Peter David's Blog, page 52

Marvel and Retailers: the Slashback program

Originally published March 2, 1001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1424

This week and next, we’re going to discuss various Marvel initiatives, ranging from sales to editorial stunts. So kick back and let’s see what’s going on at the house of ideas. This week:

MARVEL AND THE RETAILERS

Marvel’s relationship with retailers has always been prickly at best (hostile at worst.) One of my earliest recollections when I started in the Marvel sales department years ago was blithely hosting a retailer breakfast at a convention. I figured, y’know, feed them, run the Marvel slide show and talk about neat stuff coming up, and that would be that. Instead I wound up fielding one hostile question after another. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a baby seal being clubbed. And that’s back when things were good in the marketplace.

In recent months it seemed that Marvel didn’t place much priority on endearing itself to its retailer base. One angry retailer sent me the following notice from Marvel, tucked into his Diamond mailing:

Dear Retailers:

Over the past two months, Marvel’s management has discussed re-establishing collectability as a marketing tool to increase Marvel sales over time. Collectability can be built with strong, unique editorial product combined with limited access. Therefore, in the past three weeks we have continued to reduce the number of inventory copies of Marvel Comics available at Diamond. In order to guarantee that you have copies to meet your customer’s need, you should place all order increases by the dates listed below.

Considering that the speculation boom and bust was one of the major reasons that the comic market went down the chute, Marvel’s repeated dalliance with trying to reignite the speculator mentality (i.e., “collectability”) is being greeted with as much enthusiasm as a Barium enema. The annoyed retailer (and there are more like him, I’m sure) griped that he felt as if all the burden for comic availability was being thrown at him and him alone. That basically the message is, Overstock or you’re out of luck, because the only finger we’re going to lift to help you is the middle one.

I can’t entirely blame him for his frustration. Once upon a time, Marvel had Carol Kalish as sales manager. Carol would look down the list of orders every month, target what she thought had been short-ordered, and then overship the books on a returnable basis. That way the books were readily available to the retailers for thirty days at their local warehouses, and it sent a message that said that Marvel had confidence in its product. Returns on the overships were usually quite small, indicating that the confidence was well-placed. But Carol’s gone, and Marvel is now not only not making additional copies available, but instead is making a point of having them be unavailable, and then acting as if this is a good thing. Supply and demand is a delicate equation, and in the world of comics, lack of supply doesn’t equal increased demand so much as it equals frustrated fans, angry retailers, and price gouging. Appealing to the collector mentality is not a good thing. If it works, it’s going to attract the very people we don’t want to see return… and furthermore, it probably won’t work, because speculators—like a great grazing herd of yaks—have moved on to other things. It’s unlikely they’ll return to a watering hole they consider polluted. In the meantime, it does manage to piss off everyone remaining in the hobby who feels that speculators did little more than strip mine the industry and then take off once they realized those unopened cases of Youngblood #1 weren’t going to pay for their college tuition.

Nor does it help that Marvel doesn’t seem to realize that nowadays the word “collectability” is the third rail of comics, much like “social security” is the third rail of politics. But whereas politicians are smart enough to avoid stepping on that rail, Marvel insists on dancing the cha-cha on it.

By now you might be wondering why Marvel isn’t trying to work with the retailers, instead of seeming to treat the retailer base as—to paraphrase Xander Harris—Marvel’s butt monkey. The answer to that is: They are trying. Yet the results can be just as incendiary. Case in point:

Some weeks ago, I was told by editor Tom Brevoort that Captain Marvel #19 was a serious candidate for the Marvel Slashback program. In case you’re unfamiliar with it (I know I was), Marvel was taking selected books and, for one month, knocking the prices from $2.25 to $1.99. The concept was that these issues would have self-contained stories which would give readers a real feel for the series, and the sliced price tag would be an incentive for fans to sample it. I said, “Great!” and crafted a stand-alone story which (deftly, I hope) still fit into the ongoing storyline. That way regular readers wouldn’t feel like they were reading a fill-in, while new readers would get an overall view of who Captain Marvel was and where he was going.

But then, after I turned it in, I was informed that it probably wouldn’t be part of the Slashback program, because the entire concept was being met with “retailer resistance.” I wondered from where this resistance was originating, until I read the February 2001 issue of Comics Retailer. A story on page 40 headlined “Marvel Execs Initiate Retailer Phone Conferences” detailed a December 21 conference call between all the top Marvel execs and over a dozen retailers. And these retailers were no novices: Like the guy said in Raiders of the Lost Ark, these were “top… men.” And one of the things touched on was the Slashback program. According to the article:

(President, Publishing and New Media Bill) Jemas asked retailers what Marvel could do to support retailers—and several exchanges resulted in input that Jemas clearly intended to consider. For example, he brought up (editor in chief Joe) Quesada’s announced “Slashback” program… (and) said, “There’s 25 cents that gets whacked up among consumers, stores, Diamond, and us. And Marvel’s perfectly happy to kick in our share of that 25 cents. Would we be better off keeping the price at $2.25 and increasing the incentiveson those books?” [Italics theirs.] Replies were simultaneous and unanimous: “Yes!” “Oh, for God’s sake, yes!” “Absolutely!”

Basically, retailers—faced with an either/or—unanimously voted to see themselves get a financial break with improved ordering incentives, rather than customers getting a book at a discounted price. This isn’t all that surprising: Retailers make less money off books that cost less, so they don’t like books that cost less. They make more money off books sold to them at higher incentive discounts. Just that simple. This, despite the fact that one of the biggest problems facing comic books is that they cost so damned much. In essence, Marvel said, “We’re willing to knock 25 cents off certain books. Retailers, who do you think should benefit financially?” Big shock: The retailers said they should.

Their reasoning was fairly straightforward: It was felt that attempting to push a comic by pricing it at $1.99 would not make the slightest blip on consumer radar. It would be one thing if all comics were a quarter and suddenly a couple of comics costing a nickel showed up. But with comic book prices all over the map, the feeling was that consumers simply wouldn’t notice. They’re not aware enough that Captain Marvel normally costs $2.25 to say, “Wow, Captain Marvel is a buck ninety nine this month! I gotta sample that sucker!”

However, in theory, if a retailer were given an increased discount on the book, then he would try everything he could to sell as many copies as he could because he’d be getting 25 cents more per book. For that matter, the retailer might choose to pass along the discount himself to customers and make a big deal about it. That way the retailer’s a hero, the consumer gets the discounted price, and Marvel couldn’t care less about whether the retailer gets the “credit” from the consumers for the discount because they’re selling more comics, which was the goal in the first place. Either way the guys on the front line, the ones who are taking the biggest risks every time they order a comic, would be able to best utilize the extra 25 cents in a way that would maximize the sales effectiveness, because they know their customers.

There is, unfortunately, another possibility: Some retailers might order exactly the same number of the “incentivized” issues as they usually do, not pass the discount along, do nothing to promote it, pat themselves on the back for making a fast additional quarter on the titles without having to do a damned thing, and call it a day. Depends on the retailer. If you’ve got a smart, savvy, business-oriented retailer who’s interested in serving his customers and his store as intelligently as possible, incentives would seem the way to go. If on the other hand, your retailer ordered a hundred copies of “The Death of Superman,” put five out on the stands, and priced the rest of them at $80, the scenario could play out differently. It’s a sort of “Dirty Harry” feel to it, as in, “Ask yourself, punk… do you feel lucky?”

