A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife

Walking the Plank and Other Falsehoods: The Anatomy of the Comic Book Studio

I've been through two studio upheavals now and countless partings of studio partners.  It's always the same array of feelings... Sadness, anger, betrayal, sometimes regret.  Most of the time you just close your eyes and wait for it all to move on, so to speak, because it always does.  Move on, that is.  I used to blame us,Tony and me, for the issues that came up in the studio.  It's always someone else leaving the Jolly Roger for calmer seas.  But that's the way it has to be since my husband was the one who created Jolly Roger Studio.  He's always left at the helm.

But the truth is, the creation and dissolution of the comic book studio, the constant changing of partners and properties, that is the true nature of the beast.  The comic book studio, with very few exceptions, does not remain solid.  It's not that there was anything wrong with the members that have come and gone or with Tony.  It's just how it is.  It's the nature of the creative. Don't believe me?  Look back at some of the greats. You'll see.

I can't think of one person in the industry who can't say about another creator," I don't work with him/her anymore."  It's all over the industry and it will remain all over the industry.

The one thing I can say for the Jolly Roger is that she tends to go the extra league for her mates. Tony will go any to length to get his shipmate work.  He will share the the wealth that his years of "paying the piper" have afforded just as others have shared with him. 

I use the term "wealth" VERY loosely here, it's more like rations...Yeah, that's better.

If he loves you, he loves you and that's that. There was a time not too long ago when he went to editors he knew to get a mate work, to put in a good word for him.  He's actually done this numerous times, but what strikes me about Tony is that he always tells the editors if they can to not tell the guy he did it. Egos run high in this business and it's important to maintain a certain level of egocentricity (I think this is true in any job actually.  It propels us to do better.).  As an artist, Tony knows this better than anyone and admits it openly.

So to fix the problem?  Most would say, people who work together shouldn't be close friends... Yeah...I guess that works some of the time!  But not in the creative world where the limits of your job are equal to your imagination. There has to be a certain level of commradery, intimacy.  There has to be trust. When it requires two highly creative people to come together on one idea, there will be fireworks and sometimes it's not the good kind. What is most interesting to me is the fact that most of the arguments aren't even over the property they are working on together.  Most of the time it's over stupid stuff but if you look further, there is something deeper going on. Lack of trust?  Lack of intimacy?  Lack of friendship in general? Whatever it is, it will surface sooner or later. It's not that either party is wrong, it just is.  We all have our reasons.

So, to all of those who have been shipmates, I wish you the best. I hope you find the calmer seas you are looking for.  As for the Jolly Roger, well, she'll stay her course, come what may.

A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife

Part 12,879: "And This is My Wife..."

There is a part of being a comic book artist's wife that no one tells you about until you get to the very moment where you say to yourself, " Oh Hell! This is NOT happening!!" If you are a good wife, you do it with a smile... I am ashamed to admit I have not always done it with a smile.

As you have read in earlier posts, comic book conventions ("cons" for short) are not necessarily my favorite weekend getaway, but with three kids, and three dogs, and two cats, I am not picky when the opportunity to high-tail it alone with the artist comes along. For the first few conventions, we were young and not many of our comic book friends (mostly male) were married. I just tagged along and taught Tony manners along the way (as in, "I'm standing right here, could you introduce me?" Who knew I had the invisibility superpower?).

As the years went by I spent most of the time during conventions not at the convention at all. I would do a little research and filter about the town going to museums, going to yarn shops, or just walking if I was in a place like New York... did I mention going to yarn shops?

Then one day it happened! Just as I was grabbing my purse off of one of those horribly uncomfortable convention folding chairs, Tony says, "Stace! This is Joe Shmoe and his wife Jane. I was telling them how you hate being in the convention hall during the day and since Jane doesn't know anyone, I was thinking you could take her along with you today..."

THIS is the part where you find out what kind of wife you are.

You have a couple of choices:

1) Lie and say you were just heading to the ladies room but if you go anywhere you'll be sure to let them know (fat chance).

2) Smile graciously and go on and on how you've got 12 yarn stores you've planned to visit. If the wife perks up, there's a good shot that the two of you will get along.

3) Bring her along and hope for the best that one of the two days you have to spend alone will be filled with making a new friend.

Now, don't for a second think that I don't know how horribly insensitive and just plain mean this all sounds, but I was once burned very badly after inviting another wife along for a day of shopping. She insisted on driving (although she didn't know the city) and picking the places we were going to go visit (although she didn't know the city or ME for that matter). She decided where we would eat lunch (and turned her nose up at what I ordered). On the way back to the hotel, we ended up in a traffic jam for an hour because she insisted on taking the highway. During this time, she had undoubtedly decided that she didn't like me and very much wanted me to know that she didn't like me. I couldn't leave because she was driving and, God help me, there were moments where I thought she was actually going to start blessing me out. It was a complete nightmare, one that I have never been able to shake. I later found out from a mutual friend that that was "how she is." I don't know, maybe I said something... Or maybe she was just CRAZY!!! She actually sought me out at a future convention to see if I wanted to go shopping? Wha..????

So now you might see my trepidation in inviting a complete stranger along on one of my excursions away from Comic Book Land. I tell ya, one bad apple...

Okay so back to our three options. More often than not I would choose #3. More often than not, it was a very good day.

I have a sentimental reason for choosing Option #3 or "the high road" when presented with this uncomfortable situation. I was once the rookie wife, the Jane Shmoe if you will, at this three-ring comic book circus also known as a convention; and if you don't read comics, haven't a clue how to pronounce Superman's real name, and (never actually having smelled one) think Klingons smell, then the convention experience is generally a torturous 8-9 hours.

