As I stated yesterday, I very much enjoyed this past weekend’s Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival. I touched a bit upon the concerns over show curation, stating that, while I do understand the sense of exclusion felt amongst artists who were not asked to take part in the proceedings, I also had no problems with the existence of such a show in a city like New York City, where there are a plethora of festivals whose tabling system is based solely on a first come, first serve basis.

Earlier this morning, I received an e-mail from a local artist I respect stating that I was, perhaps, missing something. There may be something in that assessment. After all, I approached this particular show largely from the perspective of an attendee and largely liked what I saw—and all of those I surveyed who were exhibiting had, it seems, equally positive experiences. Gabe, Dan, and Bill really pulled together a wonderful and vital show.

Given the show’s attendance, it seems unlikely that anyone will write off the concept of a curated show as a failed experiment, and as more and more shows begin to spring up around metropolitan areas already served by a number of comics festivals, it’s likely that more and more organizers will opt for a similar model.

So with that in mind, I present a rebuttal from a cartoonist who, while not asked to participate in the show, did attend the event as a member of the public.

I would love to hear some thoughts in the comments section below. I realize how often these things tend to devolve into shouting matches when argued in the confines of a Web forum, but I do think that, if we take the show as a model of sorts for the future of comics shows, we can certainly have a serious conversation without any of the name calling.

–BH

Niche.

I think that the cartoonists who were shut out of the proceedings of Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival were upset because this IS their niche. It’s not the guy who draws Green Lantern who’s saying “HEY, NO FAIR!” It’s people who are peers wondering why they were forgotten or ignored.

This is the fundamental problem in Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival. The show was well-run and a good deal of fun, but it doesn’t represent the art comics scene. What the show organizers originally said is that they were going to have an application process from which they would choose the final exhibitors. Many cartoonists were actively courted by the festival organizers and asked to apply once the exhibitor information became public.

Those cartoonists were surprised and angered when it turned out that the organizers decided to simply pick a number of cartoonists and fold their arms across their chests and say “don’t you know what ‘curated’ means?” The organizers said they would do one thing and ended up doing another. Lots of people felt burned and anecdotally, several stayed home. Some have sworn off anything to do with the festival or its organizers.

The most problematic aspect is that the festival (or any festival or convention) is in a position to lead the general discussion of the art form. People who attend the festival receive the implication that what is seen at the show is “relevant” and important. There are a lot of working, contemporary cartoonists in this specific niche of comics who are therefore, by omission, implied to be irrelevant. Now, cartoonists and indie comics junkies will know that isn’t the case, but how about the casual attendee or the occasional alternative comics reader? The show sends a message that certain people are important in 2010 and other people are not as good or not as relevant.

Unfortunately, the comics scene–especially the indie comics scene–gives off the impression of being led by groups of people who see it as a social arena more than an artistic arena. Privately, I’ve spoken to plenty of cartoonists who were furious about the way the show has been handled, but didn’t say anything because they cannot afford to get involved in some intra-comics fighting that could damage their reputation or ability to advance.

Arguments in comics seem to get ugly fast and seem to damage careers in ways that aren’t worth it. So it becomes another lost opportunity to connect with readers, another path closed off, another symbol of the internally-focused comics scene. Another neon sign that says “we don’t want you, you’re not cool.” It’s one thing to run a festival with a narrow focus. It’s a different thing entirely to run a festival with that narrow focus and only invite one’s friends, or persons of relative celebrity, excluding the possibility of actually reviewing and curating work.

Anyway, that’s what people who were frozen out were saying about the festival.

The festival itself was very enjoyable.

After a couple of hours, I’ve made my way back to the front of the room. It’s not so much the number of tables as the sheer density of talent present. I stand and wait to say hello to Josh Cotter, who is doodling something on the inside of one of those limited edition hardcover copies of Barbra in the Sky with Neil Diamonds. He finally looks up, says my name, and asks how I’ve been.

“Fine,” I say, but then, you know, there wasn’t a fire in my apartment since the last time I’d seen him. I return the question, and he answers gratefully that things could have been worse. No one was hurt, thankfully, and the fire was extinguished before anything too valuable was consumed—a true blessing when you pour your heart and soul onto something so flammable as sheets of drawing paper.

I flip through a binder full of Afrodisiac prints and begin discussing the possibility of a future podcast appearance with Jim Rugg—the proximity of the two artists is a not-so-subtle reminder of the consistency of Ad House’s output over the past few years.

As I try to set the scene for the recent live version of the Cross Hatch Podcast (“Is it just me, or does the entire block smell every time they open up a Subway sandwich shop?”), a man shuffles up next to me and begins flipping through copies of Skyscrapers of the Midwest. I turn my head slightly and turn back to Rugg.

“That’s Matt Groening,” I mouth, and we both freeze, unable to pick back up on the conversation for a moment.

Groening closes the book and tells Cotter, “well, I have to buy this.” The Skyscrapers artist smiles and asks, “would you like me to draw something inside?”

“Wow,” answers Groening, “that would be great.” Drawing and transaction complete, Cotter is on his phone, clearly texting everyone he has ever met. A few fans flank the Simpsons creator, and he patiently talks comics with them for a moment. Lynda Barry, just finished with her last Drawn & Quarterly signing of the day, taps him on the shoulder. “Oh,” Groening answers, “can you wait a few minutes? I’m with some fans.” Barry obliges and walks over to a crowd of people she recognizes in the corner.

Groening turns away, post-fan conversation, and I inject quickly, “oh, you have to check this book out, too,” motioning toward Afrodisiac.

He flips through the book, discussing the inside false covers with Rugg. “I have to get this one, too.” Rugg offers to simply give him a copy, but Groening insists on paying. A woman snaps a few camera phone shots of Groening as Rugg draws something on the inside cover.

