2008 Comic Book News Archives

Superfan Homepage

March 19, 2008: Superman Homepage Wizard World LA 2008 Report

Neal Bailey and Jeffrey Bridges attended the recent Wizard World Los Angeles convention on behalf of the Superman Homepage, and Neal has submitted the following report of his time walking the floor...

THE CHARACTER

Jeff and Susan Bridges are the most real people I know along the beam of deliverance that is writing, or at least the people most similar to myself in mentality and goal. My buddy Will is a novelist, and a fine one. My friend Felix works to a fault and sacrifices himself for his craft. I also know a professional or two who have my undivided admiration. But I relate, by the Gods, to Jeffrey and Susan.

Part of these conventions is the mooch factor. I usually end up saving every penny I can so I can cram myself into a small place and wheel or roll or fly to some destination I am unfamiliar with, throwing myself on the mercy of friends I consider family. I don't write too much about them, mostly because I am given flak for what I do at times, and it is my last wish to have that flak reflect and hit the people who do me kindness.

In Chicago it's Gary and company. In Philadelphia it was Noah. In Texas Stephen G. In Oregon it's Greg. In California, it's Jeffrey and Susan.

Jeff writes for this site, you know him from Supergirl comic book reviews and Legion of Super Heroes cartoon reviews. He watched Superman Returns before any of us, and just generally he helps to mod and cover what we need covering. I'll be starting a column up with him shortly, per Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update" debates about arbitrary concepts...

Susan is his wife, and together they have a boy named Clark, a child who reminds me very much of what I wish or think I must have been like as a kid. He's curious, intelligent, and a kind smartass. Obsessed with books and numbers and questions... I relate to him more than many adults. He is five.

Jeffrey and Susan moved from Chicago to Los Angeles to pursue a life in writing. Jeffrey stays at home, as do I, and experiences the prejudice, malady, and outright hatred that reaches a man who writes while the woman works. If that's not relation enough, we have much the same sense of humor, and we have the same essential writing style. I like to consider it absolutely vulgar pedestrian intellectualism. He and I can pound out plots like no tomorrow, and consider character of absolute imperative worth.

His wife Susan is thusly a dream, given that she writes best in character, she's also a writer despite her day job (who the hell doesn't want a mate in the same professional endeavor?) and she makes insanely good chicken salad and lasagna. I'm not kidding, brother. You eat that stuff, you'll forget your brown belt, as I did. It's just... damn. What a fine woman.

I will reiterate, Jeffrey and Susan moved from Chicago to Los Angeles to pursue a life of writing. When's the last time anyone you know did anything of any real effort? It's rare and beautiful.

She, he, and I, we work twelve to fourteen hour days so that we can write. They get less time than I do to craft, but as with Sauron and me, all their thoughts are turned to it. We relate, because we consider more than an hour of relaxation a day a luxury in a nation where many people get eight a day and a weekend. None of our cadre know what a weekend is, beyond a convention, really. We schedule our luxury, and take our luxury slow.

We live in quiet little boxes in two corners of the United States, emerging only to exercise and procure groceries and, in Jeff's case, to take the boy to school. Beyond that we click and roll on, praying and screaming, fighting not for attention, but for the dream. Beyond that, they bring you blankets when you're cold... just good people. As the Talking Heads once said, never for money, always for love, cover up and say good night...

The reason I never write about the people I know and come to care about is, in some ironic way, to protect them from my enemies, just like Superman. In Jeff's case, as I explained it, it's to protect his right to create his "persona." I mean, I'm not really the crazy guy to Steve's straight man I make myself out to be, surely this can be gleaned, but I play the part well as a writer, so I wanted to leave Jeff his right to craft his own niche as he becomes more prominent on the site. But he said to have at it, so there it is. He and Susan are incredible buds, they put me up for a solid week, drove me around LA (which is harder than it seems), fed me, provided me luxury, and so here I am, alive, safe, sound, and unmelted to death by skyfire.

FASCIST PIGS

Wizard World LA is probably the slowest of the cons that I do, but it's still reassuring in that the people are always, like ever, great. There were a whole squad of the Imperial 501st running around, handing out these badges and generally holding people down to be shot in their imaginary heads on camera. The badges, it turns out, are to be redeemed until the next day, Saturday, whereby if an imp catches you with your badge, they ask you how long you've had the droids on the card. The card then encourages you to razz and harangue them. Which, of course, I did.