One of my first conventions was San Diego Comic Con (not a good choice for first-timers) and Tony had just begun Starman. Archie Goodwin was Tony's editor then. Archie was an editor, nay, a man like no other. He spoke so quietly yet commanded incredible respect. I was only fortunate enough to meet him once, but we talked many times on the phone. Tony could be hopping mad about his job...or the position of the sun... but the moment he got on the phone with Archie it was like someone had shot him with a tranquilizer gun. God! I wish I could have bottled that voice!

Archie was married to an equally wonderful woman named Anne who, for at least one day, was my guardian angel.

There I was, lost in a sea of capes and tights, superbly pissed over the loss of my way too expensive cappuccinos, preparing to have a ritual beheading of the Klingon kind, and regretting terribly my decision to come along to San Diego Comic Con (You can read about my cappuccinos and stupid Klingons here.). I was not happy, so much so, that at least two complete strangers said, "Cheer up!" as they passed our table.

Enter stage right: My wonderful guardian angel!

Sweet Anne, probably choosing option #3, asked me to go with her on a harbor tour, ya know, to get out of the chaos of the convention. Happily, I grabbed my bag and escaped with this nice woman whom I had never met before in my life. It was a fabulous afternoon. Anne taught me so much in that short time. She taught me how to handle conventions "in doses," and that she herself didn't spend a lot of time at the hall. She loved to travel with Archie but spent her days out in the cities she visited sightseeing and whatnot. As a stupid newbie, it never occurred to me that I could LEAVE the convention and come back when the chaos was over (this from a girl who at 19 sold her car and hopped a flight to France). I wasn't bound to that table covered in white plastic and clad with a blue satin skirt. There were no shackles jailing me to endless hours of comic book chatter. Even though I was going to a convention, I didn't have to stay at the convention.

Funny, now that I have made so many friends in the comic book world, I actually like being at the con. I sit and knit and blab with whomever has made the poor choice of sitting next to me at the booth (So I can talk! Sue me!). I still do like to escape the chaos and savor some time to myself, but now I leave to buy yarn, not to preserve my sanity.

And although I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that there is a 99% chance that everything will be fine, I invite that poor wife with the "I'd rather be in hell than here" look on her face along for a day of shopping. I even limit my yarn shopping to one store (No, really!). I do this as a sort of pay-it-forward for Anne, for teaching me to help myself, for showing me one more way to survive in this kooky comic book world.

A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife

* I do not pretend to have excellent grammer or superb spelling. If errors in these areas upset you then you will most assuredly despise my writing and I suggest that you stop now unless you couldn't read this to begin with because it is far too small and I am too proud to make it any larger. I do love a good run on sentence!

Part 198,321: The ALMIGHTY DOLLAR!

God, it makes paying your mortgage so much easier, doesn't it? Or should I say that it's so much harder to pay your mortgage WITHOUT it? Well, welcome to the feast or famine life of a comic book artist (or at least of one comic book artist). First, let me say that I am so grateful for the life that comics provides for my family. The industry has been very good to us and when I say industry, 90% of what I am talking about is the fan base (if it appears that I am kissing the proverbial "ass" well, call it like you see it, 'cause I AM!). Seriously, if you all don't read what my husband draws and/or writes, we starve... until I convince some engineering company that I can do more than fix those little tabs on disposable diapers and go back to work myself. I suppose I did get those degrees for something....

Like any freelance job out there, if you don't work, you don't get paid. No vacation time, no "personal time," no sick time. There are no bonuses, health or dental benefits, or 401(k)'s. There's not even a big fat holiday office party! If you're down for the count, you'd better make sure you've got financial backup or great relationships with your creditors. It's all a great big juggling mess until you sell a movie, or at least get an option on one, and then you can breathe... for awhile.

So you'd better make sure you like drawing and you can do it to support a family, or an addiction, (or your wife's addiction because she needs "a little something" to cut the edge of being married to a comic book artist), depending on your situation. You'd better love it in your bones, in your soul, in the corneas of your eyes, in the mitochondria of your cells; because it's so easy to look at that drawing table and tell yourself, "I make my own hours. I'll work tonight." And then "tonight" comes and that blank paper is still staring you in the face menacingly, but your family or friends are going out to a movie and you really want to go. How overwhelming it must be to create when you haven't the inclination to do so. How scary that seems to me, really.

On the other side of that coin, when Tony's "got his game on," it's very difficult to pull him away from the drawing table. Thank God that's more often than not, bless 'em! (Yes, another southern colloquialism.) He's recently gotten back into painting after years and years of my pleading with him to do so. When Tony finally picked up that paintbrush, it was like a child opening a box of Crayons for the first time. And when I say Crayons, I mean the box of 96 colors with the built-in sharpener! I wish I could have bottled that excitement... You know, for a rainy day... to put a few drops in his coffee in a Catherine de Medici sort of way when those dark, down times come around. Oh no... that's right.. The "Catherine de Medici" bottle is for when he doesn't take the trash out.

Look at her! I knew nuns that had that same composure while inflicting punishment.

But most of the time, really, if we're not getting a paycheck, it's a publisher red tape mix up. It's been more than a month since we've received a paycheck that was actually right as in, not missing half of what was owed to us. Paying bills on "half" doesn't quite cut it but what are you gonna do? Bite the hand that feeds you? Not if you have "a lick a' sense," as they say here in the south. You live off of savings, you know, your "back up plan." "Back up plan" meaning that huge change jar in the corner of your closet. Don't laugh! That change jar saved our butts the first years of our marriage while I was just finding my sea legs on this ship-of-fools.

I just love Hieronymus Bosch! I can so relate to his art...sigh!