“How many people do you think have taken picture of you since you’ve been in this room?” I ask Groening.

“Oh,” the cartoonist smiles, “I don’t even look up anymore.” I wonder for a second if he recognizes me as the guy who made him take a photo with Gary Panter on the other side of the room about an hour before. I apologized for the inconvenience and he simply shook it off, telling an amusing anecdote about parents who guilty had him do Bart drawings for his kids after leaving them at home to attend comic conventions.

Groening has moved down the row a bit, to Evan Dorkin’s table—the Milk and Cheese artist had left for about ten minutes. Spotting a pile of Dorkin’s Treehouse of Horror, Groening asks for a pen, and proceeds unprompted to sign each one, to the amazement of those behind the table.

Five minutes later, I run into Heidi MacDonald. As I begin relating the story, Charles Burns walks by, casually. It’s that kind of show, I suppose. The place is utterly crawling with talent. Behind nearly every table, there’s an Adrian Tomine or a Renee French or a Kim Deitch. MacDonald makes the requisite joke about how doomed the industry would be, were someone to drop a bomb on the place.

At moments it’s really almost absurd, all of these folks casually interacting on an indoor basketball church in Brooklyn church, the giant scoreboard unlit at the far side, and the two backboards on either end titled up, out of harm’s way. Some rickety stairs have been constructed out of unfinished wood, to help people up onto the auditorium stage, where show organizers Dan Nadel of Picturebox and Gabe Fowler of Desert Island have set up shop in a somewhat grandiose fashion.

It’s unintentionally symbolic, perhaps, of the nature of the show, which drew a bit of fire in the lead up for the organizers’ decision to curate content. The criticism is understandable, of course, with artists feeling generally shut out of the proceedings. Given the past output of Nadel and Fowler (as well as panel organizer, Bill Kartalopolous), the decision to keep the show’s content on such a short leash shouldn’t have come as a major surprise.

Take Desert Island—I’ve discussed with Fowler a number of times the fairly regular (particularly early in the shop’s existence) occurrence of baffled customers demanding to know where he keeps all of his superhero comics. They’re nowhere to be found, of course. Desert Island a well-curated machine, due at least in part to the limited square footage of his Metropolitan Avenue storefront. The result is a mecca of sorts for a percentage of the overall comics buying public.

And the Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival really ought be seen as a manifestation of that shop’s guiding principles—as well as those of Picturebox, which, I’m sure Nadel would be the first to admit, isn’t for everyone. The show is devoid entirely of a mainstream presence, with Drawn & Quarterly being far and away the largest publisher to have set up shop alongside the basketball court. For a segment of the comics buying public, it’s a show where every table demands their full attention.

It’s a new manner of show—at least so far as New York City is concerned. While shows like New York Comic Con and the MoCCA Festival do tend to draw very different exhibitors and audiences, it’s not due to any manner of exclusionary policy. But in the same way that a store like Desert Island can exist to serve a particular niche, given, in part, the existence of so many other terrific comics shops in the city, The Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival can thrive in a place with countless other shows like NYCC, MoCCA, Big Apple, and King Con all serving portions of New York’s broad and diverse comics buying audience.

And judging from the packed aisles, there is still a significantly large audience for this new manner of show—though let’s be honest, the free admission certainly didn’t hurt.

That’s yet another mark of the Brooklyn show’s new take on the world of comics festivals—one that writers like myself too often take for granted in our rush for press passes. NYCC and its spiritual big brother San Diego are, let’s face it, money making machines (the same holds true, of course, for anything bearing a Wizard logo). That people can and sometimes do genuinely enjoy themselves within their confines seems like something of a fortunate side effect.

The MoCCA Festival, meanwhile, it’s too often forgotten, is a fundraiser for the museum. It’s also a terrific bit of outreach for an organization genuinely dedicated to promoting comics and cartooning as a viable art form.

The Brooklyn show, on the other hand, seems less a money making proposition than other New York shows (no matter how well-intentioned their money making might be). After all, between the free door price and the low-cost tables (both no doubt helped along by the relatively low rental price of a Brooklyn church and the fact that show only runs a single day), it seems to genuinely be less focused on profit—at least on the back end.

What Picturebox and Desert Island do get out of the event, however, is both promotion for their ventures and an opportunity to hawk their goods in an environment they’ve curated (not to mention the best seats in the house, atop the aforementioned stage).

What we the attendees get are tables jam-packed with amazing books and beautiful prints and appearances by folks like Bill Griffith and Jordan Crane and Vanessa Davis and Doug Allen. And despite the fact that we’ve had one major show a month for three months running (NYCC, King Con, and now BCaGF), one never feels a show fatigue walking laps around that basketball court. There’s plenty of room in this town, it seems, for all comers.

–Brian Heater

Hard to believe, but in the three years and change that the Cross Hatch has existed, we’ve never had an official meetup. Sure, we’ve sponsored plenty of events, done our fair share of hanging out, and then there’s that upcoming live episode of the Cross Hatch Podcast, but we’ve yet actually host an official meetup.

We’re finally ready to address this grave oversight. On Saturday, November 13^th, Sarah and I are holding the first-ever Cross Hatch meetup in Chicago, IL. We’ll be celebrating indie comics, the Windy City, drinking, and the fact that we’re all rarely in the same time zone at the same time.

We’ll be meeting up around 8:30 at the California Clipper on 1002 N. California Ave. The place comes highly recommended by some locals. Also, there will be ghosts.

Hey all, as previously noteed, I was recruited to curate programming for the second annual King Con at the Brooklyn Lyceum. There will be plenty of great panels over the course of the weekend (Chris Claremont and Jonathan Ames, for starters), but for the dual sakes of brevity and self-promotion, here is a quick list of where you’ll be able to catch me on November 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th.

Thursday November 4th

Death of Print Media: I will be appearing as a panelist, discussing the impact that the shift from print to digital has had on artists and writers.

