Thinking Blogger Award

Establish Articulate Act

Remember that little letter-writing campaign I proposed a few days back?

It’s grown.

I’m proud to announce a new, ongoing part of Girl-Wonder’s work: CAHP, the Con Anti-Harassment Project. The CAHP’s goal is to help make conventions safer, more fun, and more accessible by encouraging organizers to establish, articulate, and act upon clear anti-harassment policies. We’ve got a letter-writing guide complete with templates; a database of conventions, policies, and contact information; resources for organizers; and a comprehensive faq; and a moderated safe-space forum!

You can discuss this column, and CAHP’s future, here.

Blogging Isn’t Enough

In the last week, a plethora of bloggers have linked to and/or mirrored this post, which discusses the issue of harassment at ComiCon International. Many have shared personal stories; others have expressed their general problems with the general indifference they’ve seen toward harassment and assault at conventions.

Let me make one thing abundantly clear: by harassment, I am not just talking about wolf whistles, “Nice costume” comments, or accidental touch. ComiCon is crowded–REALLY crowded. It is pretty much impossible to navigate without coming into physical contact with another person. What I’m talking about is people deliberately touching, stalking, demanding sexual favors from, or actively harassing other congoers–fans and professionals–without consent. These things are not only rude, they’re illegal.

Which may go a fair way to explain why ComiCon international doesn’t have a clear policy against them in their programs or do much in the way of briefing their security staff. It makes a certain amount of sense–after all, they don’t, say, explicitly tell you not to shoot heroin on the floor, but it’s pretty well taken as read that that’s not appropriate at a convention. I’d like to think that’s because most con organizers are decent people and therefore assume that this stuff should be a matter of common sense.

But apparently, in the case of physical and sexual harassment and assault, common sense isn’t enough. There are still people who treat these things as a default part of con culture, who don’t get that there’s one hell of a difference between telling someone that you like her costume and adding that it would look better on your hotel room floor; or that not everyone wants to be hugged; or that “woman working at a booth” does not equal “booth babe”; or that “booth babe” does not equal “petting zoo”–or, from another angle, that “favorite and/or famous creator” does not equal “fan property.”

I am not suggesting that ComiCon install propriety police, or that congoers should walk around with their hands in their pockets at all times, or that it’s anything short of ridiculous to expect to have a three-foot (or one-foot, or six-inch) radius of personal space on a crowded con floor. What I am saying is that ComiCon desperately needs a clear, public policy against personal harassment.

In light of their quick response to the fake SDCC MySpace page (you remember–the one with the “Girls Who Like Comics & Geeks” section), I’m inclined to believe that the folks behind ComiCon International are open and responsive to attendees feedback. In fact, they post their contact information right on their front page.

You can probably guess where this is heading.

If you think that ComiCon International needs to articulate a clear policy against personal harassment in their programs, please drop them a line and say so. (And when you do, please be polite, patient, and respectful. As I wrote above, this doesn’t look like malevolence to me–just omission.)

You can reach them via the following means:

EMAIL:

cci-info@comic-con.org

SNAIL MAIL:

Comic-Con International
P.O. Box 128458
San Diego, CA 92112-8458

San Diego, CA

HOTLINE: 619-491-2475
FAX: 619-414-1022

And, while you’re at it, check other cons–local or otherwise, comics or gaming or scifi or whatever you’re into–and if they don’t have clear personal harassment policies, float them a line, too.

You can pool info, network, and discuss this column here.

Touch Ought to Be Consensual

Jon of Comics Ought to Be Fun posts about harassment at cons:

Hello, everyone. John here. I “help” Bully out with his blog, but there’s some things can’t be said in the voice of a little stuffed bull.