Then, at some point the rocking of the boat became second nature, the sea swells less daunting, but it doesn't make the comic book artist's (or artist's wife's) life less difficult, or less worrisome. It just means you bear the financial storms with a little less wear and tear on your marriage, on your psyche, and on the wrinkles on your face.

Yeah, I'm Here...

I haven't been here in a while but I think that I still know my way around. I've missed blogging but the internet has had to take a back seat for many moons now. You know... life and whatnot.

I haven't been able to follow my favorite blogs (which I miss terribly) and I haven't been able to write, not even for my fiction blog, Streak O Lean. I haven't written anything, not even a thank you note. Why do I go through these times? Why is it that sometimes it's so hard to get words down on paper? Now my mind hasn't been a great big blank all of these months, but having the words in my head and stopping to write them can be such an ordeal. The truth of the matter is that my life moves far too fast. I just can't seem to catch up.

What I wonder, however, is what would happen if I did "catch up"? What does "caught up" look like? Has anyone ever actually done it (Martha Stewart, you can lower your hand... sigh!)? I really tend to beat myself up for not having reached the "caught up" status, but paradoxically, I know that it doesn't exist really. So why do I insist on keeping it on the horizon? I think it's because it's a convenient excuse. It's the reason I give to others, and most importantly, to myself for not being the best that I can be. It's an excuse with which just about any wife, mother, sister, friend can identify. "I am just too busy!" "I'll do that when I have time." "I wish there were more hours in the day." "Not now! Mommy's really busy."

Just reading those phrases makes me feel tired and worn out.

So "catching up" must be a state of mind. I suppose if I just let go of the notion that there is no end to the things that need to be done in life, I might relax. If I would just accept that life is one cycle after another, maybe those phantom finish lines in my head would vanish. Perhaps I wouldn't go straight from mundane task to mundane task trying to keep everyone happy. Maybe.. just maybe.. in the mayhem, I could carve out time to write, read, quilt, and play with my kids; to be at the helm of my own ship instead of playing first mate.

Well there you have it, my blogging friends, another destination! Another course on which to set sail. I just hope that I remember that the world is round.

New Post Over at Streak-O-Lean!

Come read it...please...Do it for the children!

Streak-O-Lean has Moved

Hi All!

Just a note to let you know that I moved my short story, Streak O Lean, to its own blog. So if you are reading it (...both of you) you can find it here. All of the posts are there from the beginning, and I posted a new one yesterday that will not be posted here. You can always access it through this site. The link is in the upper right-hand corner. Thanks to all who read it! I just wanna hug yo' neck!

Stacie

A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife

Play Nice!


Quite often my mothering skills have to bleed over into the comic book world. Perhaps some would call this micro managing. I call it necessary. My husband is one-of-a-kind and you know that these posts are usually written to poke fun at him and comic books in general. But know, if you are a fan reading this post, that I appreciate you. You make my family's life possible. You pay the bills, you take us to the movies on family day, you make our world go 'round so to speak. So, thank you.



***Warning: This post will have some foul language so please be warned and if this offends you, then please don't read this. ***



Here is a list of some of the things that Mama Bird has had to say to both my husband and the comic book world this week:



1. Tony, you are funny, big-mouthed, a great artist, and generally an all around good guy. HOWEVER, words like (deep breath) "fucker", "cocksucker", "shithook", and the like are probably to be used minimally on twitter, Sweetie. Those that know you or follow your twitter know that you have your rants will probably not be offended. More than likely, they will think you are hilarious. But there's always that one reader who will be offended. Yes, I know they can stop reading, but play nice, okay?



2. You're giving your editor anxiety attacks, ulcers, and other stress-related illnesses. Finish the book or you'll go to bed without supper!



3. (This to all those who are on Twitter, Facebook, Message Boards, etc.) Teenagers have commited suicide over internet bullying. Adults should know better.



4. Just because it's a pee diaper doesn't make it less toxic than a poo diaper, and putting it on a comic book you don't like does not equal putting it in the trash. Yes, I do agree that comic book is trash, but still!



5. Perhaps it's the Italian-American in me or just plain being a mom, but if you eff with my family, you eff with me. Those who know me know that is a bad thing.



6. Klingons suck!



7. Tony, calm down! If I told you that I like long hair on men, would that make you feel better?



8. Tony? Where are you? I can't see you... Maybe it's time to shave, Blackbeard, or I'm gonna tie some canon fuses to that tangled mess myself!



9. Did I mention Klingons suck?



10. Egos run high with celebrity. Is Tony Harris a celebrity? Not in my house! But he is very popular.

Just to Blog or Blah Blah Blah

This is a total sort of stream of thought blog (or consciousness for all of you literary types). Now I am no James Joyce by any stretch, and I actually always found it difficult to read his literature, even the annotated versions; but I want to blog without giving what I have to say the usual extra attention of being organized, etc., and yet give the stuff on my mind an opportunity to "get out".

(Side note: I just put quotes inside of a period. Now I know that is a no-no in dialogue but what about in the situation I just encountered where I am using a phrase say, in slang. Hmmm. Guess I will be looking that up.)

No, generally, stream of consciousness is not my bag. I am just a straight shooter. Must come from my engineering background. Having a profound need for things to be logical has made a lot of wonderful literature a struggle for me. Don't get me wrong. I do like metaphors and allusions (did I use that word correctly?) but I also like to know what the hell is going on. I have a rule of thumb and that is, if I have no clue what is going on by page 40 and any reliable source from the internet doesn't help my understanding of plot or characters, the book goes away. Sometimes I keep it and give it another go, but most often not. With that said, I haven't had to "put down" (How's that for a pun?) many books. Probably because I know the genres I like and just stick to those. So much for branching out though, huh? I do sometimes and find that I am quite happy about following a different genre for awhile, but I always return to my fantasy, sci-fi stuff, or the classics.