Friday November 5th

King Con Kickoff Party: On the wheels of steel, spinning rock and soul at the Brooklyn Lyceum.

Saturday November 6th

1:30 Understanding Israel: A Spotlight on Sarah Glidden: I will be moderating this one-on-one conversation with the How to Understand Israel in 60 Days author.

4:30 The Daily Cross Hatch Presents: The Cross Hatch Podcast Live: Alex Cox and I will be conducting the first-ever live version of the Cross Hatch Podcast, with very special guests, Julia Wertz, Robert Sikoryak, and Lisa Hanawalt.

- BH

Minneapolis is a great place for comics. Have I said that enough?

Last weekend, two of our best festivals fell on the same date.  For one day only you could attend either the Rain Taxi Book Festival or FallCon.  Pretty good for the people of Minneapolis.  Pretty tough for cartoonists wanting to exhibit at both shows.

The exodus from FallCon this year was substantial — at least ten indie cartoonists went to the Book Festival instead of FallCon.  By all accounts, this year’s FallCon was the best yet.  It’s still a great show, but decidedly more mainstream, which is why more cartoonists are spending money for space at Book Fest instead of enjoying the free tables and wonderful hospitality at FallCon.

No hard feelings, FallCon.  Sometimes a cartoonist just needs to get out and try new things.  Experiment a little.  Test a new market.  And they did.  So how was it?

Danno Klonowski, Minneapolis cartoonist and prominent International Cartoonist Conspiracy member, was kind enough to write us a little something about his experience exhibiting for the first time at the Rain Taxi Book Festival.  Full particulars after the cut.

– SM

This past Saturday, October 16th, the 10th Annual Twin Cities Book Festival was held in downtown Minneapolis. In the decade that Book Fest has existed, this weekend marked only my second time attending. The first time was in 2003, and then only as a spectator, when a few of the early Cartoonist Conspirators and I went to go hear a talk from, and then meet, the legendary Peter Kuper who was that year’s cartooning Guest of Honor.

In the years since, Book Fest has played host to the likes of Harvey Pekar and Jaime Hernandez. But — and it still shocks me to say this — the vast Minnesota comics community of both creators and fans were largely oblivious to such greats being in our own backyard. The reason for our collective ignorance is simple: In the years following 2003, Book Fest and FallCon (MN’s own take on the standard, big-time comic con) have always fallen on the EXACT SAME WEEKEND!

As an exhibiting creator, the choice of which event to attend has always seemed more or less obvious. FallCon offers creators free (yes, FREE!) tables but charges an admission fee for attendees.  Book Fest lets everyone through the door at no cost, but exhibitors pay a table fee (albeit a reasonable one compared to the aforementioned standard, big-time comic cons).

FallCon is run by Nick Post and the fabulous Midwest Comic Book Association.  They have been pushing our thriving indie comic scene on attendees largely hungry for superheroes and action figures.  The level of appreciation for indie cartoonists at FallCon, then, falls into some middle ground.

According to Book Fest organizer Eric Lorberer, “We’ve always wanted more involvement from the local comics community.” Still, if you were a MN comic book fan, would you go to the show without the word “comic” anywhere in the description? Until last year, FallCon was a two-day event whereas Book Fest only occurs on Saturday. While basic math proves both events could be attended in a broken-up weekend by a creator, it’s been my experience that Saturday is the “money day” at FallCon, and Sunday is mostly reserved for socializing, networking, nursing hangovers and spending all the money you made on Saturday. So until this year, I only exhibited at one show. The comics one.

In 2010 two events transpired which caused myself (and several other indie creators) to skip out on the autumnal fanboy classic in favor of the gathering for the literary set. The first event was that FallCon and it’s little one-day sister MicroCon switched places, turning MicroCon into the two-day SpringCon and FallCon into the micro one-day event it will remain for here on out. The second event was MIX — The Minneapolis Indie Expo — our little fly-over hamlet’s first big indie show. MIX was everything my fellow indie creators and I had always hoped for. Instead of a day spent making awkward eye contact with each other as a gaggle of Storm Troopers sauntered past, we were all too busy engaging a very large crowd of curious, fascinated, and genuinely appreciative indie-friendly fans. Best of all, the Midwest Comic Book Association was so cool with this upstart indie show that they even helped with the physical set-up and promotion of it.

So when offered by my friend Kevin Cannon to try something new, something possibly MIX-ish, and join him at Book Fest I jumped at the chance. Kevin is one of the very few regular comic exhibitors at Book Fest. In years past he did Book Fest on Saturday while his Big Time Attic studio partner Zander Cannon (they’re sisters or something) did FallCon. Both would then be in attendance at FallCon on Sunday. The same goes for 2D Cloud, a local mini-comic publisher operated by Raighne and Maggie Hogan. Half the team goes to Book Fest, half the team to FallCon, and then the grand reunion occurs on the Lord’s Day.

Michael Drivas, owner and operator of Big Brain Comics, has always had a table at Book Fest, being for many years the lone representative of the graphic novel form that the NPR-listening attendees had been hearing so much about. Drivas chooses Book Fest over FallCon because he feels it to be much better promotion for his downtown Minneapolis store than FallCon, which occurs at the State Fair Grounds in St. Paul.

While I didn’t get into the particulars of “Why Book Fest?” with all the indie comic creators on-hand, the ones I did speak with more or less echoed my decision-making process. And there were several of us, including Lars Martinson, Tom Kaczynski, Zak Sally, Will Dinski, Lupi McGinty, Mike Toft, Bill Prendergast and Cartoonist Conspiracy founder Steven Stwalley (who actually did double duty, leaving the FallCon Conspiracy table in capable hands halfway through the day so he could hit up Book Fest). The Minnesota Historical Society Press book Superheroes, Strip Artists, and Talking Animals: Contemporary MN Cartoonists by Britt Aamodt debuted a month ahead of its official release date at Book Fest and features many of the artists listed above, as well as Ken Avidor and Andy Singer who also showed up to show their support of both the book and Book Fest.