What’s interesting is that, on my AOL board, I made mention of the fact that it looked as if Marvel might well be dismantling the Slashback program before it even started, and cited “retailer resistance” as the reason. I was immediately criticized by several retailers there who claimed that I was just using retailers as scapegoats in regards to a program that Marvel had had second thoughts about. I referred those posters to the Comics Retailer article and they came back claiming they were stunned. Speaking as retailers, they said, they were very much in favor of the Slashback program or, at the very least, felt that it was premature to abort it before anyone had a chance to see whether it made an actual difference in the field.

No one speaks in the comic industry with one voice. But it sure seemed that some retailers were hopping mad over the notion that another group of retailers were well on their way to scuttling a program and retooling it. Retooling it so that they, the retailers, were guaranteed to benefit while the consumers might or might not reap the benefits of the program depending upon where they buy the books.

Ultimately, you’ve got three groups with differing goals: Marvel wants to sell more comics, retailers want to make more money, fans want to pay less for their comics. There’s some overlap there, but Marvel really doesn’t care how it sells more titles, as long as it does. Retailers, in a shrinking economy and dealing with a non-returnable market, are looking to shore up their bottom line, and feel that the best way to do it is to maximize their profit potential and leave the customers in their hands… because Marvel deciding to whack down the price means that Marvel is unilaterally deciding to pass the savings on to the consumer. Retailers want that option. Consumers may disagree.

You know what? I’d like to hear from more retailers about it. I mean, after all, I’m affected personally by it. Captain Marvel gets great word of mouth, solid reviews, was selected by Wizard as the best character of the year, and yet the book remains blissfully uncontaminated by increased orders. It had been selected to benefit from a program that is being torpedoed by a group of retailers, many of whom I know personally and respect tremendously. So… how many retailers out there agree with the Marvel retail consultants? How many agree with the guys on my AOL folder who reacted with such outrage? Results of this highly unscientific straw poll are not binding on Marvel, of course, but I’m certainly interested in hearing the thinking on both sides of the fence. Do you guys think you could sell more copies at $1.99? Or would you rather keep it at $2.25 and get incentive breaks on your orders? I think the fans would like to know as well. It’s their money, after all.

Next week: Marvel does something “dumb” in December and fans are verbal about it.

 

But I Digress flashback: 1971

Originally published February 23, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1423–Special “1971″ theme issue

I think comic books just cost me a date with Debbie Moss, and that might be the last straw.

I can’t believe I’m saying that. I mean, y’know, when I first started reading comics when I was five years old, I felt like I’d found a whole bunch of friends I didn’t even know I was missing. And here I am, ten years later, and suddenly I feel like, y’know, these same fans are dragging me down.

Regular readers of this column know that this has been coming on for a while now. I mean, for one thing, y’know, I’ve been screaming about the skyrocketing prices for ages now. When I first started reading comics, they were a nice, tidy, twelve cents. One dime, two nickels. I could go into a comic book store with a buck and buy eight comics. Y’know, pretty much keep up with everything cool that was coming out.

I can’t tell you how bad it hit me the day I walked in and they’d gone up to fifteen cents. I couldn’t believe it. Is nothing sacred? Do they think teenagers are made of money? And I feel like we’ve barely recovered from that, and all of a sudden… twenty cents? Twenty cents? For a comic book? A twenty two page comic book? And now I’m even hearing rumors that they’re talking about it going up to twenty five cents!!! Twenty five cents!!!

When I was a kid, twenty five cents for a comic was a major deal, because that meant you were getting an eighty page giant. The eighty page giants were the coolest things, because you got all these great early stories, and it was just twenty-five cents. Twenty to twenty-five cents for a regular comic now? I don’t think so, guys. Because I keep feeling like, y’know, I just put up with it and say, “Okay,” and dig deeper and find the money, you know what’s going to happen? Thirty years down the line, that dollar which used to buy eight comic books… it’ll only get you two, three comics tops! Do you really want to go into a comic book store, plunk down your hard-earned dollar, and get just two comics for it? I sure don’t!

That’s strike one: The crazy prices we’re dealing with. Now we’re getting to strike two: Subject matter.

I read comics to be entertained. I read them to read about, y’know, superheroes, going around and beating up on bad guys and fighting for truth, justice and the American way. And I have to tell you, I’m really upset—really upset—with what’s going down in comics lately.

The leader of the pack is Green Lantern/Green Arrow. At first I was excited about the book because the art looked really cool and everything, but all the stories were these preachy, socially relevant hippie crap stuff. Look, I don’t want to be reminded of the real world, okay? Every day gets me one day closer to draft age, and I sure as hell don’t want to be shipped off to Vietnam, so the last thing I need are comic books that remind me what a scary place the world is. I want comics where the good guys are good, the bad guys are bad, the good buys beat the bad guys, and that’’ it, it’s over, y’know?

And even worse, Marvel—my main publisher, the top of the heap—started to get into the act. There’s this whole drug storyline with Harry becoming an addict. Drugs are entertainment? It didn’t bother me when DC started copying Marvel, making their heroes less perfect and stuff because it meant that DC finally realized that Marvel is where it’s at. But now DC has to go and try and top Marvel, and we get this super-relevant crap. And worst of all is what was done to Speedy! Speedy! We fought for, y’know, ever to get Speedy into the Teen Titans (why he was left out in the first place, I have no idea. Why didn’t they have him in the first place instead of Aqualad? Is there any character lamer than a character with “Aqua” in his name? Aquaman was always lame in the JLA. Somebody just stick a harpoon in him or feed him to piranha or something.)

So Speedy was finally getting the respect he deserved by being in Titans, and suddenly here’s this issue of GL/GA coming along… and he’s a drug addict? This is entertainment? This is respect for the heroes? What, just because his name is Speedy, somebody felt it would be really cute that he’s got a drug addiction problem? They were actually showing him shooting up on panel? This is the hero?!?!? What were they thinking?!? Was anyone at DC paying attention to this? How did this get past the Comics Code? Don’t they care anymore?

I’m really, truly afraid that that’s how they’re going to try and pull in readers, now that they’re putting crazy prices on the covers. I’m afraid this whole “relevant” thing is going to catch on, or be pushed as heavy as possible. It’s not right, y’know? There’s nothing comical about it. Heroes with drug problems isn’t adventurous, or heroic, or fun, or anything. It’s just sad and creepy and gives you something less to believe in.

So that’s strike two. As for strike three, well…

I was in the local magazine shop, y’know, J&M Magazines, over on Bloomfield Avenue. And I was checking out the comic rack for the latest books, and I’m standing there with my main man, Spider-Man, the latest issue, in my hands, and suddenly I hear from behind me, “Oh my God!” I turn around, except I know the voice before I even see her. It’s Debbie Moss. Now you guys who have been following this column, you know she’s the most gorgeous girl to walk on two perfect legs in all of New Jersey. And I’ve been trying to get her attention for ages, and she’s been actually talking to me a little, and I was all set to ask her out. And she’s standing there, by the candy, with a couple of her friends, and they’re looking at me and pointing and giggling, whispering to each other, pointing at me. And I know just why Debbie said “Oh my God,” it’s because I’m fifteen years old and I’m still reading comic books.

I tried to be cool but totally screwed it up. I tried to act like I picked it up by mistake and shoved it back into the rack as fast as I could. But I jammed it in sideways and it got all bent up, and to make matters worse (as if they could be worse) the guy behind the counter sees it and shouts, “Hey! You’re gonna have to buy that!” I could feel the stinging in my face; I knew I was blushing. I went over to him, feeling like I had lead weights on my feet, and shoved the money at him and didn’t even count the change. I muttered “Hi,” to Debbie but she just said, “Oh my God” again and I got the hell out of there.

So comics have embarrassed me in front of a girl I really like, because she thinks I’m some kind of mental midget because I read comics, because comics are for little kids. Plus the stories are getting depressing, and the prices are ridiculous. So maybe I should just quit them altogether. Get out of the whole stupid thing for good. Give up this column, ditch the Buyer’s Guide, just walk away, cold turkey.