Case in point: Poetry. Hated, hated, HATED poetry in high school and the smidgen of English Lit I was required to take by the Engineering curriculum. Bearable were Shakespeare's sonnets, The Canterbury Tales, (boy I love those Brits, huh?), and Shel Silverstein. This was all true until I had to teach poetry to my son during homeschool. I chose Robert Frost, please don't ask me why. Probably because his name comes up when anyone discusses great American poets (and watching The Dead Poet's Society helped a little). So we started, and by God, I just loved it! I've read my little paperback compilation of Robert Frost's poems so much that the back has fallen off. I found an illustrated copy for children of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. The poem's short but I just love it. I can feel the chill of the winter, but I also feel the need to stop and look at the beauty of the quiet snow. And I can't read Birches enough. Somewhere on the internet there is a place where you can hear Robert Frost read his own works. There is magic there. There is magic when any author reads their own work (provided it's good work).

No magic in this blog today, just blah blah blah. I'd love to stay and chat longer....

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Streak-O-Lean

* Disclaimer: I do not pretend to have excellent grammer, superb spelling, or wonderful editing skills. If errors in these areas upset you then you will most assuredly despise my writing and I suggest you stop now unless you couldn't read this to begin with because it is far too small and I am too proud to make it any larger. I love a good run on sentence!

Part 8: Country Ham and Decaf Coffee TO GO!


May showed up to work the next day hair coiffed perfectly, accented delicately with a small rhinestone barrette. As she approached the automatic doors she envisioned them slamming shut over and over again on Curtis' head. Oh she wanted to blame Twila as well but she knew in her heart of hearts that women will woo and married men should say "I woo not!" That being said, Twila's head was not excused from May's violent visions. So, with brief case in one hand and a purse large enough to carry a country ham in the other, May lifted her tiny chin and proceeded through the sliding doors. She stopped at the gumball machines, popped a quarter into a slot, turned the knob, and scooped up a large bright orange gumball. Orange. Her favorite color. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.


She rounded the wood paneled, glass topped, cubical she called an office and stopped at the small swinging door. Someone had replaced Paper Snowman, gingerly taping the paper frozen vegetables back on to his mittened hand. May stood there for a moment briefly replaying in slow motion the events of last Friday in her head. With all that had happened in that explosive episode, she remembered having at the time the involuntary urge to stop and stick Paper Snowman back onto her swinging door. He was after all an innocent bystander. And now seeing Paper Snowman returned to his proper place, she hoped someone had been as good to Paper Santa as well.


The store was quiet that Monday morning, but Mondays were generally pretty quiet. The Pig's circulars were usually in Thursday's paper, so most people shopped Thursday through Saturday, except of course on Wednesday's when the Senior Citizens would arrive for their discounts. The lack of activity was usually welcomed as it allowed May to concentrate and get down to the numbers she had to crunch, and the forms she had to fill out, and the payroll she would have to finish. But the low buzz of Muzak and the clacking from someone pushing that cart made work very difficult. She grabbed the carafe from her coffee maker to fill it with water when she realized that unless it was decaf, she wasn't having any coffee. Shit! Shit! Shit! Stupid Pregnancy! She thought to herself. She stopped, put the carafe down, and pushed through the swinging door to the floor of the store, precisely where she had hoped not to have to go that day. Let's see, coffee is aisle 8, she remembered. May picked out the best decaf coffee the store sold and went to the check out lane where Dotti was working.



"Hey Dotti. How you doin'?" May managed a smile.



"I'm fine, Sweetie. You okay? You need anything? A margarita? What about a shot gun?" Dottie was one of May's most favorite people in Carrington. Dotti could be the one hanging from the cross, but she'd make sure everyone had a hammer and nails.



"I'm okay. I'm glad you didn't have to see it. You were off, weren't you?" May wrinkled her nose in embarrassment.



"Glad I didn't have to see it? That put me at least 15 minutes behind on the gossip in this store and you know I hate that!" she said with a wink. "Honey! I wish I had been here, if anything to give you some backup. Curtis may be my boss but he's still that little snot that lived across the street from me for 15 years. He ain't gonna fire me for tellin' him to put his peter back in his pants and fly right! I can still call his momma!"



"Oh! Don't do that, Dottie. I knew, sooner or later..." Tears began to glaze May's thick mascara and Dotti quickly grabbed a brown paper towel so that May could avoid both Raccoon eyes and embarrassment.



"You blame yourself and I'll come 'round this counter and snatch you bald headed!" Dotti scorned. "When you go for lunch? Let's go down to the Red Chic and get us some grease!"



"That sounds really great! Let's go about 11:30? Beat the crowds?" May replied, perking up a bit.



"Meet cha' in the parking lot then, Sweetie. And don't let that bastard see you being upset or nothin'. He don't deserve it or you for that matter!" Dotti dropped the coffee into the bag and handed it to May. "You want me to go and get water for the pot so you don't have to go wanderin' 'round this store? I ain't got no one in line right now."



"That would be a huge relief Dot!" May was thankful for good friends.

Death From a New Perspective

"End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path.

One that we all must take."

--Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings

I was once very afraid of death. In fact, until recently, I would find even the mention of it reason for tremendous anxiety. Needless to say, funerals were out of the question. The brevity of a human life was very frightening to me. Generations before us have lived and they have died. Yet, no matter how large a monument is erected in their honor or what great contribution they may have made to society, the essence of who they were as people is lost as time progresses. The parts of them that made them human- the people they loved, those that loved them back, the true moments of joy in their soul- vanishes within one, perhaps two, generations. Our bodies decay and our life experiences decay with them. Depressing? Not for me anymore, not really.