While there was a limited amount of Aamodt’s books at FallCon, the publishers put most of their advanced copies in Book Fest’s hands since author Britt Aamodt was moderating a panel on MN cartoonists at the show. The panel brought out even more creators including recent MN transplant, and Vertigo darling, Bill Willingham. While I didn’t get a chance to speak with him, I did meet and chat it up with panelists Michelle Silva, creator of Love Buzz from Oni Press, and Duluth’s Chris Monroe, creator of the syndicated strip Violet Days.

Aside from finally getting to hold Aamodt’s book in my hands (yes, I am one of its featured cartoonists), meeting Monroe was the highlight of the show for me. In addition to being a fan, we’ve been social network “friends” for a while and it was thanks to dear old Facebook that she recognized me, leading to a delightful conversation. As for the panel itself, talk of what it “means” to be a MN cartoonist broke down pretty quickly into an informational session on what it “means” to be a strip cartoonist, a new-comer in the age of the internet, a mini-comics and Top Shelf artist, and a Big Two war-horse. If the panel’s purpose was to open the average, non-comic reader’s eyes to the varied world we’re all deeply familiar with it more than succeeded. Willingham and Dinski did a great job of keeping the levity going, and the final, totally non-ironic Q&A question of “Who are your influences? Like the guy who does The Simpsons or Cathy?” had everyone in stitches.

Organizer Eric Lorberer said, “I’m heartened that so many indie cartoonists have opted to join our show and bring their work to a wider-than-comics-only audience. There’s no question that indie comics have benefited from increased awareness on the part of traditional book readers — and vice versa!”

I’d have to agree.  I think with such an undeniable presence this year, people will hopefully come to EXPECT a cartoonist turn-out next year. “We’d absolutely welcome an ‘indie comic show within a book fair’ vibe,” said Lorberer, “and we’re even looking at renting more space so that an expansion like that can happen.”

Ultimately though, the question has to be “Book Fest: Was it worth it?”

Like every show I’ve ever done, the final tally for other creators is a closely guarded state secret, but everyone seemed to be happy with the choice they made. The overall consensus seemed to be that a crowd who would never attend FallCon was well-served at Book Fest, and everyone they missed at FallCon would be well-served at SpringCon next April.

“I wouldn’t want to take anything away from such a beloved and longstanding show as FallCon,” said Lorberer, “and I think it’s unfortunate that our date coincided with theirs. In the past their shows have been two weekend days, giving both comics enthusiasts and professionals more opportunities to see both. Hopefully enhanced communication can prevent something like that from happening again.”

Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until 2012 to find out. Both FallCon and Book Fest 2011 will occur on October 15th.

– Danno Klonowski

I ran into Liz Baillie on the floor of New York Comic Con this weekend. She was tabling toward the back of the room in a small aisle packed with indie publishers. She seemed in pretty good spirits when I saw her on Friday–a stark contrast from my own already rundown state. Is suspected that she might be burned out by the time Sunday rolled around, but then, I was likely only projecting.

Given the fact that this year’s show was Baillie’s first ever large con (a bit of a surprise, given the amount of time she’s spent in and around the industry), she seemed the perfect candidate to offer a fresh perspective on New York’s massive show.

–BH

I entered New York Comic Con with low expectations. Extremely low. I had never exhibited at NYCC, even though I live in the city, because I was waiting a few years for the convention to mature enough that I would know what it’s “vibe” was and whether it would be worth my time to spend three days hawking my wares there. I almost didn’t do it this year, but at the last minute my friend Gordon offered up half his table in the newly created Webcomics Pavilion, so I took it as a sign that it was “time.”

However, when I got to the convention early on Friday morning, it was already a clusterfuck of epic proportions. The row of what was supposed to be tables in the Webcomics Pavilion was just a bunch of empty booth space. And the booth space was only five feet wide instead of the standard six. And there was no signage or mention in the program of any “Webcomics Pavilion.” Did I mention there was no table in the space? There was no table in the space.

My tablemate Gordon had handled all the dealing with Reed regarding our space, and he assured me after checking his records that he was offered a table in the Webcomics Pavilion, not booth space. Regardless, we were informed that if we really wanted a table, we’d have to shell out about $75 for a four footer, I believe it was $85 for a six footer, and $100 per chair if we felt like we might want to, you know, sit down. Well, since our physical space was only five freakin’ feet, we shared the four-footer, which allotted us about two measly feet each on which to display our wares. A standard table at any indie convention is between 6 and 8 feet and costs between $150 and $400. Our invisible table in this non-existent “Webcomics Pavilion” was $500.

Even though this was probably the worst possible way to start any show, we both tried to remain optimistic and spent the rest of the weekend perfecting our pitches to passers-by, most of whom seemed unusually interested in hearing about our comics, especially when the buzzword “webcomics” was uttered. At most indie shows, when I tell someone I do a Webcomic and they should check it out online, they are usually pretty uninterested and just want to buy the books. At NYCC, I heard words I had never heard uttered before: “You do a Webcomic? I love Webcomics! I’m always looking for more comics to add to my RSS feed!”

By Sunday morning, I had burned through ALL my postcards (and I had brought a new, full box on top of about half a box left over from the rest of the year’s cons) and all my business cards. I gave out hundreds (maybe 400-600 or so) hobo names and only had a few name tags left at the end of the weekend. At any other indie con, I only give out maybe 100 postcards at best, possibly 100 hobo names. It was insane.

