A lengthy screed on comics follows. For those of you who don't really care about the current atmosphere in comics, you may want to skip this one; the rest of you, carry on:

So far, I've been silent about both the infamous Mary Jane Statue kerfuffle and the equally-if-not-more-infamous Heroes for Hentai kerfuffle, primarily because a) I've been too busy making the fucking comics and b) because I usually regret sounding off on things like this [I'll probably regret this post as well] and c) because I've been having a hard time coming up with something halfway intelligent to say about the whole thing that hasn't either been said before or is just a bunch of incoherent ranting.

In the end, and after a couple of weeks of stewing, and several long, intelligent and quite worthwhile talks with Paul and the local Kalamazoo Comics crowd, what I've finally come up with is simply this: Those images just make me sad.

I know that doesn't sound like much, so I'll try to clarify a bit. I'm also going to be drawing some tenuous parallels, so please bear with me -- humor me, perhaps, but also take it with a grain of salt.

See, comics has been my passion, my pastime, my primary hobby, my labor of love for over ten years now. I work a full-time job, and dump nearly all of my spare time into the creation, promotion, and discussion of comics. I love the medium, my fellow creators, and (God help me), I even love the superhero genre -- and it's a good thing, too, because I've given more of my time, work, and mental energy to comics than I have any single job or person, save perhaps my husband. I'd better love this field, my work in it, and everything else it represents, 'cause God knows I'm not making enough money to call it anything more than a hobby.

So, when I say that these images, and the lack of forethought of those who created and published these images just make me sad, and not frustrated or apoplectic about what's happening in the mainstream of what I consider my medium, it underscores the fact that a certain line of caring has been crossed, on my part.

Here comes one of those tenuous parallels I mentioned. I loved my dad an awful lot. When I was a kid, he was my hero, and I spent long years trying to win his favor, without a whole lot of success. Of all three of us kids, he and I are most alike, in both temperament and skills. Without getting into too many details, after alcoholism had largely destroyed the person that I loved and whose approval I sought, it took several long years of therapy and hurt and anger and frustration before I could just come to the place where his unthinking, uncaring actions just made me sad. I stopped taking it personally and realized that was all he was capable of doing at the moment. Maybe someday it might change, but right now it's all you're likely to get, so stop expecting better until you see it firsthand, and then, praise it and take anything positive for everything it's worth. Coming to that realization was exceedingly painful; it primarily requires you to step out of yourself and realize that it's not really about you, it's just the way that person is.

So then, with superhero comics. A genre I (used to greatly) enjoy, a part of a medium I deeply care about has descended into depths of demographic-pandering I never thought I'd see. Even when a fellow woman-in-comics states the painfully obvious, it still hurts -- a lot -- when you finally come to realize that the primary creators of a genre really don't give a damn about your feelings, or for that matter, your pocketbook.

Now, I realize that as a female comicbook reader (specifically a former superhero comicbook reader) I'm in a minority -- between 10 and 20% of the market depending on who you ask. I'm also not myopic or self-centered enough to think that the heads of companies are sitting in their offices rubbing their hands together and brainstorming ways to chase all the girls (and, I should think, a decent percentage of intelligent male readers as well) out of comics. However, their callous choice of imagery and their circle-the-wagons defense of said material does just that: It plainly lets me know that their genre is not directed at me, and that they really aren't thinking -- or caring -- about how I and others like me will react to their choice of imagery. The impression I take away from all these separate incidents is that I'm Not Wanted Here, and that hurts.