I have a love story to tell you...

Twenty-two years ago I met a gentleman who was a professor at the college I attended. I overheard that he was inviting his chemistry class to his home for a slide show of his and his wife's recent trip to Paris. That summer, I too had traveled to Paris and fell completely head-over-heels in love with France. Rudely, I introduced myself and asked if I might too come along for the slide show. He enthusiastically agreed and asked that I bring my photos as well. That weekend, I met his wife and many students (some are still good friends of mine). Even though it would be many years before I actually took one of his courses, I was always invited to student gatherings and friendly get-togethers at their home. Within the year, I met their daughter who would become my most dearest friend in the world.

From the beginning I knew that I could learn much from this couple. They had traveled the world and absorbed all that life threw their way. I knew if I shut my mouth and listened that I would learn great things from these wonderful people. One of the most important lessons I learned was how to be married. Beyond being completely in love, these two people had an unspoken protocol on how to conduct themselves in a relationship (something I am sure took work and practice). The respect that they had for each other lingered in the air. The love they had for each other was displayed with the gentlest touch or a tender smile as one brushed by the other.

As the years passed, I became very close to the family. I would house sit for them on vacation, and have them to dinner. As I became closer to their daughter, my relationship with her parents strengthened too. Their generosity to me and my family was unparalleled. Quite often they would refer to me as "their other daughter." While I was overwhelmed and honored by this statement, I always felt them more my friends.

As they grew older, it was my pleasure to go to lunch once a week with the professor's wife. The professor would always thank me for "getting her out of the house" as she wasn't able to drive due to a bad back. I am not sure if he believed me when I told him that our lunches were as important to me as they were to her. She and I were from the same mold, but were cracked in all of the right places! Most would find our wicked sense of humor revolting. When I found out they were moving two hours away to a retirement community closer to my bestfriend, I was devastated. I remember relaying my disappointed to another friend who said, "I know you were close to them, but they really need friends their own age." I think that my ability to hold my tongue reached a new level that day.

I helped my dear friend pack her parents' possessions, possessions I had looked at for 22 years. I had heard many wonderful stories about the objects in their home, how they were acquired, why they were sought, the significance and history behind them. I packed the never-ending china cabinet. As I packed this small cabinet, I found that there was always more to pack, as if the cabinet kept refilling itself as I put items into boxes. It took almost two days to finish packing that damn cabinet. Perhaps, it was because I kept tearing up. You know, all of that dust!

About a week after they moved Professor's wife was diagnosed with lung cancer. The prognosis was not good: 3-6 months. Professor was devastated and anxious (of course!) I would go up every weekend to help my friend take care of her parents. At this point neither of them could drive so I would take Professor out shopping to get what he needed for their apartment. I have never seen two people suffer with such dignity. I was blessed to be a part of this time in their lives.

I lost a very dear friend of mine on February 28, 2010. Two weeks later to the day, I lost another very dear friend of mine- his wife. They are and will be forever missed by me, but how lucky was I to have known them?

Found a Use for Those Comps!

A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife: Part...We'll whatever part I am on!

* Disclaimer: I do not pretend to have excellent grammer, superb spelling, or wonderful editing skills. If errors in these areas upset you then you will most assuredly despise my writing and I suggest you stop now unless you couldn't read this to begin with because it is far too small and I am too proud to make it any larger. I love a good run on sentence!


We Decided to Separate!

I kicked Tony out! After 8 years I finally kicked his butt to the curb! Well, I kicked his butt two doors down to a cute apartment. NO! I did not "kick him out" as in D-I-V-O-R-C-E, but I threw out that little bit of hell called "the studio." Ahhh the studio...So much to say really and I am sure that this blog has limit of at least a million words.

"They" say that if an artist's studio is clean and organized, then he or she is not working. If that is the case then Tony is the busiest artist on Earth.

Let's start with the heaps of crumpled paper, discarded card board boxes from thousands of comp-ed comic books (we'll get to those later), and various trash (mostly inert thank God!). His favorite place to store his trash is under his desk and in places where he hasn't put some other type of object he calls "reference material." When the trash reaches a point where his desk chair won't roll anymore or he can't reach is computer keyboard, then it's time to "clean the studio."

Well, maybe the picture is bit of an exaggeration... No...Wait. That IS Tony's studio! I remember now. That's the day it flowed out of the windows and into the street. Ah, good times!

My favorite studio clutter are the boxes of "comps." The concept of "comps" in the comic book industry is an enigma to me. I am not quite certain why some artists get "comp"-plimentary copies of EVERY BOOK a publisher puts out each month and others do not. I think they send comps to the artists they want to punish the most. Oh, the artist loves to get them each month, but then they have to deal with the idea of disposing (God forbid!) or storing them. The 50 odd comic books are packaged in a neat box, oh, about 6" by 9" by 12". If you cannot yet tell, I have a particular dislike for these bundles of joy.

The doorbell rings and before I reach the door the UPS guy is back in his truck pulling away in a desperate rush. There on my porch is the bane of my existence... a little brown box. I am convinced that these boxes are sentient and can move at will (Perhaps the airholes and the "Quarantine" stamp should have given me a clue.).

When the studio was in our home, Tony would reassure me that "the comps are stacked neatly in the studio and out of the hallway." But then, as I would head through the hall to the front door, I would inevitably trip on one of these little cardboard monsters.... How did that box get from the studio to the hall? Spooooooky! I am seriously considering putting a call in to Ghost Hunters about this. If I tell them that the boxes are attacking my children while they sleep do you think Tango and Cash (or whatever their names are) would get here sooner?

