It was late afternoon in another city. It might have been the second or third day of the comic convention, I can’t really remember that. I was standing in my booth about 20 feet from the signing area, staring at a line of fans that easily trailed a half block or more. (No, they were not there for me. Sigh.)
For whatever reason, I happened to notice a woman approach the line and speak to an eager-looking young boy. His eyes were wide with excitement and you could easily tell that meeting this artist was going to be the greatest moment of his life. There were a lot of people ahead of him, but he was more than willing to wait it out.
But, whatever the woman said caused him great distress. He seemed to be pleading with her to no avail, and shortly she had extracted him from the line and off they went through the aisles—snatched from the jaws of victory.
Later, when the signing was over, and the fans had all wandered away, I happened to look up and saw the young boy hurrying back through the aisles. The artist was still standing there at the table, shooting the breeze with a couple of friends when the boy ran up to him. The boy was timid and properly polite. He said excuse me and tried to explain how his mother had pulled him from the line. He quickly showed the ticket he had purchased so he could stand in that line and meet his hero. And as humbly as he could, he asked the artist to sign his copy of the man’s work.
I was not the only person within earshot who was stunned silent by the artist’s response. He verbally cut the boy to ribbons, dressing him down for interrupting his conversation, for leaving the line in the first place, and for bothering him after the signing hour was up. In effect, he told the boy, “Too bad” and turned his back on him.
The child’s shoulders drooped, the light went out of his eyes, and the shame he felt was evident to anyone who was enlightened enough to see it. He turned and walked away a few feet, stopped, tore the comic in half and dropped it to the floor.
Those of us who had witnessed this exchange did nothing. Maybe we were too shocked and angry, maybe we were cowards. We certainly grumbled and muttered about it, but we said nothing to the boy…or to the celebrity.
I never forgot that scene. And to my discredit, I never forgave the artist.
Many of us in the comic-book industry spend a good deal of time working on our craft alone. Whether we’re writing or drawing, coloring or lettering, there are a certain number of hours where we sequester ourselves from the rest of the world.
Perhaps this takes a lot of discipline because we’d rather be out partying, tossing a ball, or exploring some hidden trail in the Andes Mountains. (Trust me. I have an artist friend who does this often.) For some of us, it’s a perfect situation because it fits with our personality. Perhaps we’re painfully shy or we’re selective when it comes to meeting strangers or large groups of people. Such is life.
The boom in Internet social networking (Twitter, Facebook, etc.) makes it even easier to do the reclusive thing…until promoting our comic or graphic novel becomes mandatory. And if the product becomes a hot ticket, well, then look out, world.
In the average situation, how we present ourselves during signings at bookstores and comic conventions is pretty much a dance between adults. If you are standoffish, impatient, or just plain rude…well, we older folks can handle it.
But with comics moving heavily into the children’s marketplace, we need to take another look at ourselves. Like it or not, we’re heroes and role models. What we do influences millions of young minds, inspiring them to try this themselves or offering them escape from realities simple and complex. Schools, libraries, and other events are asking more of us to come forward and visit the kids. They’re asking us to share the process of how we work on our craft, and with our fellow professionals.
It is a two-way street. Our skills allow us to create our best works. Our fans’ appreciation raises us to whatever level of success we achieve.
What we do on our own time is our own business, but when we step out to meet children, we should “wear our best” (metaphorically speaking, that is). Please take time to remember what you hold in your hand during those encounters. You can ignite a fire in their imagination, whether they become artists or not. Or you can easily convince them that nobody is worth their faith and admiration. That they should never open up and share their own dreams and ideas with anyone. It will make it too easy for them to be hurt.
When you walk the path through young minds and hearts, walk softly or don’t walk it at all.