Here’s what I’m doing.

I’m dumping DC.

I still love Marvel too much—and mainly Spidey—to get out completely. But by ditching DC, I’m making a protest against their crappy drug issues, plus if I’m buying fewer comics overall, it’s less of a money drain. So long, DC! Bye bye, Batman! Sayonara, Supes! It’s been fun! But a guy’s got to grow up, make some tough choices. And at least Marvel is still big on college campuses, thanks to Stan the Man, so maybe—maybe—I can convince Deb that Marvels are not just little kids’ stuff because college guys read them. Maybe.

Bet you guys are breathing a sigh of relief, huh? Thought this was the end of Pistol Pete’s column? Well, not yet, buckos! I still have hope! I still have faith! So until they give Spider-Man four extra arms and kill off Gwen Stacy, make mine Marvel!

(Peter David, fan of stuff, can be written to c/o Verona High School, Verona, New Jersey.)

 

 

BID mailbag: Retcons and Stetcons

Originally published February 16, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1422

’Tennnnn hut! Eyes front, maggots. The following e-mail (I hardly get regular mail anymore) arrived from Commander R.A. Benson, USNR:

I am writing you in reference to your column which ran in in the 02 February issue (topic: retcons and “stetcons”), but not in direct comment upon your words. Rather, the photo from Superman #166 which complemented your article has resurrected an issue I’ve had with comics professionals for some time.

I understand you had no direct involvement with the panel or the issue of Superman in question, nor with any of the criticism I am about to discuss. But I come to you for your professional opinion, based upon your experience and knowledge of the field.

I am a career military man, twenty-two plus years in the U.S. Navy, and conservative in political opinion. I recognize that you are more liberal; but you are also honest and, as I said, employ logic in your opinions. That’s another reason I come to you with this, since you are from “the other side”, so to speak–and I think that perspective will be helpful to me.

As I said, the art in question highlighted two long-standing issues with me.

The first is the more egregious, as I am concerned. Even though it is not my service, I can readily spot that the uniforms drawn on General Rock and Major Lane are far from accurate. This inaccuracy in depicting military uniforms has continued for decades. And believe me, the usual depiction of Navy uniforms has been even worse. (The only comic artists to be accurate in their depiction of military uniforms were Curt Swan, Murphy Anderson, and Kurt Schaffenberger–all of whom are either sadly deceased or no longer doing comics on a regular basis.)

Now, I know enough about the comics illustration profession to know that artists have a reference file. If an artist wants to draw, say, the Empire State Building, he refers to a photo of the actual building so he can draw it accurately. The same thing with automobiles, women’s clothing, specialized furniture, and so forth. Anything beyond the generic, the professional artist uses a reference.

So why does it seem that comics artists never use a reference for military uniforms? They are easy enough to come by. For decades, World Book Encyclopedia has featured full-length photos of each armed service’s uniforms under their individual listings. There are other, commonly available sources. Especially with today’s availability of the Internet. Instead, it seems that every comics artist for the past twenty years has “winged it” when drawing military personnel.

The other item from that reprinted panel: the copy reads that Major Sam Lane is Luthor’s choice for Secretary of Defense, and the art supports the presentation that Major Lane is an active-duty Army officer. Obviously, the writer was under the impression that a military man serves in that position. According to law, active-duty military personnel may not serve as one of the Cabinet secretaries or any of the service secretaries. (They may be members of the Reserve, so long as they are not in a permanent active-duty status, such as I am.) This is in keeping with the Founding Fathers’ desire to deny the possibility of a military take-over by ensuring that the military remains under civilian control. In all of United States history, there has been only one exception to this: in 1948, General of the Army (i.e., five-star rank) George C. Marshall was appointed by Truman as Secretary of State. There are no more five-star officers, but at the time, the law specified that officers of five-star rank were permanently on active duty. It required a special act passed by Congress to permit GEN Marshall to hold the post.

This is not the only occurrence of such obvious military errors. (I remember one short-lived series which had an Army lieutenant taking orders from an Army sergeant major and calling him “sir”–scarcely likely in real life.) I thought writers did basic research into areas with which they were unfamiliar. At least, the professional ones do. I recognize that Wombat-Man #42 isn’t in the same league as Jurassic Park, and the time constraints are tighter–but isn’t (or shouldn’t it be that) basic research part of the professional comics writer’s job?

The only other field which receives this kind of short-shrift inaccuracy is–as Bob Ingersol’s column, The Law is an Ass, so often reminds us–is the law. But there genuinely seems to be a strong bias in comics toward getting anything in the military correct.

Is this just carelessness on the part of comics writers/artists, either routine or unavoidable? Or–and I only pose this as a possible reason, not a personally held belief–is it that most comics professionals hold liberal philosophies and tend to hold the military in low regard; therefore, they don’t care enough to concern themselves with getting the military right? That they don’t have military experience doesn’t obviate the fact that they can research at least these basic facts; thus, the only reason I can see for such an inaccurate depiction of the military is that of personal apathy or bias.

As I said, I am not necessarily making this argument. I am simply pointing out a long-standing phenomenon and asking you, sir, in professional opinion, what might cause this. This is why your liberal perspective and honesty will help in providing me an accurate answer.

I’m not standing on a soap-box here. Of course, I’d like to see more accuracy in depicting the military in comics; but I’m not on a crusade. Nor does it necessarily bother me when military people are depicted as bad guys. These are, for all their entertainment value, simply comic books. I was just wondering why the military seems not to receive the same care and research for accuracy as other aspects depicted in comics.

You brings up two interesting points, but answering the overall question first: No, I hardly think there’s some sort of bias against the military. One should never ascribe to hostility or contempt that which can be chalked up to simple ignorance. As you say, many (if not most) writers working today—not to mention editors—have never served in the military, and derive their knowledge from such sources as M*A*S*H or Officer and a Gentleman. We may not be able to tell you accurately how many men there are in a garrison, but gosh darn it, we know that army surgeons are wacky and the only two things that ever come out of Oklahoma are steers and queers.

In terms of visual reference, it’s always been my feeling that somebody should be endeavoring to get things right. In the case of Supergirl, for example, I know that Leonard Kirk is obsessive about detail, and so I’m content to toss in whatever I want into a story because I know he’s going to do the legwork, whether I supply it or not. For instance, an upcoming issue features a sequence in ancient Rome. I was able to provide Leonard with a detailed description of Caligula, but I had absolutely no clue what a Roman marketplace looked like, and left it to Leonard to make it convincing. As a writer you can do that when you have a regular artist and a solid working relationship.

On the other hand, for the Reed Richards limited series I did for Marvel, the final issue was set in Egypt and heavily focused on the Sphinx. I provided not only visual reference, but also websites where the artist could see it for himself, because I didn’t want to take it for granted that the artist would have this info at his fingertips. Nor did I think it fair to make him start from scratch.

Because it’s always been my feeling that the artist should be the last person in the chain to have to find the reference. I think it should start with the writer. Writers should allow for the notion that no matter what they’re writing about, someone out there is going to be an expert in it, and the expert is entitled to read the story with as much enjoyment as the person who knows jack-all on the subject. If you’re going to do it, do it right. The second person in the “chain” should be the editor. Either the editor or assistant editor should serve not only as a fact checker (to make sure the writer got it right) but also should be providing reference where necessary. Ideally, I think, the artist should get a nice package with everything he needs to draw the story so he can go ahead and start penciling the thing.