Now, let's open that little box from hell....sloooowwwly now.... wait for it... inside is.... ANOTHER BOX!!!!! This one is slightly smaller and at a glance, seems slightly less menacing. But do not be fooled! You have reached the heart of the beast. It is filled with, ughh, dozens of comic books. Everything from Looney Tunes to badly drawn Superman comics (did I type that out loud?).

Of course I don't open the box. My fourteen year old boy (who will probably follow in his father's artistic footsteps) opens the box. Taken from that pit of hell, the comics are then scattered about the couch, the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the dining room table... MY DESK! Nowadays, when Tony gets home from work there is a tongue lashing for 14 year-old for opening Pandora's Box before he can peruse the contents. And then the "BUT DAD!", "DON'T GIVE ME 'BUT DAD!'" argument ensues. I'm telling you, these little boxes are bad voo doo.

So, happily, both crumpled paper and complimentary comics are two doors down. My house is generally free of menacing small boxes and comic books. Tony is happy not to have to hear the constant struggle of homeschooling said 14 year-old, and life moves at a smoother pace. I shoulda' kicked my wonderful husband to curb years ago!

P.S. As for all of that "reference material," well, that will have to wait for another blog post.

What's Sa Matta For YOU?

When I was growing up, my Italian grandma would sing this song if she saw that I was hanging a face. Stop me if you've heard it.

What's sa matta for you?
Why you looka so sad?
It's ah not so bad.
It's a nice-ah place.
Ah! Shut up-ah you face!!

Before I knew it, I was laughing and all was better. I wish problems with friends were that easy!

I am lucky. I have many friends.

I claim to be very careful of whom to get close to. I really have to feel that "click" before I dive into a friendship. Then logic says that my friends should be primarily of the same temperament, right? They should be relatively easy going, ready to laugh, and know that my first language is sarcasm. They all are and can usually match my sarcasm word for word.

Very rarely do I have conflict with any of my friends. What is most amazing to me however is how differently we all deal with it. Let's start with me. If I feel the tiniest bit of unease, I lay my cards on the table and immediately want to to settle the matter. I don't like misunderstanding or the thought of hurt feelings. I find out what's wrong, and if I can, fix it. Thank God I have a few friends who are like this. It makes life so much easier.

Then there are my friends that are so reserved I generally don't know anything is wrong until I haven't heard from them for a few weeks. When enough time goes by that I can assume there is a problem as opposed to their just being busy, I will pick of the phone. And as frustrating as all of this guessing is, when I ask them if there's a problem, they spill their guts and we're fine. UUUGGHHH!! So easy! I am always amazed at the time lost when all they had to do was SAY something.

Then there are my friends who act as if nothing is wrong when I see them day to day and yet the tension between us is vibrating with niceties! It's like that scene in Sense and Sensibility where Mrs. Dashwood says "If you cannot think of anything appropriate to say you will please restrict your remarks to the weather." There's only so much rain and sunshine you can talk about before you go nuts. Bottom line? I usually have to put my big girl panties on and say, "Have I done something?"

What I don't understand is why people waste energy being angry with each other. I take this sort of personally because my heart says, "Their feelings are obviously worth more than our friendship." If they won't come and talk to me then how much do I really mean to them as a friend? What my head says is, "I know most people would rather eat nails than have face-to-face conflict."

I guess we all have our roles in life. Some of my friends are superb comforters, some are the funniest people I know, some are the best commiserators. I guess I am like... the best Judge Judy. Hear the case, solve the problem. Who's next?

AHHH! Shut-up ah you FACE!

Happy Thanksgiving to All of You!

Hello Everyone!

For the first time in years, I will be traveling for the Thanksgiving holiday!! We're packing up the trolls and heading north. God help me! I was seriously considering renting a limo where Tony and I could shut that swank window between the front and the back seats. Since that turned out not to financially feasible, we will brave it in the minivan and threaten to make any troublemakers ride on the roof (don't worry, they will be secured to luggage rack with rope). I will be thinking of you all and hoping that you have a safe and wonderful holiday. For those of you who might stumble over my pathetic online soapbox who do not live here in the U.S., I hope you have a great week (preferably warmer than I will have).

See ya!

Stacie

My House

The Dream

http://www.italianfoodnet.com/images/normale_3wpgv5qhstruffoli.jpg

I had a dream last night. I dreamt I went back to the house where I grew up. The house where my Italian family lived complete with grandparents. The house where so many warm and sweet memories were formed. I know there were some bad memories in the mix but somehow I can't remember very many and most were the spawn of teenage angst.

The house is here in the town where I still live. I have the opportunity to drive by it often and do. I will go out of my way a block or so to visit it and see what the new owners have done since the last time I drove by. Even though it's been 10 years since my parents have lived there, the people who bought it from my mom and dad will always be called "the new owners".

The holidays in this house were like those you'd see in a movie. My mom was an avid holiday decorator. We had nice decorations but much of it was what we had when I was very little in the 70's. Such excitement would ensue when Mom finally decided that today would be the day that the old, brown decoration boxes would come down from the attic. (Excitement for everyone except Dad because that meant he had to go and get them. Dad was not an avid decorator.) Every year, those boxes would get a little more tattered as they were passed down the attic stairs where the large metal springs on the attic door would catch and tear at the corrugated card board and every year more tape was added to extend their purpose.

The tree ornaments were old, glass, and usually from Germany. Some were newer Shiny Brites with flocked shooting stars and moons on them. As a teenager I pleaded with my mom not to put the ornaments on the tree we kids had made in school over the years, citing tackiness as a valid reason. Every year I lost that battle and up would go the paper chains and hand prints. The tree was always gorgeous and traditional. No theme trees because there are no memories in themes. Old glass beads hung from the dining room chandelier, and the kitchen had Christmas towels and pot holders and whatever wouldn't go somewhere else.