A couple weeks ago at San Diego Comic-Con incidents of sexual harassment were confided to me and I overheard others. I wanted to write about it but was uncertain whether Bully’s blog was the proper place. After much thought and discussions with friends and colleagues I’ve decided to post it here:

Overheard at San Diego Comic-Con while I was having lunch on the balcony of the Convention Center on Sunday July 27: a bunch of guys looking at the digital photos on the camera of another, while he narrated: “These were the Ghostbusters girls. That one, I grabbed her ass, ’cause I wanted to see what her reaction was.” This was only one example of several instances of harassment, stalking or assault that I saw at San Diego this time.

1. One of my friends was working at a con booth selling books. She was stalked by a man who came to her booth several times, pestering her to get together for a date that night. One of her co-workers chased him off the final time.

2. On Friday, just before the show closed, this same woman was closing up her tables when a group of four men came to her booth, started taking photographs of her, telling her she was the “prettiest girl at the con.” They they entered the booth, started hugging and kissing her and taking photographs of themselves doing so. She was confused and scared, but they left quickly after doing that.

3. Another friend of mine, a woman running her own booth: on Friday a man came to her booth and openly criticized her drawing ability and sense of design. Reports from others in the same section of the floor confirmed he’d targeted several women with the same sort of abuse and criticism.

Quite simply, this behavior has got to stop at Comic-Con. It should never be a sort of place where anyone, man or woman, feels unsafe or attacked either verbally or physically in any shape or form. There are those, sadly, who get off on this sort of behavior and assault, whether it’s to professional booth models, cosplayers or costumed women, or women who are just there to work. This is not acceptable behavior under any circumstance, no matter what you look like or how you’re dressed, whether you are in a Princess Leia slave girl outfit or business casual for running your booth.

On Saturday, the day after the second event I described above, I pulled out my convention book to investigate what you can do and who you can speak to after such an occurrence. On page two of the book there is a large grey box outlining “Convention Policies,” which contain rules against smoking, live animals, wheeled handcarts, recording at video presentations, drawing or aiming your replica weapon, and giving your badge to others. There is nothing about attendee-to-attendee personal behavior.

Page three of the book contains a “Where Is It?” guide to specific Comic-Con events and services. There’s no general information room or desk listed, nor is there a contact location for security, so I go to the Guest Relations Desk. I speak to a volunteer manning the desk; she’s sympathetic to the situation but who doesn’t have a clear answer to my question: “What’s Comic-Con’s policy and method of dealing with complaints about harassment?” She directs me to the nearest security guard, who is also sympathetic listening to my reports, but short of the women wanting to report the incidents with the names of their harassers, there’s little that can be done.

“I understand that,” I tell them both, “but what I’m asking is more hypothetical and informational: if there is a set Comic-Con policy on harassment and physical and verbal abuse on Con attendees and exhibitors, and if so, what’s the specific procedure by which someone should report it, and specifically where should they go?” But this wasn’t a question either could answer.

So, according to published con policy, there is no tolerance for smoking, drawn weapons, personal pages or selling bootleg videos on the floor, and these rules are written down in black and white in the con booklet. There is not a word in the written rules about harassment or the like. I would like to see something like “Comic-Con has zero tolerance for harassment or violence against any of our attendees or exhibitors. Please report instances to a security guard or the Con Office in room XXX.”

The first step to preventing such harassment is giving its victims the knowledge that they can safely and swiftly report such instances to someone in authority. Having no published guideline, and indeed being unable to give a clear answer to questions about it, gives harassment and violence one more rep-tape loophole to hide behind.

I enjoyed Comic-Con. I’m looking forward to coming back next year. So, in fact, are the two women whose experiences I’ve retold above. Aside from those instances, they had a good time at the show. But those instances of harassment shouldn’t have happened at all, and that they did under no clear-cut instructions about what to do sadly invites the continuation of such behavior, or even worse.

I don’t understand why there’s no such written policy about what is not tolerated and what to do when this happens. Is there anyone at Comic-Con able to explain this? Does a similar written policy exist in the booklets for other conventions (SF, comics or otherwise) that could be used as a model? Can it be adapted or adapted, and enforced, for Comic-Con? As the leading event of the comics and pop culture world, Comic-Con should work to make everyone who attends feel comfortable and safe.