I was kind of bummin’ on Friday and Saturday, because it felt like I wasn’t selling that much stuff, but once I counted my stock and my money on Sunday, I realized I actually did pretty well! It was definitely extremely stressful and draining to deal with the whole spectacle of NYCC (I barely left my table as I didn’t want to deal with the crowds), but I feel much better armed now that I know how to engage and deal with the crowd there. I’m not sure if I’ll exhibit in any “Webcomics Pavilion” next year since apparently the non-existent “tables” cost more there than in Artists’ Alley or the Small Press area, but if I can get in on any of those latter groups I might do it again.

However, next time I’m going to ask what their definition of “table” is first.

–Liz Baillie

A certain combination of anticipation and dread is perfectly natural, I think, in the lead up to any convention. The precise content of said combination, of course, differs from show to show, attributed in part to the focus of the event and to the role a person is set to play within it.

With this year’s MoCCA Fest, for example, the dread largely centered around the amount of work I foresaw for myself over the course of the weekend as my first year in a program directing role. Ultimately, however, it took a backseat to the anticipatory aspect of things—a chance to be at the epicenter of one of the best indie comics festivals in the country.

In the weeks leading up to this year’s New York Comic Con, on the other hand, it was hard to spot the anticipation through the dread. My memories from past years’ events largely involve standing in line, waiting, and generally getting frustrated at not being able to get where I need to be in a reasonable length of time.

By that standard, the trip to Thursday night’s Comic Book Legal Defense Fund party was a pretty good dry run for the rest of the weekend. This year’s kickoff event was held at the new Village Pourhouse location on West 46th—a location which, without a good deal of forethought and maneuvering, requires a trip through the hellish depths of midtown Manhattan’s Times Square, an area which practically every reasonable New Yorker goes out of their way to avoid, but to which, for whatever reason (a Broadway show, a detour, an unquenchable appetite for Bubba Gump Shrimp), they find themselves drawn to, a few times a year.

It’s a dozen or so blocks of slow moving tourists with giant backpacks taking photos of each other and the freaks in costumes gathered there by the boatload—it is, in a sense, New York Comic Con, without the exorbitant entrance fees and boxes full of Marvel Two-in-One back issues.

The new Village Pourhouse location, likewise, is a bit of a madhouse, the standard number of party goers crammed into a far narrower space—a fittingly New York experience for all of those who traveled from out of town for the weekend’s festivities. And while all or most present seem to be having a good time catching up with old friends, I’m already deep in the throes of crowd-rage—a fact that certainly doesn’t bode well for the next few days.

I find refuge upstairs on a chair next to an extremely pregnant Miss Lasko-Gross and various members of the Zuda collective. I watch New York trounce Minneapolis in the last few innings of their second playoff game, as the crowd around me cheers on a woman on the sidewalk downstairs vomiting onto a 46th St. stoop. They should fire the person who decided to schedule two popular spectator sports for the same night.

[More Images]

The Comics Alliance/Dark Horse event is ten blocks away, accompanied, sadly, by another trip through the Great White Way (out-of-towners: don’t forget to visit the new Pop-Tarts store, for a real taste of New York cuisine). It is, thankfully, less jammed full of human meat than the CBLDF party, owing, no doubt, to an error of scheduling, making the show’s party schedule top-heavy, with several large events scheduled for a pre-show Thursday night, leaving Friday virtually party-less.

My plan for Friday was to take an hour or so off of work in the early afternoon, in order to scope the floor quickly, grabbing shots for my day job. I run into Ben McCool outside the convention center. He’s already sweating. Not a good sign. By the time I make it downstairs, the line out of the pressroom stretches around the corner. Word is that Reed had given out 3,000 press passes for the weekend—roughly three times the number of past years, apparently. So much for a quick Friday afternoon trip through Javits.

Upstairs, things weren’t any better, with ticket lines of costumed attendees snaking around ropes, like the saddest-ever gathering of the Justice League, framed by the Javits Center lobby. Word had spread earlier in the day that NYCC had sold out Saturday, lending credence to claims that the show is shaping up to be Comic Con East, a goal that has no doubt been in the sites of its organizers since its inception.

Any doubt was no doubt about that point was laid to rest the moment showgoers hit the floor—greeted by the Michael Jackson Ubisoft stage, thick with the output of smoke machines, the opening chords to “Thriller,” and flashing stage lights. When I arrived, someone in a full-body Gumby costume was partaking in the preview of the upcoming dancing game, a crowd of spectators looking on, as the line of volunteer dancers flashed Wiimotes in the air.

One thing New York Comic Con has had going for it in past years was a genuine focus on comics culture. Other “geek media” has certainly been present from the beginning, but certainly nowhere as invasive as it tends to be at a show like San Diego. This year, however, it’s clear that the show’s organizers have no issue letting it take a backseat to glitzier undertakings. Perhaps the show’s ultimate saving grace will be the fact that it’s so far from Hollywood that it just doesn’t make sense for movie makers to invest as much in the event—yet another reason to pray that the Spider-man musical doesn’t prove a massive hit.

And as I wade through the video game crowd, it’s time again to practice my big con mantra, “this show isn’t for me.” And it’s not. I know that. I know the fact that I’m no longer particularly impressed by the spectacle of roving bands of stormtroopers puts me in the minority of showgoers—and the population at large. Still, is it too much to ask that they don’t all congregate in the aisle at the same time?

I snap some shots and say a few “hellos,” always apologizing for being in such a hurry to get back to work. I run into Comic Book Club’s Alex Zalben, who’s carrying cups of coffee up to the Newsarama booth.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“Terrible,” I answer.

“Why terrible?”

“You know. New York Comic Con.”

He doesn’t, however. I need to check myself and remember that this is a joyous event. A celebration, of sorts. And just because the prospect of moving slowly through ever-shrinking aisles is causing me to dread the remainder of my weekend doesn’t mean that everyone else feels the same.