The food. Oh good Lord, the food! Fezzywig would have had a time keeping up with my mother's ability to throw a feast! We were Roman Catholic Italians so that meant fish on Christmas Eve. "Fish" meant scampi, calamari in marinara sauce (tentacles and all. I loved it.), or fettucini alfredo. There was always tons of wonderful salad "fixed" with mom's Italian dressing and served after the meal.

Sometimes, when we were older, we would pile in the car and go to Midnight Mass. If not, we went Christmas morning. My parents were never overkill on the "reason for the season" but Mass was very important.

Christmas Day started with Bloody Marys or Mimosas, coffee and presents. Then we ate and celebrated our way through the day. Antipasto salad piled high with Italian cold cuts, cheeses, marinated olives, and artichoke hearts. For dinner there was lasagna, standing rib roast, mashed potatoes, etc. Wine, wine, and more wine! Desserts were everywhere! Christmas cookies, struffoli (little balls of cookie dough that are deep fried and then drenched in honey and sprinkles), Italian pizzelle cookies, cakes, etc. Frozen grasshoppers were last (even we kids were allowed to drink them).

What I remember most though is, even as a teenager, not wanting to "get away" from the family. I wanted to be there and enjoy my family and whatever family was there from out of town. (One year, we had 18 relatives from out of town staying with us.) Italians are very emotional people and that usually means that someone has disowned someone else in the family. But during the holidays, it was all hugs and kisses. Grandma would pinch our cheeks and say,"Quanto sei bella!" I could go on and on. I was so lucky to have this as a

child...

...but, back to my dream... I am driving by my old house and decide to stop. My 10 year old daughter is with me. Before I get to the front door, I notice that they are in the process of walling up a few windows. How odd, I think. I knock and a woman in her late fifties answers the door. She seems discontent, grouchy. When she finds out who I am she immediately gives me a tour of the house, to show me what she's done since they moved in. As I walked through the house, I recognize nothing... nothing. I see cracks in the walls and although there are furniture and curtains, the house feels vacant. I feel sad and lost. As she leads me back to the front door, she says that her kids are grown and gone and now it's just she and her mother (she rolls her eyes). She says that she's putting the house on the market and I should buy it back. Just before I leave the lady grabs my arm gently, just above the elbow, and says, "I almost forgot!" We turn to the left and she opens a pair of double doors. Memories flood as I realize that this was my grandparents' room. It was exactly the same as I remember it, even the smell. Yes, that old-people smell, but for me at that moment in a house that wasn't mine anymore, it was the sweetest smell.

Have You Noticed?

So I am in the evil Wally World (I think most know this means Walmart) today, and I am standing in the curtain aisle checking out this and that and out of the blue one of those people you see there that wears one of those blue vests comes over and says, "Is there something in particular your looking for?" BAM!... You know what that was? No, it wasn't Emeril... It was me falling over from shock! I actually went into a Walmart and was not only approached by an employee, but was also offered help unsolicited!! After gaining composure I put myself bodily between this person (who clearly had lost his mind) and my two-year-old and backed away slowly.

Later, I went to McDonalds to get said two-year-old some chicken nuggets for lunch. I ordered myself an unsweet tea which they now put into large styrofoam cups. While Two-year-old handles her drink with diligence and care, Mommy goes to pick up her tea and the styrofoam cup slips right out of her not-paying-attention-to-what-she's-doing hands. Tea went everywhere and I couldn't even blame the toddler who was still sucking away on her drink (but stopped sucking long enough to announce to the restaurant that, "Mommy made a mess!").

So I slink over to the counter sheepishly and ask for a mop (it was my mess after all, according to Two-year-old). The young girl behind the counter did what? Looked at me crossways, you say? Nay! Huffed and got the mop? No way! She handed me paper towels so that I could dry my pants and said, "Those new styrofoam cups are so slick! Don't you worry about nothing, Ma'am! I'll get it!" BAM! Hello Floor, I've missed you!

So, now I had just enough time to get to the grocery store and then pick up 10-year-old from school. Well, I had had enough time before my illness for thrift stores deterred me from my plan. After leaving my favorite second-hand-store, I realized that I would not have enough time to go across town to my beloved Publix supermarket. So, I sucked it up and drove to the Kroger which is five minutes from 10-year-old's school. I hate this Kroger. I hate most Krogers because the employees act like they are doing court ordered community service rather than making a paycheck. So I gather Two-year-old and my purse and go in to grab a few necessities (like Oreos). The sliding doors open and there, in a red vest this time, is an older gentleman who says, "Welcome to Kroger! You've got your arms full... Let me get a cart for you." BAM! BAM! BAM!!!!! Does someone have smelling salts?

Events such as these... these, unexplained occurrences of humanity are becoming more and more frequent. Husband and I have been discussing this for several weeks now. Invariably, one of us comes home with an incredulous story of customer service...

Now, I know that you've probably forgotten what those words mean so I took the liberty of going to Wikipedia for a definition:

Customer service

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Customer service is the provision of service to customers before, during and after a purchase.

We have decided that due to the poor economy, these huge corporations are pushing customer service in order to compete with other stores. Even Walmart is feeling the burn. People are tired, depressed and broke. They only have so much money to spend and they don't want to spend it where they are treated badly. They even might be able to scrape a few more dollars together for something extra if the shopping experience is pleasant.

We do have a second explanation: Aliens have taken over the bodies of retail employees nationwide.

But really, what fun is it if some employee in some big store offers to help you? You lose that oh so cheap feeling of having to interrupt their pressing text message to that chick in the produce department. Better to leave the money on the dresser check-out counter and leave.

I Am SOOOO Happy!