Of course, it has to be a two-way street. I know one writer who set a sequence in a French bistro and provided visual reference for the artist as to what a nice little sidewalk bistro looked like. The artist couldn’t be bothered to study the reference and copy it. Instead of getting two characters sitting outside in Paris, the writer got the characters sitting indoors at a Burger King, because that’s what the artist felt like drawing. Plus pencilers get to deal with their own aggravations. For instance, there was one inker who was known in the industry as “the man who erased armies,” because when given a crowd scene he simply couldn’t be bothered to ink them in. So sometimes you can go to a lot of effort and a lazy artist will deftly torpedo it.

In regards to your second point: Once again, it comes down to the writer and editor. A writer should try to get it right, and the ultimate responsibility comes down to the editor. The problem for the writer, though, is that he has to know there’s potential to get it wrong. If a writer is scripting, say, a, a person having a heart attack, he’s aware of the limitations of his knowledge in that regard, and knows whether to do research on it or not, as well as any ancillary info that might be required. For instance, I once called a drugstore to get the label correct for a vial of nitro glycerin pills that a heart patient was holding.

On the other hand, if the writer simply doesn’t know there’s potential for error, it won’t occur to him to research it. It’s hardly limited to comics. The writer of the film Ransom obviously didn’t know that New York City police officers are forbidden, by law, to accept reward money in the performance of their duties, but part of the film’s plot hinges upon it. In the marvelous little comedy Sweet Liberty, Alan Alda portrays a historian who becomes progressively more frustrated when a movie director carelessly riddles the film of his historically-accurate book with mistake after mistake.

In the case of Superman, it’s entirely possible that the writer was unaware that an active-duty service man can’t serve in the cabinet. I sure know that I didn’t know that, and had I been conceiving the storyline, I would likely have made the same mistake. Sure, it’s possible to make excuses for it… the first and foremost being that maybe in the DC Universe, the law works differently. I mean, hell, let’s face it, in the real world all these costumed vigilantes simply wouldn’t be allowed to operate, period. Superman would be shot at every time he entered foreign airspace without obtaining permission.

Ultimately, though, that’s a nifty excuse, but it’s still just an excuse. And it’s hardly limited to the military; you’re just more aware of it because you’re in the military. I’m sure writers also manage to annoy doctors, lawyers, cops, firemen… anybody and everybody whose professions show up now and again. Bottom line, it’s the job of the creative personnel to get it right whenever possible… and the job of the fans to alert them to mistakes so—at the very least—we can get it right in the future. But no single profession should ever take it personally. We are, in the final analysis, equal opportunity screw-ups.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

Why Don Mirscher knows squat

Who is Don Mirscher? The executive producer of the Emmys, who apparently took exception to another year of criticism for the egregious omissions of this years nominations. No “best series” for “The Good Wife.” No “best actor” for James Spader. Most shockingly, no best actress for Tatiana Maslany.

What was his excuse?

““The Emmys are not a popular choice award. The Emmys are an industry award. The Emmys are determined by the men and women who create television. That’s why for those of us who are lucky enough to win an Emmy, it means a lot because it’s our competitors and our peers that have given that to us. I think the way it’s set up and the way it’s going to work again this year is that the nominations came from people in the industry who make the product. How many people watch a particular product I don’t think is as important as the quality of the product, and that’s been reflected in the nominations that you’ve seen four days ago.”

Here’s why this excuse is idiotic.

It IS a popular choice award. The fact that the popularity choice is being rendered by people in the industry doesn’t make it any less so. Popular series get paid attention to; less popular series are ignored. Maslany wasn’t nominated because far fewer people watch “Orphan Black” than the other nominated series. Spader was ignored because…I dunno, they’re dumbasses.

But oh my God, they have to limit the number of nominations because…well, I don’t know why, exactly. The Academy award doubled the number of nominated films and that didn’t cause the Oscars to collapse. Why couldn’t they have said, “You know what? We need another space or two in these categories because we can’t ignore Maslany and Spader; they’re just too good.”

Sorry, can’t do that. Because they’re professionals, don’t’cha know. And you and I and the other non-voters, the ones who they actually fall over each other to get us to watch their programs, we’re fine when it comes to making shows for us. But when it comes to expressing opinions, we should keep our mouths shut and leave it to the pros.

This is the exact kind of pig-headed thinking that will likely continue to screw Andy Serkis of an Oscar nomination next year when he gets once again overlooked for his brilliant work as Caesar in “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.” Any person with a brain knows that that’s Serkis acting up on the screen. But to the professionals, he’s just a special effect and nothing more.

Idiots.

PAD

Chattacon

Originally published February 9, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1421

I’m rapidly reaching a point in my life where it’s split pretty much dead even between the time I spent as a fan versus the time I’ve spent as a professional… well, whatever I professionally am. Since fandom is where my roots are, however, I was more than willing to go along when my fiancee, Kathleen, wanted to head down to Chattacon in Chattanooga, TN, a convention she and her siblings frequented since she was a teen. (Indeed, her brother Sean’s theme parties have become an event in and of themselves.)

However, I didn’t feel like going as “Peter David,” so to speak. Chattacon is a small, sf-oriented relaxicon… I kind I used to go to all the time, before Trek and media cons reshaped the science fiction convention scene, so that many fans perceive conventions solely as the province of actors from sf series charging huge amounts for autographs. I was more than content to simply go as a fan, which in many ways I still am.

So I went on down, and had a very nice time. I didn’t have a fake badge or anything; it simply read “Peter,” and my full name in tiny lettering in the lower corner of the badge, in case anyone was interested enough to look closely. But no one was expecting me, nor am I all that distinctive looking. An overweight, bearded, balding guy with glasses; not exactly rare as hen’s teeth at a convention. So by and large, I didn’t attract a second look, or even a first. Furthermore, we were in Kathleen’s territory, and I didn’t have to serve as much of anything other than an appendage to her, so that was a refreshing change of pace.

I had forgotten how nice a convention can be when you don’t have to be anywhere or do anything. I actually got to attend panels for the first time in ages. I could walk wherever I wished and no one stopped me, or tried to get my autograph, or gave a damn. Of course, given the attention span of fans and the vagaries of the industry, that’ll probably accurately describe my presence at just about any comic book or sf convention in the country, whether I’m an advertised guest or not.

Chattacon is famous (or infamous, if you will) for its con suite. This is no con suite like I’ve ever seen before. Open to all attending the convention, there is food and drink, including endless supplies of Coca Cola (this is the South, after all) and beer on tap (this is the South, after all.) One of Kathleen’s friends on the committee told me they were short on help, and did I want to fill in pouring beer behind the bar for a while. I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, in the unfamiliar position of being at a con and not having anything better to do than fill fans’ cups (mugs, 2-liter containers, etc.) with beer. So from seven to ten PM Saturday night, I poured out enough beer to sink the Titanic (or, for that matter, to keep it afloat.)

Every so often, I’d get a closer look from one fan or another, trying to figure out why they knew me, or thought they knew me. One guy looked at me curiously and said, “Are you Peter David?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why are you pouring me a beer?” he asked. “Because this is a bar and you said ‘Can I have a beer?’ What did you expect me to do?” This apparently bypassed the true crux of his question, but he didn’t seem to quite have the nerve—or perhaps enough sober brain cells—to form it.

Overall it was a nice and fun convention, with partying the most important thing (and being thankful if your room wasn’t on a partying floor being the second most important thing.) Maybe we’ll go next year. But don’t expect to hear about it beforehand.

* * *

Public Service Announcement:

Kathleen’s parents, down in Atlanta, looked at me with an almost demented glee and said, “You’re going to be her husband. So this will be one half your problem. Help get rid of them.”

What were they referring to? Kathleen’s comic book collection, which has been sitting in their basement for about three years now. They want ’em out, gone, and we sure don’t have room for them up here.