“Sorry,” I continue. “I’m just in mood.”

I’m a bit surprised to run into Liz Baillie at a table toward the back of the room. She’s also in far better spirits than me for what turns out to be her first major show. Baillie is tabling in amongst the small press ghetto on the main floor. Thing are looking up this first day, though she’s a bit irked at having had to rent the physical table for the weekend on top of the space.

And while she’s not moving a lot of books yet, she’s positive that all of those passersby who promise to read her Webcomic actually will. Unlike smaller shows, which are still fixated on the physical comic, she reasons, attendees of events like this are genuinely interested at looking at strips online. I hope to bump into her on Sunday, to see if she’s still in good spirits, though I fail to do so. After a show like this, if your energy isn’t sapped and soul just a little crushed, you can’t honestly claim to have lived through it.

After a brief stop at the Dark Horse booth to chat with Jeremy Atkins about the publisher’s weekend appearances and a run-in with big guy in an impressively oversized Incredible Hulk costume, it’s time to call it a day.

My show on Saturday begins at around noon. I spend the first few hours working on a story for The Daily Beast. It’s a fascinating experience, given both the subject matter of the piece I’ve pitched and the opportunity to write about a familiar show from the perspective of a publication that is, to say the least, an outsider in this world.

I’ll not delve too deeply into any of that here—they pay well enough to deserve the full scope of that project.

I make my way to the First-Second Booth afterwards. The area is a cluster of familiar faces, with Top Shelf, the CBLDF, Oni, Pantheon, Abrams, and Dumbrella all within a few rows of one another—a safe haven of sorts, away from the row of flashing lights and video game explosions.

I run into CCS’s Jen Vaughan near the First-Second booth. She informs me of the existence and location of Artists’ Alley, and offers to take me over, excited at the prospect of meeting Zander Cannon for the first time. Complaints about the ghettoization of Artists’ Alley in past years were mere prelude. This time out, it’s an entirely separate room, only accessible via a walk down a long corridor full of overzealous exhibitors camped out with fliers in hand.

The extreme separation is the by-product of poorly-timed construction. It has, however, limited overflow, making the aisles of the area genuinely navigatable. Once through the hall, one enters directly into a giant Intel booth—the kind rarely spotted outside of tech conventions like CES. The company is holding a gaming tournament in the hall over the course of the weekend.

We speak to Cannon for a bit and then head off our own separate ways. I bump into MoCCA’s Karl Erickson, who talks up the museum’s Denis Kitchen retrospective, and then check out some tables in the area. It’s the standard collection of big con works, largely comprised of cartoonists looking to make their way onto the payrolls of a Marvel or DC through original pencil sketches of Wolverine. There are a few bright points like Cannon in amongst the mix, but they’re unsurprisingly few and far between.

Once out, I head home to write up the Daily Beast piece and finish work on a slideshow for the early morning panel I’m moderating the next day. The work quickly monopolizes the night, and I miss out on all of the Saturday night VIP festivities. It’s little wonder, perhaps, that I’ve become such a crotchety old man before the age of 30.

I arrive at Javits the next morning with a bit of time to kill before I’ve got to be on stage. After being told to enter five different places by security, I finally make it back onto the show room floor. Early Sunday morning at New York Comic Con is a truly glorious thing, indeed, especially in the wake of Thursday and Friday. I hear a couple behind me joke about dancing down the (relatively) deserted aisles. I’ve actually got time to walk the floor and speak to exhibitors. The prospect of a show that breezy is appealing, indeed, but it’s difficult to fault NYCC’s organizers too much for their own success.

I stop by Top Shelf booth to chat up Chris Staros. The show is going well, he tells me—though, as anticipated, he’s not selling books on the level of a San Diego. In fact, the company only ships roughly 1/10th of their San Diego allotment to the show. People come to New York Comic Con strictly for the spectacle, he explains. In San Diego, they bring backpacks along, not expecting to go home empty-handed.

The assessment makes sense. San Diego, after all, is a global destination for fans—New York Comic Con, on the other hand, is seemingly almost strictly a destination for those on the eastern seaboard, attendees don’t save up funds all year in anticipation of the show, the way they do its West Coast counterpart.

I reach the panel room at 10:20, after being turned away at three different restrooms (finally finding one tucked downstairs in a darkened hall kitty-corner to the center’s sad little food court). The space is entirely deserted save for one soul in the second row—Tracy White, it turns out.

The room is massive. This time yesterday, there was a Battlestar Galactica panel in the space, as evidenced by a few remaining posters sitting on the podium up front. Stan Lee had also appeared in the room the day prior—a sign now stored in the back of the room asked attendees to form an orderly queue whilst waiting for “The Man.”

I set up my computer as panelists and audience members trickled in for “A Day in the Studio.” White, Matt Madden, Jane Yolen, and Dave Roman join me on stage, for what proved a nice change of pace from the standard fanboy programming of large cons. The artists show off images of their workspaces and we discuss process.

I watch a group of children in the front row squirm about for the duration of the panel. They’d have done well to have learned my big show mantra, beforehand. There’s a certain disappointment inherent in doing a panel for adults featuring YA and children’s book authors—I can only imagine how dull it is to be a 10-year-old front row center during a back-and-forth about reference photos.

All of the adults present, however, seemed to have genuinely appreciated the conversation.

I hit the rest of the annexed show hall after the panel, bragging to the Indie Spinner Rack guys about what it felt like to actually be well-rested on the Sunday morning of a convention weekend—I highly recommend it to those of you who can resist the lure of an open bar.

I finish up the room and take another trip around the floor, making my way over to the retailer section, in search of a good deal on some old Jack Kirbys or Carl Barkses (show tip: all of the half-off signs begin to adorn long boxes around noon on a Sunday).