I went to The Blog Doctor and I figured out how to get just about everything back!! I am so very happy to see everything as it was. I didn't realize how attached I was to coming to this blog everyday and "sittin' a spell" as they say here in the South. It's like that sofa in the den that feels as if it cuddles you right back. I was really just sick when I had lost so much. It definitely wasn't worth a flashy new blog template, lemme tell ya! So I will stick with what's here and what I know for now, and hopefully let my writing be my creative outlet. Thanks for the group therapy!

I Did Something Any Blogger Knows NOT TO DO!

I changed my template without saving my current one. Now, I am trying to revert and somethings are screwed up. Needless to say, I am an idiot and cannot seem to get somethings to work like they used to. I wish I knew how to fix it myself. My blog roll title is missing, I can't seem to get the date to go back to the way it was, and my title is so small. Who knows what other "treasures" are to be found lurking as I try to post new things. I am somewhat depressed about this.

So lesson learned?

THEY MEAN IT WHEN THEY TELL YOU TO SAVE YOUR CURRENT TEMPLATE!

Uggggghhhh!

A Moment in the Life of a Comic Book Artist's Wife

Part 3: Conventions, Part 2

(Didn't know it would be this complicated, huh?)

http://projects.accessatlanta.com/gallery/view/entertainment/comicon-2009-sandiego/12.html

Fans waiting to get into the San Diego Comicon

Okay, we discussed Klingons in our last lesson. That was VERY important for both your safety and your sanity! Now we are going to discuss "fanboys". Let's define "fanboy", shall we?

Mirriam-Webster Dictionary Online defines "fanboy" as follows:

Main Entry: fan·boy

Pronunciation: \ˈfan-ˌbȯi\

Function: noun

Date: 1919

: a boy who is an enthusiastic devotee (as of comics or movies)

So a Klingon is a particular type of fanboy... a particularly frustrating type of fanboy...

That being said, I think fanboys are some of the most wonderful (and intriguing) people on Earth. I once whispered the word "fanboy" to my husband during a convention and was told that even fanboys call themselves "fanboys" and that there was no reason to whisper the term. And here I thought it was derogatory! Who knew someone would want to be called "fanboy"? (I can't even tell you what some would call my enthusiasm for yarn or fabric...)

So, at conventions (let's call them "cons" for brevity's sake) there are lots of fanboys. I mean LOTS of fanboys! Before a con opens, it is not unusual for the line of fanboys waiting to get in to snake through the lobby of the convention center, out of the front doors, and around the block (This is where having a "guest" badge is most useful. There is a bit of satisfaction when one walks past such a line and waltzes right through the entrance. And, God I hate to admit this, it makes one feel sort of... important... Kinda like a body guard for Captain America. Kinda like Macy's, on the day after Thanksgiving, waiting to open the doors until YOU get there. Sorry fanboy friends, I can't help it!).

They wear costumes, t-shirts and shorts, those goth jeans with all the chains, baseball caps, earrings and nose rings, and suits. They carry back packs, boxes (sometimes stacked several high), art portfolios, messenger bags, and small children. Sometimes they look like this:

photo from http://www.heroesonline.com/heroescon/

And sometimes they look like this:

OH! No! Sorry! I'm HIS fanboy....girl...whatever!

I have even seen a dad fanboy who displaced his baby to fill a stroller with comic book ephemera. His wife did not look pleased to lug said infant through the rest of the convention. Later when I saw fanboy dad's exhausted wife still holding the now dead-weight sleeping infant, I knew that this would be her last con and that fanboy dad would certainly regret his earlier decision.

At cons there are booths and booths of vendors. Vendors of comic books, toys, gaming paraphernalia, t-shirts, and all things manga. As I walk around the convention floor, I stop occasionally at these vendors just to see what's new, what's cool, and to buy the kids a little something. Inevitably my toes get stomped on. Sometimes I get gently shoved, head first, into the Transformers G1 Reissue Powermaster Optimus Prime. These boys, I mean fanboys, are serious shoppers! They know what they want and will go to each and every vendor to comparison shop. Nothing stands in their way (including the throng of Klingons who take up the entire aisle. Yes, I still have issues). They can manage the convention floor like Angelina Jolie manages her leading men. They are going for the throat and propriety be damned! This is something I can completely understand as I am just as much a bully in thrift, yarn, and fabric stores (in that order exactly).

But something miraculous takes place when a fanboy approaches the table of the comic book professional. They are no longer a shark in the sequential art sea. It's almost as if they've swigged a Red Bull and popped a Xanax at the same time. On the surface they are calm, polite, and sweet. But just below the surface, you can see the churning intense excitement of meeting one of the creators of the stories that make them happy. They are nervous when they speak and they say things like, "Excuse me, Mr. Harris. Would you sign a few of my comic books?" (I always chuckle when someone at least as old as my husband calls him "Mr.Harris". My husband is really not a "Mr. Harris". Plus, it's hard to understand the fanaticism when you wash "Mr. Harris'" underwear. Yes, I went there.)

My husband is one of the lucky people that makes a lot of fanboys happy. He's the second guy from the left.

http://blogs.dallasobserver.com/unfairpark/WarHeroesMeettheFanboys013.jpg

It is very important to Tony to make his fan base happy. He spends most of the time signing books sketching, and talking to fans at cons. After all, these are the people who make our lives possible... they pay our bills and feed our kids. Sometimes I wonder, however, just how far Tony will go to keep even the smallest of fans content!

Photo Source: Side Eyes photostream http://www.flickr.com/photos/10749272@N06/2770425245

So that, my dear Pupils, is the second part of your schooling in the comic book convention survival guide. I am sure you all will put it to good use. Remember: when in doubt, go back to the hotel and ask for the sommelier!