situation a little. Webtoon is taking on new features from individuals now and then: features that gain an audience in its freebie “Canvas” section get promoted to “Originals.” If I were starting out in comics, I’d be doing my best to get attention on Canvas. Back in 2000, I got my start in a similar online space.
But that could take years. At this phase, I just can’t go back to square one. Could I see myself chasing some goofy idea on there? Sure, especially if I can figure out one that doesn’t involve art I’d need to pay for.
Could I see myself continuing to edit comics? Sure. I’ve done that kind of work for Seven Seas this year, and I’ll continue to edit Gisele Lagace’s R-rated comics for the foreseeable future.
Can I see pursuing another comics project as a central part of my career?
Can I see calling myself a “comics writer,” implying that’s the key thing I do—as I’ve done for most of my adult life?
No. No, I can’t.
So where’s that leave me, then?
To be concluded.