A kid next to me innocently asks a seller if he has, “any issues of 2099,” a sentence I never thought I’d hear at one of these things. He doesn’t. Of course not. Word is that Marvel buried all of them in a pit somewhere in the Arizona desert in the late-90s.

On the way out, I snap a photo of a man dressed like the Old Spice Guy. People will use any excuse to wear a towel in a public place. As I put the lens cap back on, I spot R. Sikoryak rushing through the hall, looking a little out of place as he power walks past the couple dressed as Domino and Deadpool.

I exit the building among a slew of weekend superheroes reluctantly readying themselves to rejoin the ranks of costumeless society. It seems like a good time to call it a weekend.

–Brian Heater

What does that entail, precisely? I’m still in the process of figuring that out, but for starters it means offering up my decidedly myopic knowledge of the comic book world, primarily to help curate programming for this year’s event—panels and the like.

Last year’s event was, by nearly all accounts, an enjoyable and welcome event—even in the already crowded world of New York comic shows (here’s a thing I wrote about it). This year the show is straddling the line, both figuratively and literally.

Literally in the sense that this year’s King Con falls on November 6^th and 7^th, right smack in between New York Comic Con and the Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival (also in its second year), and figuratively, in that the show caters to independent and mainstream comics fans alike. The first announced guest is Chris Claremont, after all—even a jaded indie fan such as myself gets a bit giddy at the prospect of meeting the guy who wrote “The Dark Phoenix Saga.”

For that reason, the show will be a new challenge for me, after having been involved in the paneling for MoCCA and the first annual Minneapolis Indie Expo, two decidedly indie-focused shows.

The show is also a celebration of local talents—any thankfully, there’s are plenty to choose from in Brooklyn and the other four boroughs. Heck, we might even go outside, if people’s travel budgets allow it.

Only in its second year, the show lacks the name recognition of MoCCA, and my timeline for helping to curate is significantly shorter, but we’ve already begun assembling talent, and there are a lot of panels in the works that I’m genuinely excited to announce.

Keep checking back for more info on the days and weeks to come. There’s a far more official sounding press release after the jump.

–BH

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Media Contact: Regan Jaye Fishman  646.228.3563   Regan@BrooklynLyceum.com

The Daily Cross Hatch’s Brian Heater joins Brooklyn Lyceum’s KINGCON: Comics & Animation Convention as Co-Director

Brooklyn, New York-

In 2009 the inaugural KingCon: Comics and Animation Convention gathered an unprecedented  amount of Brooklyn-bred comic talent under one roof, and was enjoyed by hardcore comic fans and layfolk alike. Alongside Regan Jaye Fishman at the helm of the ‘09 con was Human on the Inside creator Mike Zagari. Under Mike’s direction the con was able to score talent the likes of Fred Van Lente, Dennis Calero and the legendary Denny O’Neil.

When Zagari departed the con to focus on personal projects, one name was suggested over and over again to fill the now vacant programming position.

Brian Heater had been an invaluable part of the con last year  and his work programming the recent MoCCA fest made him a natural choice to assume the role of Co-Director.

Mr. Heater is the editor-in-chief of indie comics blog, The Daily Cross Hatch and the editor of PCMag gadget site Gearlog.com. His writing has appeared in Spin, The Onion, Entertainment Weekly, The New York Press, and various other publications. He is the co-host of the comics podcast The Cross Hatch podcast and has helped curate programming for both the MoCCA Festival and the Minneapolis Indie Expo.

In addition to his duties programming the entertainment for the weekend, Mr Heater and his Podcast will both be featured in the Panel schedule

The roster of panels and activities continues to grow, and more information can be found on the con’s website: http://kingconbrooklyn.com

The Brooklyn Lyceum is Located at 227 4th Avenue in Park Slope, right atop the R train station at Union Street.
More Details online at www.BrooklynLyceum.com; 718-857-4816.

I won the first—and almost certainly the last—comics award of my career. It had the word “fake” in its name and two Silly Bandz adhered to its exterior. I haven’t actually opened the thing yet, but I’m told that it’s full of Sour Patch Kids. It got more or less smashed on in my suitcase on the car ride home, under the weight of the new Adhouse Book and a mason jar full of “genuine” Georgian corn whisky—apparently they distill the stuff in Kentucky.

Ignatz emcee Liz Baillie tossed the cardboard Fakenatzes to anyone who could guess the next presenter based on a series of obscure questions she’d found rummaging around amongst Internet biographies. I guessed Dean Haspiel. Moments later, at the request of the crowd, Dean presented the award for “Best Graphic Novel” topless. So, in a sense we all won.

The Ignatz Awards are, no doubt, a fascinating thing for first timers, a unique balance of the goofy and earnest, the self-proclaimed “fastest awards show in comics,” wherein shirtless presenters and prat falls co-mingle with tearful acceptance speeches given while cradling a brick on a small wooden cradle. There was, much to the disappointment of many, no gorilla suit in the crowd, but the point stands nonetheless.

It’s easy to appreciate the ceremony as a microcosm the whole weekend. SPX is a rare thing in an industry that, let’s face it, has the tendency to take itself far too seriously—and understandably so. We’ve all, no doubt, spent countless hours and energy as one-person ambassadors working to convince other of the legitimacy of the form. How many strangers have you told about Maus or Fun Home or Palestine or Persepolis?

Yet the SPX of 2010 is a show full of fake felt beards and candy-filled cardboard bricks. The poster drawn by Raina Telgemeier prominently displayed the now-infamous chocolate fountain, which, like clockwork, made an appearance at the Ignatz after party held in the hallway adjacent to an what sounded like a pretty happening Quinceanera.

There’s a sense, I think, that SPX is a show for friends. Not in that intimidating off-limits sort of way, however—I spoke to plenty of first-timers who felt at home amongst crowds of veteran showgoers. In past years, I think I’ve pointed toward the setting—Bethesda (or, rather, Rockville, as any local will quickly point out). The city’s size dissuades natural fracturing. It’s not a New York or San Francisco or Chicago, where a plethora of nightlife options entice every single publisher to put their own competing party.