"You fascists! You Nazis! How many moisture farmers have you killed today, huh? Who do you think you are? Don't you believe in freedom, or democracy?"

Geeks tend to shy away from or fear confrontation, but my stormtrooper took it in stride, standing stock still out of either fear or attention to the bit. Other folks kind of stared at me like I was insane, but it was fun. He took my badge, gave me the raffle ticket, and walked on.

Then I realized Clark, Jeff's son, had left his badge, and was on a trip to check out the floor. Up came another imp.

"Hey, you white-armored conformist goon! You trigger man!" Only this time, at the end, I gave him my card and told him I needed stormtroopers for my Star Wars audio serial.

"Oh, and sorry about that fascism stuff. I love Democracy. I love the Republic. The Empire! For a strong and lasting peace!"

Yeah, okay. Maybe they were right to look.

ZACH OAT AND THE TERMINATOR

I determine very early on in the con that I should try and make more connections than I usually do. Nine times out of ten, I go to these things and just sit, the whole time, hardly ever even getting up to go to the bathroom, mostly because I love meeting you guys. This time, however, there was a decided slow lurch, so I figured, hey, why not network? And hey, I might be killing that networking by writing about it here, but at least it's sincere. So I decided to try and fulfill a lifelong dream and try to get a gig writing for Wizard or Toyfare...

The Wizard booth always has this great big wheel where they give people who wait in line free stuff. Usually, the editors run it, say hello, then off you go. I've seen it many times, because I'm always like, "Hey, where's the Geoff Johns Eggo-eating contest? I need INFORMATION!"

But then, sitting at my booth, I realized, "Sheesh, kid. You've got seven paid published credits now. Get on, boy!"

It's hard to explain this mentality and thought process, but here's the deal. I've written almost a thousand articles now on websites live and defunct since I started writing seriously, but it means, well, next to exactly nothing to most editors, despite the experience it implies. I've sent my list of credits, which include all 570 some-odd Superman articles, to many, many places of repute. The only time I started to get the eye was when I had the one piece in Smallville Magazine, and going forward, which I guess makes some sense. If someone's willing to pay you, the logic is that you're worthwhile, whereas any idiot can work for free. I don't agree with this, generally, given that I think people can do beautiful things out of love, but bottom line, I slowed down on going to meet with editors and the like mostly because I believed that until I had some published credit, it would be a waste of breath. And typically, it is, in my experience.

But now, I was sitting there with a magazine open to show you guys, and hey, the EDITORS OF WIZARD are a hundred yards away from me probably bored out of their mind handing out promos and gifts...

I soon realized my fatal flaw. THEY WERE BUSY HANDING OUT GIFTS! Dur...

I asked the non-editor gent behind the counter (who likely came to dread my arrival) when the editors would be around. Like they're, you know, Smurfs. "When are the editors coming? Will they bring candy!"

He gives me an oblong look, stating, "They're right there!" for the wheel.

I'm kinda confused. "Yeah, but I... I have to watch my booth. I can't wait in line."

"Just cut up there and say hello."

I realize immediately this is BAD ADVICE. I mean, cutting in a comic book convention is the one thing that will inspire people who have been waiting six hours for a Jim Lee signed eraser to finally escape introversion and kill you with replica model lightsabers.

"I'll be killed."

"No... no... just go!"

So okay, I figure, what the hell. I walk up to a kind lady whose name I never got, and said, "Hey!" I then glance at the guy who, of course, looks like Rake Yohn with his eyes widening. "No, it's okay, I'm not trying to cut. It's brief."

At this point SHE is perplexed, and I am perplexed, so I say, "Are you the editors?"

She says, "We'll be at the booth at 11."

This is at 10.

So I come back at 11, at 12, at 12:30, but all the editors are dutifully handing out toys, and I'm not gonna cut again.

At 12:40, I come back one last time, and the gent who's had to see me come up three times, the "Go say hi!" guy, has to watch me stammer, stutter, talk to myself nervously, then walk back. I think he believes I am stalking the Wizard Editors because I want to have their children. Not that I wouldn't, but that's another story.