And so, for the first time in the history of this column in Comics Buyer’s Guide, I’m actually going to print something that genuinely relates to guiding people who want to buy comics. Kath wants to sell her collection, one shot. We’re talking about seven thousand books, maybe more, all boxed up. These include Uncanny X-Men signed by both Claremont and Byrne, a ton of Doctor Strange comics, a complete run of Sandman, an entire run of New Mutants and most early issues of all the mutant books (X-factor, X-men, some Lee/Kirby X-Men in OK condition), Wolverine including both the ongoing series and the mini-series, Howard Chaykin’s American Flagg, Grim Jack, lots of early Vertigo stuff, early issues of Hellblazer, early Cerebus, and tons of other stuff.

What we’re looking for is someone who’s willing to either make an offer sight unseen (sh’right) or is willing to come over to her folk’s house, check ’em out, make a decent offer, and load ’em up and get ’em out. Tell you what: I’ll sign anything in the entire lot that I wrote. (God, I hope she doesn’t have a complete run on Hulk.) Write either to the my address or the one right below…

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc, PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

 

Here’s my concern about the Mets

I’m reasonably sure that I remember them going into the All-Star break on a high note in previous seasons.

And then invariably they come out of the break and promptly go into a massive losing streak. They were moving up and then they lose thirteen out of fifteen games.

So it’s kind of hard for me to feel good about their current winning ways.

PAD

Retcons and Stetcons

Originally published February 2, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1420

Once upon a time in comics, it was simple: No one really gave a damn about what other people were doing.

So when a new origin for a character cropped up, it needed no reason other than that a writer or editor (or both) had come up with what they thought was an interesting twist on the hero’s origin. Or perhaps it was nothing more complicated than that they had a ten-page space to fill that month and they were fresh out of ideas for new stories, so they decided to recycle the hero’s birth one more time.

And then there was the fact that heroes in different comics could go to Mars (for instance) and run into totally different races. Which, when you get down to it, is really more accurate than the way it’s usually done in comics where a race has a uniform look to it. In real life, different extraterrestrial visitors, if they opted to drop in on earthlings, would come back with wildly different stories depending on where they happened to visit. It would be the science fiction equivalent of the old story of five blind men feeling up an elephant, and each describing a totally different animal depending upon what part they were grasping. Same deal for newcomers to this world. (“Their skin is dark!” “No, its pigmentation is light!” “Their eyes are very narrow!” “No, they’re somewhat round.” “They cover themselves in clothing!” “No, they wear very little, and their women go around topless… although, oddly, photographers from National Geographic seem to follow them around.”)

But those were the old days, when spontaneity ruled and the average attention span of a comic book reader covered four years, tops, before he (usually a “he”) moved on to other stuff, like girls. Things are very different now, and fans desperately want to believe that there’s some sort of grand plan or overview at the major companies. Fans have asked me questions along those lines, inquiring as to the existence of lengthy overview books at Marvel or DC, supposedly written decades ago which detail—without fail or exception—every move that the major companies make with the characters. As if, with twenty years warning, Marvel still couldn’t have figured out that the Spider-clone was a bad idea.

And if something gets changed now, the change itself isn’t enough. It isn’t sufficient that it makes sense within the context of the story in which it appears. It has to make sense within the context of every story that preceded it. There’s even a term when some change comes along that reorders or redefines the earlier narratives. It’s called a “retcon,” short for “retroactive continuity.” People do so like to give things names, don’t they.

What becomes really entertaining is that there will always be those who don’t like the changes that are made, who disdain the retcons. Fans seem to think that they have a monopoly on resenting bad ideas. That they’re the only ones who might read a story and think, “Why the hell did they do that?” But that’s not the case. Many folks in the industry are little more than fans who grew up and “made good,” and we’re just as liable to read something and moan about it. We just moan differently, that’s all. A fan will read a bad story and say, “What were they thinking?” The pro will read the same bad story and said, “(Fill in name of creator), what were you thinking?!”

The fans simply gnash their teeth or pour out their grief to their fellows on line or at conventions, or write their own fan fictions designed to correct the matter (and hey, I’m the guy who wrote a two-part Beauty and the Beast/Quantum Leap crossover just so I could have Sam Beckett take over the body of Vincent and undo the entire crappy third season of B&B. So I know what I’m talkin’ here.) However, sooner or later, with the occasional exception, fan protests will die down and they will become caught up in whatever new story wrinkles are going on. They may not forget the changes that got them riled up, but they’ll stop worrying about them.

Pros, on the other hand, not only don’t forget, but they don’t stop worrying about it. That which bothers them, they fix. That which doesn’t bother them, they sometimes pick up and run with.

Witness Superman #166.

For years, Superman’s origins had had roots in tragedy that were on an even greater scale than Batman’s. Here was Krypton, a scientifically advanced, vital and flourishing world. A place so wondrous, so touched by fortune and greatness, that the notion that the world was doomed—a prediction voiced Cassandra-like by leading scientist Jor-El—was literally unthinkable. Krypton couldn’t be doomed because, dammit, it was Krypton.

And then there was awful choice that Lara, Kal-El’s mom, was faced with in Krypton’s dying throes. She could have climbed into the ship with her baby. She could have been there to nurture him, protect him. Instead she made the conscious choice to die with her husband instead of survive with her infant son. Man, that’s the kind of psychological angle that you could get tons of stories out of; Superman, however, was far too well adjusted to dwell on the concept of mom preferring to abandon her child to fate and deep space rather than live without dad. Still, the drama was there for the reader, even if it did seem a bit wasted on the guy in blue.

And then Superman was relaunched, and suddenly Krypton was sterile and cold and kinda dull. There was no tragedy to its annihilation because you didn’t give a damn about the inhabitants. Kal-El was no longer a cherubic, smiling infant, but a “birthing matrix” or some such. He was more a note-in-a-bottle from a deservedly dying world than a refugee from a wrenching emotional Hobson’s choice, flung from a thriving world cut down in its prime.

There was good stuff that came out of the relaunch of Superman… most conspicuously Ma and Pa Kent remaining vital players in the DC mythos instead of dying before Superman’s career even started. As for the retooled Krypton, however, well… it was a way to go. It’s not the way I would have gone, but it was a choice. For better or worse… forever and ever…

Well… not necessarily.

In the old days, if new writers decided they disliked the sterile, movie-esque look of the new Krypton, they could just have done a story depicting Krypton in flashback, without explanation, and had it look the way they wanted it to. But as noted earlier, everything has to dovetail. So now we learn that the dispassionate Krypton we’ve accepted as “reality” was, in fact, a “memory implant.” Turns out Superman’s head has been messed with and that the big, major revelation is that Krypton was, in fact, exactly as we remembered it from the old stories, right down to Jor-El’s signature ensemble with the headband, green tunic and sun burst emblem.

Why? Because not all retcons are created equal, that’s why. Sometimes, it seems, writers look back on what was done and say, “Nah… I don’t like that. It was better the other way,” because the new version seems a betrayal of what they liked about the heroes when they themselves were fans.

Proofreaders or copy editors will sometimes make a change in a manuscript and then think better of it and decide that their change should be ignored. That words originally intended to be deleted should be left in, or that the original phrasing should be maintained. In order to inform the typesetter of this, the copy editor will write “stet” next to the change and circle it. “Stet” is derived from the Latin meaning, “Let it stand.”

So if deciding that Krypton was a sterile world filled with people who dressed in outfits that looked like a melding of Bob Mackie and Edward Gorey, and baby Kal-El was a birthing matrix, was a “retcon”…why, then, any story which undoes a story that others have thought better of can best be termed a “stetcon”: A continuity revision that puts it back the way it was in the first place. A stetcon is a repudiation, a “whoopsie, we don’t like that anymore.”