It’s not just Bethesda, however. It’s the North Bethesda Marriot, which, for two days a year morphs into a tightly-packed village of cartoonists. You can’t sit down or eat or, in most cases, even go to the bathroom without running into one. You can, however, as I mentioned in previous years’ posts, have the hotel gym almost entirely to yourself for the better part of the morning.

There is, of course, still some fracturing. There are plenty of folks who I regrettably didn’t see as much as I’d like to have. As in past years, late night merriment was oft segregated into small groups in hotel rooms—small by party standards, but in many cases no doubt pushing the outer limits of fire code occupancy. It was in those rooms that I had some of best conversations of the weekend, away from the sometimes maddening crowd of the buzzing showroom floor.

On Saturday night, I stuck with travelmate Heidi MacDonald and cartoonist R. Sikoryak for the better part of the evening, both before and after the awards. We ate dinner at a diner with panel organizer Bill Kartalopoulos a bit out of the way, when the paltry offerings within a few blocks all proved too crowded to offer any hope of returning to the Marriot in time for the ceremony (for which Sikoryak was nominated and later won).

Good conversations weren’t enough to stave off hunger, given the fact that no one at the table had really eaten anything of substance the entire day. It is a comic show after all. Starve and drink and look at funny books—they ought to print that on all the posters.

We made it to four separate hotel parties that night. I spoke with a handful of folks who I rarely see, despite living in the same city—Lisa Hanawalt, Chris Duffy, Julia Wertz, Haspiel, Jamie Tanner, Gabriel Bell, and had the first actual non-interview conversation I’d ever had with Vanessa Davis, Jesse Reklaw, and Nate Neal, the latter of whom shared my genuine sense of affection for “Nashville Skyline.”

I hope I never get to the point where I don’t have to excitedly whisper to a friend “that’s Jaime Hernandez!” when the cartoonist sits down next to me in on a hotel couch. It was in the same whisky-filled suite that I first met Jeff Smith my first year at the show. There’s something magical in that cutting edge 1970s upholstery—something that, thankfully, isn’t bedbugs.

The trip down also afforded near-constant conversation with fellow travelers MacDonald, Jeff Newelt (who, for better or worse, has never heard a genre of music he couldn’t improvise fake trumpet lines for), and former New York City cab driver Rick Parker, who piloted his station wagon from his home in rural Maplewood, New Jersey to highways of Maryland. On the way back, fellow Pekar Project artist Sean Pryor squeezed in back—we dropped him off in his hometown of Freehold, New Jersey—he regaled us with tales of the time Bruce Springsteen came in to the ice cream parlor he was working at.

The Marriot bar is the default meeting place of sorts for the duration of the weekend. It’s the first place one heads to after drive the 45 minutes back from Atomic Books’ annual reading/Nerdlinger kickoff party the evening before. The room was packed with familiar faces when we strolled in—Dustin Harbin, Will Dinski, Laura Hudson, Tom K., First Second’s Gina Gagliano, Fantagraphics’ Jacq Cohen, Tom Neely, Ed Piskor, Aaron Renier, Kate Beaton, and Chris Staros and Leigh Walton from Top Shelf.

The common topic of conversation was where the party moved after the bar closed at midnight. The answer was, unsurprisingly, a long list of hotel room numbers.

Saturday night was a bit more organized, however. The Karaoke Karavan was in play once again, thanks to the discovery of a local Mexican restaurant, which had taken the mantel from the sadly defunct Korean establishment we used to descend upon annual and the leadership of Jen Vaughn and Eugene Ahn, who had also taken over this year’s Nerdlingers.

I, however, missed the event, too caught up in a conversation with Fred Chao, Aaron Renier, and Indie Spinner Rack’s Mr. Phil on the steps outside the hotel, post-Ignatz.

I had gone into this year’s show with the intention of grabbing and squeezing as many interviews as possible into the one and a half days we spent on the floor (hey, some of us have to be at work at 8AM on Monday). Roger Langridge, Jaime Hernandez, Vanessa Davis, Lisa Hanawalt, Drew Weing, and Adventures in Cartooning’s Alexis Frederick-Frost all agreed—and I’m genuinely excited to share the results in the coming weeks.

Each year someone asks me what the “book of the show” is a little earlier in the weekend. This time I got the question by 1:00 on Saturday. As always, it’s a tough thing to answer—there were new books from Kevin Huizenga, C. Tyler, Chris Ware, Vanessa Davis, Harbin, and the almost absurdly personable Jim Rugg. Picture Box’s lovingly compiled Monster anthology, the mind-boggling Norman Pettingill collection from Fantagraphics, and new issues of Love and Rockets and THB were certainly contenders.

By Sunday afternoon, however, it was clear—Adam Hines’s epic Duncan the Wonder Dog on Adhouse had stolen the show—at least for me. There was no other book on the floor I was more excited about tearing into on the train ride from Maplewood to Manhattan.

Given its sheer girth, however, I was forced to deposit it for most of the day, and when it came time for to eat lunch at 3:00, however, it was me and a messenger bag full of minis at the falafel place around the corner. There’s a fine line between habit and tradition, but after a third year in a row, I think I may have crossed over into the latter, as I sat quietly alone for a few moments, eating kebob and leafing through a stack of Xeroxed minis.

I caught myself laughing out loud at one of Gabrielle Bell’s latest diary strips—as did two diners sitting on the other side of the room. I smiled as they stared, and said loudly, “sorry, comics.” They nodded. I stood up, walked over, and showed them the offending panel, one at a time. They laughed. I walked back to my table, sat down, and turned the page.

–Brian Heater