ComiCon is a dream, a nightmare, a chaos, a masquerade and therefore a reality. ComiCon is a sub-culture, a culture, a world, a nostalgia, a childhood dream where women walk around in tight bodysuits, and where men show people the type of hero, superhero, they would really be if they could just stop eating so many Doritos. There are parties every night at ComiCons, and a ComiCon itself is one big party.
I hate parties.
I should stay in my hotel room and write, work on a script due soon. But I’ve been invited to a private party tonight, every night of the Emerald City ComiCon actually, and the comics biz is very much about networking. A comic book is team effort, and you need to know people to have a team. I am the Grinch of ComiCons, and am constantly amazed that people there welcome me with their costumed arms.
ComiCon officially unofficially begins tonight, Thursday, with the first party, for those locals in the know, and those of us creators (writers and artists) and editors and publishing folks who have come in early, which is most of us. One of the big publishers (not the big big ones, the Big Two, but the big medium ones) takes on hosting chores at a local watering hole each night.
Weather today in Seattle was surprisingly nice, with actual sun when my train arrived in the station early afternoon. After I check into my hotel room, I go for a quick run down on the along the piers, dodging traffic and tourists and other runners, the Olympic peninsula and mountains actually visible, across the bay—most other times I’ve been here they’re in the clouds. And how ComiCon-esque to be able to see Mount Olympus rising to the west. You’d almost expect to see gods or superheroes (which are our gods) flying around.
After my run and a glorious hot shower, I even have some few hours in the afternoon to walk around downtown and be somewhat normal. Though of course, nerd that I am, my main destination is Elliot Bay bookstore, uphill climb right past the Convention Center actually, where I poke around looking at books without pictures, though there was a graphic novels section, with one of my books, my Aquaman compendium. It isn’t that big of a section, so that fact that a book of mine is featured is something. There are bigger comics stores in town, which I may or may not get around to visiting this weekend. As a reward to the bookstore for carrying me, and to be subversive and potentially thrown out, I take out a sharpie and secretly autograph it: Dear Elliot Bay: Aquaman was right!!! —Mark Singer