What’s interesting is that the very same issue presents an even greater curiosity: A retcon of something that didn’t actually happen.

The general belief (thanks to the opinions of DC war-guy supreme, Bob Kanigher) was that the indomitable Sergeant Rock not only died at the end of World War II, but the bullet that nailed him was the last bullet fired during the war… a demise that was best summed up by daughter Gwen who said, with typical teen empathy, “Sucks to be him.” Well, guess what. Rock is not only alive, but he’s on Lex Luthor’s cabinet. How whacked is that? It’s like Bob Hope being the opening act for Andrew Dice Clay. Sort of a retnoncom. Why is this being done? What is the most mythic soldier in DC’s history, a genuine relic of World War II, generally accepted to have died heroically (if a bit over-ironically) doing side-by-side with Luthor, a guy who made Hitler look like Fozzie Bear?

Why, for the same reason Krypton got dull: Someone thought it was a good idea. And if a couple of years from now, it’s revealed by another writer that Rock really did die sixty years ago and this guy’s an imposter, you’ve got another stetcon.

Ultimately, it’s a way for writers to keep the comics interesting and entertaining for themselves. They don’t like being told that the stories they enjoyed don’t “count” any more than any other fan does. It’s just that the writers are in a position to do something about it. And they’re aided and abetted by the fan desire to see everything fit together, to form some great logical mosaic.

There will always be stories that fans don’t accept. Where the heroes do something so completely wrong, or there’s a story development so completely preposterous, that the readers will shake their heads and say, “Unh unh. I don’t buy it.” Thing is, when a writer reads one of those, and is then able to do something about it, it’s often too tempting to resist. In which cases the writers can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re indulging in that most revered and appreciated act of creation, namely, giving the fans what they want. Fans rarely will say, “I want to read stories that demolishes everything I ever liked about the character.” The thing is, changes are usually made for a reason beyond that it seems like a good idea. Usually it’s to infuse a new direction in something that’s seen as old and stale. So if you’re going to produce a stetcon, you’d damned well better be prepared to come up with not only a good reason for it, but a story that will justify it. Otherwise it’s just thumbing your nose at another writer and saying, “Ha ha, your story sucked, I changed it back, and yoouuu can’t stopppp me.”

And why are fans so obsessed with everything fitting together, forming an unbroken narrative replete with retcons, stetcons and the like? Why, they’re no different than anyone else, really. People look at a world that makes no sense, one where good people suffer for no reason, where tragedies cruelly occur, and they will seek reason and rhyme in the chaos. And that seeking, more often than not, will lead them to conclude, “It’s God’s will.” Better to believe that a Supreme Being would indulge in actions bordering on the sadistic (but for some higher and unseen purpose) than to think that it’s all just random chance, no one’s overseeing anything, and all the devotion and piety in the world doesn’t elevate your chances above anyone else’s.

Same deal here. Fans pray to the writers of the comic universes, hoping against hope that there’s really a grand scheme and we all know what we’re doing. We are comic book gods.

Think it’s an over aggrandizing view to take? I beg to differ: Why else are we referred to as “creators?”

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

DVD Dread (circa 2001)

Originally published January 26, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1419

They almost had me. They almost had me totally sold on DVDs.

Several years ago, I complained quite bitterly, in this very column, about the new format which was rendering my beloved laser disks obsolete. This upstart, this annoyance. Sure, my lasers were taking up a ton of room, but the picture quality was great, you could jump around for specific chapters instead of trying to fast forward with video tapes. And then these… these little frickin’ coasters called DVDs come along, with patchy transfers and totally different players, threatening to push out my movie format of choice.

So a couple of things happened. My laser disk player busted, and rather than get it fixed, I decided to hedge my bets. Got myself a new Pioneer combination laser disk and DVD player. I figured, What the hell. Just in case the DVD thing catches on and I’ve suddenly got the laser version of eight tracks, at least I’ll be ready.

Then a reader of this column sent a big honkin’ box of DVDs. The packing material (along with his note) promptly and mistakenly got tossed out, so I wasn’t able to write him a thank you note. But he sent an interesting assortment of DVDs (from the company he worked for), and y’know, the transfers had improved tremendously. And they were starting to have interesting extra stuff on them.

As much as I hated the notion of technology advancing in the area of home theater, always leaving me with a sense of playing catch-up, I started to warm up to DVDs. God knows it was nice not having to get up and switch disks halfway through a long movie, because of course they were entirely self-contained. And damn, y’know, they sure took up less shelf space. Plus the extras they started loading onto them became more and more ingenious, from narratives to missing scenes to creative soundtracks. For instance, if you were so disposed, had way too much time on your hands, and were more than a little insane, you could watch Galaxy Quest dubbed over entirely into Thermian. That kind of thing.

And I was thinking, “Y’know… this DVD thing is pretty nifty.” When new releases came out, I wasn’t bothering with video tapes, and even during the time when both lasers and DVDs were offered, I started favoring the DVDs. I was becoming a convert.

Now I hate them again.

And I will tell you why.

A couple years ago, I took my kids to see the Cathy Rigby version of Peter Pan. She was, to be succinct, the best I’ve ever seen, and I’m someone who grew up on Mary Martin and saw Sandy Duncan on Broadway, so I’ve got a basis for comparison. Rigby just nailed it in a way I’ve never seen any other actress manage. From her athleticism to the British accent she effected which made the dialogue sound far more “real” than any plain American accent had ever managed, she was a revelation. So when a filmed version (with the flying wires digitally removed, no less!) became available on video and DVD, naturally I got one. Actually, to be totally accurate, Kathleen got it for me.

So I sat down with the kids and popped it into my trusty Pioneer so we could relive the magic.

Nothin’.

I tried “play” over and over, tried “Search,” tried “Menu.” Nada. I tried thinking happy thoughts. No go. Blank screen. Thing wouldn’t play.

“Drat,” I said, “it’s defective.”

So it was returned to the Borders it came from and exchanged, and I brought it home and tried it again.

Still nothing.

I tried some other DVDs, just to make sure it wasn’t the player. But they played normally. Now I was starting to get suspicious. So I brought the DVD to my local PC Richards and asked if I could try playing it on one of their floor models.

And it worked fine.

Whereupon I was informed that they’ve started making DVDs… which earlier models of DVD players won’t play. And it’s not as if my warrantee for my Pioneer player covers this, because the thing isn’t broken. It just can’t punch through the encoding on some of the new DVDs, for no reason that I can determine.

And while I was pondering what to do about this, Kathleen bought me the new DVD collection of The Prisoner. We kicked back to watch the first one just the other day.

Same thing. Blank screen.

It’s not as if all DVDs are like this. I bought X-Men, and Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. They played just fine.

What’s the connection between the disks that didn’t work, other than that Kathleen bought them for me and they start with the letter “P?” They’re manufactured in conjunction with the Arts & Entertainment network, A&E, that’s what. So anyone who has an early model DVD player and is thinking about getting DVDs of A&E, it’s not A-OK because you’re gonna be SOL.

It’s not ending there, though. I’m told that more and more DVDs are going to be useless on earlier model players. And I am furious about it, because this is hitting a new low for tech becoming outmoded. When 8-tracks gave way to cassettes, which in turn were replaced by CDs… it wasn’t as if you could accidentally buy a CD for your tape player and find yourself with a wasted purchase. VHS tapes wouldn’t even fit into a Beta machines. And when they come out with new computer games, the boxes are clearly marked as to the requirements for playing them: How much ram, and memory, and what kind of chips—Pentium or chocolate or whatever—and all that other good stuff.