Tangentially, I have nothing against porn, or even hentai in its proper place. I'm not arguing for censorship, or removal of erotic imagery from the marketplace, or for the institution of a new Comics Code Authority. But these images -- specifically the Heroes for Hire cover -- are raunchy enough that I have to add my voice to the chorus declaring them inappropriate for the age group to which they are marketed. As Dirk Deppey points out, few actual nine year olds are probably reading Heroes for Hire, but the plain and simple fact is that the editors at Marvel consider that type of imagery to be appropriate for readers aged nine and up. I don't. If you want to sell imagery like that, label it for mature audiences and rack it with the rest of the naughty stuff. Everything in its place, and marketed to its proper audience: if mainstream comics companies have gone to all the fuss and bother of establishing their own age-rating system, theoretically to avoid issues such as these, why in heaven's name aren't they sticking to it? If nothing else, imagery like this, prominently displayed for all-ages-reading, is liable to cause parents to turn their kids away comics shops altogether, thereby making it even more difficult for me to sell my own books.

Worse, it's the equivalent of Comics Kryptonite. I see images like that, and like these, and these, and these, and it literally makes me want to give up making my own comics. Because, hey, I've been making the fucking comics for ten years now, and you know what? Things are only getting worse in the superhero genre. I could be wrong, but it feels to me that the portrayals of women in the superhero genre are weaker, sluttier and less independent now than fifteen-twenty years ago, when I first started reading comics. And that hurts, too. I pretty much have to divorce myself from the comics news, otherwise I can't get motivated to do much work. It's pretty hard to spend four years polishing up something you really care about while surrounded by an unfriendly, often mean-spirited climate like that.

It feels a little odd to be in this 10-20%, and to be metaphorically standing outside the superhero comic shop with a fistful of bills, and not seeing anything worth buying. I really can't comprehend why I'm being shut out as a demographic: I'm in my early 30's, I love pop culture, I have a built-in encyclopedic knowledge of superheroes, I have wads of disposable cash, and while I don't have kids of my own, I have younger relatives whom I am eager to get into the medium, and I speak at between fifteen and thirty educational institutions per year, teaching kids how to draw, write, and appreciate comics. And yet -- I have almost no superhero books that I can either enjoy or share. Indy books a-plenty, mind you -- but not many to represent the most-publicly-familiar genre within comics.

So why all this now, nearly a month after these stories broke, and long after the internet feeding frenzy? Well, first, I finally have time, and have been able to mull my response so as to not sound like a gibbering idiot (I hope), but also because the Diamond order numbers have started to roll in for the second book.

Unless there's a hidden pocket of orders somewhere, the initial Direct Market (i.e., Comic Book Store) orders for Vogelein:Old Ghosts have dropped nearly twenty percent off of the initial orders for Vogelein:Clockwork Faerie in 2003. The number of books ordered was right around what I expected, but well below what I truly hoped to see. And this comes after my biggest marketing blitz, ever: I did interviews, wrote up a 6-part column series (two out so far, and neither has yet garnered a single comment...), offered web previews, overhauled my website and most importantly, gave away over four thousand print copies of a preview comic through a Diamond promotion, Free Comic Book Day and Motor City Comicon. And all for what? A 20% reduction in sales? I suppose I should be happy that my numbers held as relatively firm as they did, but damn it, I was really hoping for an increase, or at least a repeat. As it is, the initial books sold won't even cover half the cost of my print run.

I'm going to try my damndest to make this next part not sound like Sour Grapes, because honestly, it really isn't. It's just yet another stark reminder that the Direct Market is not my market. This is not to say that I am turning my back on the local comics store, because damn it, there still are really good comic stores out there, and a lot of them really go out of their way to support my little book. They deserve to be recognized and lauded, not disregarded. However, what this little experiment has taught me is that the comics stores that're already carrying my book are pretty much the only ones that're carrying my book. Doing a big bunch of publicity apparently hasn't changed that.

Motor City Comicon was also a bust; Paul and I together, with three books to sell between us, (one of which retails for $25) barely made $150. I gave away at least 300 free comics, and could barely get people to stop at my table long enough to take a copy from me.

While I'm at it, I would like to propose a challenge to any self-declared fanboys out there, specifically any fanboy who has ever wondered why their girlfriend or wife is reluctant to try reading comics. When I hold a free comic out to you, and say "Would you like to try a sample of my book?" and you glance at the painting of the fairy-girl on the cover and immediately say "No," please reconsider. If you're asking the women in your life to break from their normal conceptions of entertainment and try something new, then please consider doing the same for yourself. And besides, it's free. You never know, you might just like it.