And then... a dead line, and a man with wicked evil mutton chops. Zach Oat, editor of Toyfare. Toyfare, of Twisted Toyfare Theater, my gold standard of comedy.

He's very kind, and finally very alone, and accepts my copy of Smallville Magazine with a promise of an email. As I've stolen from Toyfare multiple times: JUMANJI!

Crossing my fingers and heading back, the line reformed. It's like the fricking Terminator. And not the dumb blond one that ran next to a magnet.

SUPERMEN, EVERYWHERE

Christopher Dennis was at the con, who many of you know as the Superman from "Confessions of a Superhero," a documentary recently acquired by Morlan Spurlock. He shared with me pictures from an upcoming shoot, and news that he's been doing well of late. Hulk was there as well. I've met Chris and Hulk a number of times, but I haven't been able to remember Hulk's name, just as I'd likely have forgotten Chris' were it not the same as Christopher Reeve's. But that's just because, as I think they'd like it at the con, I think of them as the characters. It means, to me at least, that they play the part well. But Hulk's real name is Joe McQueen.

Chris was kind enough to sell me his own personal copy of the movie, which means I'll likely review it in the next weekish. Check it out.

In a similar vein, Charlee Chartrand, a Superman/Superboy lookalike in costume informed me of his intent to become Superboy for the Metropolis Celebration, or at least to convince them to have the category. I don't know if they do or not, this year is my first visit, but here's hoping... he can be found here.

Humberto Arena also popped by a number of times, and we had a number of great conversations about Smallville. We barter on the con circuit quite often, folks and I, and I traded Humberto a Smallville mag for a Six Flags Superman notebook. I think I came out winner in that equation, but either way, thanks!

Peter David was in attendance, kind as ever. I bought a copy of his book on writing comics, my second. The first went to Susan, because I know she admires David as I do, having grown up on his steady stream of novels. I'm also partial to a little project known as the Dark Tower...

Troy Dye and Tom Kelesides over at Ape introduced me to The Goblin Chronicles, their comic book, and it turned out to be a real find. There's great art, a rolling story, and a lot of fun to be had. It's hard to separate the wheat from the chaff with convention books, but Goblin Chronicles rocked.

I also got to see Rebecca Hicks again... I think I mentioned her in the last con report. If I didn't, it was with the intention of writing a review of her book Little Vampires (www.little-vampires.com), a sarcastic, cute little piece about vampires that try too hard... but are too small. It's hilarious, and I don't want to spoil it for you, but she's taking the plunge and trying to write full-time, so if you see her at a convention (and she's coming to many) support her work... or I'll FIND YOU! Heh. She also edits Project Elohim, a fine comic, and you can find more at www.project-elohim.com.

Also worth a look: Manboys, a webcomic by Brett C. Nance...

And finally, last but certainly not least, I scored a copy of "Tale of an Ozark Howler," a comic by the utterly gorgeous Kelly Reno. It's a great read, and it sold me on her style. She's a comic novelist, which I totally relate to, it's a hard divide to cross, but a fun one. My novel on the bus home will be hers, a piece called "Misadventures & Merfolk" that she characterized as a paranormal romance. I've been struggling not to be killed by my friends telling me to read Laurell K. Hamilton, so I'm going to start the genre with this book, and I'm eager...

CLOSING

I never got to the Geoff Johns eggo contest, because I couldn't find Geoff. I thought he was going to be around. I can never seem to meet that man, despite a cool phone interview. I did, however, kind of freak out Jeph Loeb, I'm sure.

I saw him coming down the hall toward the hall, and I've met him in person twice, but he likely shakes ten thousand hands a day. Still, I held out my hand, shook his as he walked by, and said, "Good to see you again, Jeph!"

He could have been like, "Who was that?" or he could have been, "Neal?" or he could have been like, "Secret eggos!" You never really know. I remember being afraid to shake his hand in Chicago for fear of mentioning DC as he stood next to his new boss, Joe Quesada. Now I've progressed to hello in a hallway...

By next year I will offer him a beer only to hear, "I don't drink, kid, and I have a restraining order on you anyway. Screw!"

That's, I believe, as good a note to end on as any.

Neal Bailey



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