But the new DVDs carry no requirements or warnings at all. They don’t say, “Pioneer DVL-700 won’t play this disk.” And if you get one that won’t function? Well, as my kids are fond of saying, displaying the closest thing to compassion that teens possess: Sucks to be you.

Do the DVD manufacturers have an exchange program where you can get a DVD that will play on the earlier model? No. Does Pioneer have some sort of exchange program to swap out for an up-to-date player? No. Jeez, don’t even get me started on Pioneer, a nationwide company which has no listed 800 number for customer service. When I finally did track them down, they kept me on hold for literally half an hour before they told me, in essence, Too bad.

I’ve grown accustomed to the notion that as new technology comes out, if you want to keep up with it, you have to buy new hardware to do so. But I am incensed that the technology has not fundamentally changed—it’s still a DVD—but we’re now being told that if we want to keep up to speed with what we already have, we have to purchase new equipment even though the current player works just fine. Each new DVD that comes out is a crapshoot: It might play, it might not, and there’s simply no way to tell until you bring it home. So you’ve got DVD manufacturers producing product with no warnings as to whether you’ll be able to play it, and an equipment manufacturer who is not interested in standing behind its product.

As far as I’m concerned, it comes across like a cheap ploy to force people to buy new DVD players even if they don’t need them, even if they don’t want them. And a year or two down the line, the DVD makers can come up with brand new unlabelled DVDs with an even more indecipherable encoding so it can start all over again.

You’ve heard of planned obsolescence? Welcome to the 21st Century equivalent: Planned rip-off.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

How the Grynch Stole Fandom

Originally published January 19, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1418

How the Grynch Stole Fandom

By Doctor Spoofs

 

All the fans who were fannish liked Fandom a lot,

But the Grynch who lived up in Dotcom

Did not.

From his cyberspace Web, the old Grynch sat and schemed.

“I cannot withstand all these fanboys!” he screamed.

“I tried to ignore them, to just look away

But they kept on coming, and finally one day

No matter which way I looked, there they all were

Like a bunch of cockroaches let out of a jar.”

 

Now, fandom had not been a bother at first.

First Fandom was small and quite far from the worst.

The Grynch watched it grow, disbelief in suspension

When he saw them hold the First Fandom convention.

It wasn’t so bad when it centered on books.

“These fans are all dweebs, nerds, and bumblers, and shnooks.

But they’re harmless enough,” said the growly old Grynch.

“Can I tolerate them? Why, sure. It’s a cinch.”

 

But then fandom grew: more conventions and zines!

Printed on ancient Gestetner machines.

It seemed that, no matter which way the Grynch turned,

The fans multiplied, “Like rabbits, I’ve learned,

They chatter, they argue, they flake and they filk.

How much of my patience will SF fans milk?”

 

And fandom spread more; now just books weren’t enough!

No, no, they were fannish for all kinds of stuff!

And through the next years, he saw fans of all stripe

Displaying fan love for weird shows of all type.

They wrote about Xena, The Prisoner, and Blake

They swooned for Dark Shadows, UFO, for God’s sake!

They raved about Kolchak and followed X-Files,

They all adored Buffy. (They even liked Giles!)

 

When cyberspace opened, that’s where the Grynch hid.

You’d think he’d have known (and he wished that he did)

The cyberspace vacuum was filled in short order

With fannish-run websites from border to border.

No longer were paper or printers required;

The fans could now do what their hearts most desired.

 

They filled up the ’net with more fandomesque tripe.

“I can practically see them all gleefully type!

Oh, joy. There’s another Hulk episode guide!

Where can a Grynch go to? Where can a Grynch hide

To escape all the endless and Byzantine clamor

That’s pounding my head with the force of a hammer?

If I had forseen it, I might have prevented

Al Gore from having the damned thing invented.

It’s something I should have done long before now.

I must stop fandom from spreading…

But how?”

 

The Grynch had once tried it, a while it had been.

He’d contacted Paramount and said, “It’s a sin.

’Cause Star Trek, you know, is owned just by you.

All these Trekzines are out there! I think you should sue!”

And Paramount did so, as quick as a bunny.

They shut down the fanzines, lest they make fans money.

The fans were all flummoxed but could not resist

When they received letters with, “Cease and desist.”

 

But in the end, fanzines, they kept coming out.

This irked the Grynch greatly; it made the Grynch pout.

He had to stop fandom right down at its core.

If he did it right, there’d be fandom no more…

 

And then… he had an idea.

 

The Grynch had a horrible, wondrous idea.

“I’ll beat them by playing their own fannish game

I’ll start up a website… and steal their name!

There won’t be a fandom, if I own it all

Their websites will crumble; momentum will stall;

From this moment on, I will see fandom’s fall!

 

And the Grynch straight away fashioned “Fandom Dot Com.”

“By fans and for fans,” said the Grynch with aplomb.

The fans, they just loved it, they flocked by the ton.

And they told all their friends, and they came on the run.

Created new websites and posted the things,

On Star Wars, Godzilla, and Lord of the Rings.

The theory, you see, was by acting as one

The fans would not ever be put on the run

By studio lawyers with frozen-fish faces,

Subpoenas and letters and leather briefcases.

They’d have fandom fun, Oh, yes, come one and all,

They answered the summons, they heeded the call.

And the Grynch? He just sat there and, when all seemed calm,

Why, that’s when the Grynch dropped his Fandom Dot Bomb.

 

It started when one fan decided that she

Would make a domain she called “Fandom.TV.”

The Grynch called his lawyer, and out went a letter,

And it warned the fangirl that she’d really better

“Surrender and transfer” the name—yes, she oughtta.

If not, she’d be labeled as a cybersquatter,

And hit with huge fines. Sure, it didn’t seem fair.

But the Grynch said, “I own it! And you don’t. So there.”

She begged and she pleaded. She said, “Why so rough?

You cannot own fandom!” But the Grynch, he said, “Tough.

 

“It’s mine now, I own it; yes, Fandom is mine,

And though you may howl and boycott and whine,

I still will control it, and I’ll keep it small,

And, eventually, I’ll get rid of it all.

The Doctor Who fans down in Whoville? They’re gone.

I’ll vacuum out all Space: Above and Beyond.

American Gothic and Hercules too

I’ll even crush kidsites for Winnie-the-Pooh.

Yes, now I own fandom! I’ll trademark it soon!

And I’ll send all fans from the Earth to the Moon!

So c’mon, you fan geeks! Whattayou think of that?”

And he sat there, and he sat and he sat and he sat.

And who should show up…

But the Cad in the Hat?

 

“You silly old Grynch,” said the infamous Cad,

“You may think you got them; you think they’ve been had.

But I have some news here to tell you, dear lad.

Fandom, you see, can’t be trademarked, my son

For fandom, you see, why—it’s for everyone!

Your lawyers are zealous. Why, I’ll give you that

And for that I will give you a tip of my hat.

But this will not stick; no, you simply can’t win.

So knock off that sneer and dispense with that grin.

Fandom, dear Grynch, why—it’s been here for years

And will be when we’ve left this vale of tears.

You think you can stop it; I fear you are wrong,

And so, my dear Grynch: Can’t we all get along?”

 

And it’s said the Grynch heart grew five sizes that day,

But it was said wrong, I am sorry to say.

“No deals!” said the Grynch, with a satisfied cough,

“A shame,” said the Cad. And he sent for the SMOF.

And the SMOF worked him over; oh, they did a job,

There’s nothing like SMOF when you want a good mob.

And when they were done, the Grynch still wouldn’t sway

And that’s when they brought in the old SCA.

And they got medieval as only they can.

And that terminated the Grynch’s swell plan.