Sadly, my recent, first-hand experiences have reinforced my previous attitude toward mainstream comics shows and the direct market: it really isn't worth my time to do any extra marketing or promotion just for their sake. This isn't my market, the people selling the products in that market really aren't marketing to me, and neither is my marketing working on the people buying. The core of my business is still libraries and bookstores, and that's where I will continue to focus my marketing efforts. Mainstream comics have made their choice based on business, and now, so have I. It's nothing personal either way, I assume; it's just business.

What this means, however, is that I'm really not going to go out of my way to do many mainstream conventions any more. They're draining, they're expensive, I lose money at them, the people attending by and large are not my audience (and by and large cannot be won over to become my audience), and apparently the PR isn't doing me all that much good. Doing a major show and coming home dejected is also Comics Kryptonite. So, much like I avoid looking at the Mary Jane Statues (and all the meta-discussion thereof), I guess I'll have to avoid doing mainstream comics shows as well. I'm still signed up for Wizard World Chicago, though -- so if anyone feels like showing up and proving me wrong, or just stopping by with some words of encouragement, that'd be really, really awesome.

I'm also not going to spend any more time handwringing over superhero comics, not that I have been much recently. The independent comics scene is blooming and beautiful. There's tons of stuff there that I want to read, and so I'm going to buy it, and read it, and focus the majority of my spending there. If Mainstream Comics isn't making these books "for me," Runaways, Nextwave and Astonishing X-Men being a few notable exceptions, why should I expect to find much worth reading? I'd rather read Fun Home or Pyongyang, anyway. It's not a "So there!" kind of moment; what would that serve? As I've already stated above, it's simply business, and it's not about me -- or mainstream comics creators -- personally.

At this point I should also take a break from all this negativity and thank my fans, firsthand. I know I've just spent a bunch of time bitching about one subgenre in a larger medium, and one market in a larger marketplace, but just like labels don't do anyone any good, neither does lumping all comics fans together. I am blessed beyond counting by my fans. You are wonderful, full of suggestion and help and kindnesses. You renew my enthusiasm, and bring me to tears with your thoughtful words and acts. You keep me going through all the disappointment, and help me turn away from the crummy things going on outside my proverbial window, and focus back on the task of creating the work that I love so much. Thank you. You've kept me going this far; I only hope that the new book doesn't disappoint.

I also hope that I can scrape together enough enthusiasm to bring you a third one. And maybe a fourth. Right now, it's a little hard; I think I'm feeling a little post-partum (there's that second tenuous analogy; allow me a moment to apologise to every woman reading this who's ever given birth; creating a comic is nothing compared to actual labor). Saying that is a stretch, I know, but I've just devoted four years worth of free time to completing this book, and I wish that, while the reviews so far have been unanimously positive, the early financial returns on it were a little more enthusiastic. I'm feeling a bit like someone who went back to school and required four years of night-classes to complete their master's degree, only to discover that there are still no decent jobs to be had, even with the new degree. Here's hoping that ALA goes well, and that lots and lots of librarians prove once again how utterly awesome they all are. Yay, Librarians! You guys literally keep me in business.

So. You've read a couple hundred words of this screed -- what's the upshot? Is there a punchline, or a lesson to be learned? Yes, absolutely, and it is this: vote with your wallets. Know -- with information direct from the horse's mouth -- that you can make or break an independent creator just by preordering a book from a local comics store. Know that every sale counts. Also realize that not buying books sends an equally strong message to a creator. When you see a book that offends you, strike it from your pull list. Don't buy it just to show off the copy to other people, or just to add to your collection. Pluck that sucker out, then use that same money to buy books that reinforce what you want to see. Personally, I'm marching myself down to my LCS and putting the new Supergirl on my pull as soon as this creative team takes over. Be the change you want to see -- or at least buy it.

After everything is said and done, it may be comics, but it's business above all.