 

So fandom was saved and we can go home,

Because, my dear friends, that’s the end of this poem.

 

—Peter David, January 2001

 

The CBLDF and You

Originally published January 12, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1417

How many of you would like to work in a comic store?

Really. Truly. Wouldn’t it be the coolest place to work? You’d get to encounter all sorts of folks, from all backgrounds, all ages. Because you, as a fan, know that comics are not simply for kids, but for everybody.

You’d get a kick out of steering the youngest kids over to Powerpuff Girls or Batman Beyond. You could show the Star Wars fans the Lucasfilm-approved titles produced by Dark Horse. Young women—those rarest of the comic book reading breed—might well be intrigued by the Strangers in Paradise or Elfquest trade paperback you trot out. Then there’s the hardcore superhero fan—your closest interest—who’d want your opinion on various titles because he’d figure, hey, you work in a comics store, so you’d know, right?

So there you are in the store, minding your own business, and here comes the anime fan. He’s interested in obtaining copies of Demon Beast Invasion: The Fallen and Legend of the Overfiend #1. He’s over eighteen. You’re over eighteen. No problem. As a conscientious comic book store guy, you’ve done everything right. You’re thoroughly familiar with community standards: There are adult bookstores throughout town carrying far more explicit material than any manga. You’ve got the material separated off into a separate section, marked “For Adults Only,” inaccessible to younger readers. You pull it off the shelf, hand it to the adult customer, take his money.

Congratulations. The guy’s an undercover cop. You’re busted.

Are you in a nightmare? A bizarro world? Nah. You’re in Dallas, Texas. And one woman—one woman—decided that she didn’t like that material in your store. A schoolteacher, she called a member of the PTA, who called his city councilwoman, who called the DA, who called the cops. Even better, when the DA’s office wasn’t acting with sufficient alacrity for the councilwoman, she applied even more pressure. And there was the clerk—or you yourself, if you’re really into the story by this point—standing there on new comics day, hauled away by the cops because of political expediency.

Charged with two counts of promoting obscenity to adults, the store manager’s first trial drew the support of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. Scott McCloud was flown in to testify as an expert on comics. A professor from the University of Texas, an expert on anime and Japanese pop culture, testified that the material had serious artistic merit. Porno magazines, freely available throughout Dallas, were introduced to indicate that the material was well within community standards. And then, according to the CBLDF, “The DA turned to the jury, winked her eye, and reminded them that, as we all know, comics are for kids. The jury took exactly 35 minutes to convict our clerk of promoting obscenity.”

Fun working in a comic store, huh? Guess what: If you’re that retailer, you’re now looking at two years of jail time and a $4000 fine. Fortunately, the CBLDF is working for you, with the first conviction on appeal. Hopefully the travesty will be set aside. Even better, the CBLDF has gotten the second charge (each comic sale was being tried separately), which was slated to go to trial, dismissed. How? An aggressive (and not inexpensive) campaign of subpoenas that were going to bring to light just how politically motivated the entire case was. Faced with that prospect, suddenly the DA dropped the second charged.

But hey, let’s say you don’t live in Dallas. You’ve got a job in a store somewhere else. Doesn’t matter where. There’s always going to be someone who has their own agenda and, sooner or later, you could find yourself with the police at your door. Naturally you’ll want to call the CBLDF to take your case, as we did in the Dallas, Texas instance. To have the CBLDF provide resources, lawyers, moral and legal support.

Guess what:

We can’t.

Not at this point, not at this stage of the game. Because the CBLDF’s financial resources are not where they should be. Not remotely. We had an active and high-profile fund raising year, but you know what? Lawyers’ fees are not going down, and there’s greater and greater cries for censorship—and actions to implement that censorship—every year.

At this moment in time, store owners all across America are operating without a net, because if another serious challenge is mounted, the CBLDF simply doesn’t have deep enough pockets. Certainly not pockets deep enough to match every city that decides adults don’t have the right to purchase adult comics. That comics are and should be purely the province of the child, and any store that disagrees with that philosophy is a potential target. The defense of the retailer in Texas alone ran us $25,000, and that’s before the appeal of the first conviction.

If you’re a retailer, you should be scared.

If you’re a reader, you should be outraged. If you’re not outraged… what the hell is wrong with you?

Perhaps you don’t care about Overfiend. And since you figure it doesn’t directly affect you, it’s not your concern. Well, here’s a hot news flash: In the Dallas store, on the shelves right next to Overfiend, were Sin City, Preacher, Spawn, and the entirety of the Vertigo line. So how long do you wait until Those Who Want to Regulate Your Reading Habits get to a title that you do care about?

If you’re a fan of any of those titles, you should be doing something.

Are you a fan of Neil Gaiman? Well, guess what: Not only has Neil been tireless in his fund raising efforts for the CBLDF, but—and here’s the important announcement—Neil has agreed to join the Board of Directors. Yes, that’s right, Neil—past winner of the Defender of Liberty award—is on board to try and steer the direction of the CBLDF. We hope to benefit from his insight, guidance and ideas, which means that ideally you’ll be benefiting from them as well.

Fund raising efforts will naturally continue next year. Next year’s line-up for the cruise is headlined by Harlan Ellison (who has some devilishly clever shipboard plans afoot), not to mention such luminaries as Sergio Aragonés. Not only that, but I’m pleased (and, frankly, a bit afraid) to announce that Kathleen and I will be getting married on the 26th of May and the cruise is going to serve as our honeymoon. When I doubtfully broached the notion to Kathleen and said, “Do you really want to spend your honeymoon on a ship with comic fans?” she replied, “Why not? I am a comic fan.” And no, she won’t be wearing the wedding dress on board. Well… maybe the veil…

The thing is, people tend not to sign up for cruises until the last minute. It makes sense: December you’re buying presents. January you’re broke. February you’re getting the charge bills for December. March you’re preparing for income tax in April. After April 15th you know if you’re going to have cash available, and that’s when we get our heaviest enrollment.

In the meantime, from now through to the summer convention season, is our slowest fund-raising time. And what do you think the odds are that prosecutors are going to go easy on stores during that time because, hey, the CBLDF is cash light?

Hey, if you’ve got the wherewithal to sign on for the cruise now, great. But the CBLDF needs help today, right this minute, right as you’re reading this. Because at this very moment, for all you know, someone somewhere has decided to find offensive a comic that you find enjoyable. And naturally their opinion is going to be more important than yours unless the CBLDF is there to add weight to your concerns.

If every person reading this sends in $1… one lousy dollar… we’d have enough to pay some immediate bills. If every person reading this column sends in $10… ten bucks… we’d have enough to fight several court challenges and clear off all outstanding debt. And if every person reading this column actually joined the CBLDF… which runs $25 and gets you the quarterly newsletter (in which your name will be listed as a new member) and a specially designed membership card (the year 2000 card featured art by Evan Dorkin; last year’s was Frank Miller), we’d be ready, willing and able to handle whatever came our way. We’d build a fund so strong that we could withstand an army of overzealous prosecutors, politically motivated council members, and judgmental individuals who know better than you do what you should be allowed to read.

Not only should you not wait until censorship directly affects you… but the thing you may not understand is that it’s already affecting you. Every time a retailer has to second-guess his customers’ desires lest he carry material that could get him shut down… every time an artist has to censor himself because he’s worried about being hauled into court… that has an impact on you. Censorship is at its most insidious when it’s invisible.

The CBLDF is working to protect you and your hobby. But you’re going to have to start working to do so as well… or you may not have a hobby to protect. Last time I did a direct appeal like this, it brought in an amount in the high four figures. Let’s see if we can top that… before the censors top us.

Information on donating to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund can be found at www.cbldf.org.