I really don’t have anything to add except for HELL, YEAH.

Not gonna create a new thread for this, since there’s already one up on the politics of touch and harassment at conventions , in relation to my response to a specific incident. Feel free to respond there, or back at Comics Ought to Be Good.

An Open Letter to the Asshole with the “Free Hugs” Sign at SDCC

Dear Asshole,

This is not an apology. I’m not sorry for yelling at you or swearing at you or for threatening to call security if you didn’t fuck off. In fact, I think you should feel damn lucky that you didn’t get a boot to your squishy sensitive bits, because I would have been damn well justified in planting one there.

If you ask someone–particularly someone much smaller than you, and particularly someone female in a context where a lot of women already feel on-edge because of the way they’re treated, and particularly if she’s in a fairly isolated area–for a hug, and that person says no, it is NEVER appropriate to whine and wheedle and move closer. If they say “no” a second time and <i>ask you to leave</i>, and you keep approaching them and keep insisting? YOU ARE PHYSICALLY THREATENING THEM.

It doesn’t matter if “all” you want is a hug. It doesn’t matter if you’d hug me if our positions were reversed. What matters is that I said “no,” and you kept pushing.

There is nothing wrong with wandering around ComiCon with a sign advertising free hugs; in fact, until you approached me, I thought the ideas was kind of cool, and I’m sure there are people who carry those signs and respect others’ physical boundaries (and if you, Dear Reader, are one such person, I suggest that you let this douche know in no uncertain terms that he is making you look very bad and you do not appreciate it). But what you did? That’s not free. And it’s not okay.

You can discuss this column–and the politics and etiquette of touch at conventions–here.

Q&A Part 1: Work Stuff

If you’re just jumping in now, I’ve decided to cede the responsibility of coming up with column ideas to you. For the next few weeks, I’ll be answering the questions you ask <here.

You guys are pretty awesome–I now have an embarrassment of riches, if you define “riches” as “questions that run the gamut from pertinent to marvelously bizarre.” I will do my best to answer them forthwith; in the meantime, feel free to keep asking away.

Today, we’re going to talk about work.

Benel R Germosen asks: How much unsolicited material do you read for Dark Horse?

Very little. Most general unsolicited submissions go through Samantha Robertson, Submissions Editor and Guardian of the Slush Pile. People do sometimes send unsolicited material straight to specific editors, but since I’m not exactly famous, high-profile, or a full-fledged editor, I don’t get much of that, either.

1percent asks: Hellboy is getting pretty old to still be considered a boy, isn’t he? Will he ever officially become a man, maybe have a Hell-Mitzvah?

Actually, you’re not the only one to come to that conclusion–around 1996, the “boy” in the character’s name was changed to “man,” but the new name lasted only a single issue and was retconned out after a brief but bitter legal battle with a condiment-monger concerned about what they perceived as trademark infringement. All copies of the issue in question were subsequently tracked down and destroyed by Dark Horse’s black ops division, and no record of it remains.*

*Lies, all lies.

hippokrene asks: What are the most rewarding and the most frustrating parts of your job?

The most rewarding part is having the chance to play a part–however minor or peripheral–in making really, really good comics. I’ve been lucky enough to work on what I think are some of the best series currently in print, and having the opportunity to contribute to those is an enormous privilege for which I couldn’t be more grateful. I believe wholeheartedly both that comics should be good and that it matters that good comics exist, and being able to apply that in practice as well as theory feels awesome.

The most frustrating part is the social element. I have the social skills of a geranium accompanied by really bad social anxiety–I’m one of those people who writes out notes for phone calls so that she won’t freeze up and stammer as soon as the conversation starts–and conventions, parties, and the general social scene that comes with the job scare the hell out of me. Being the new kid doesn’t help, since it adds to the impression that I’m crashing a party where everyone knows everyone; the upside is that of course that’s something that ‘s improved (and hopefully will continue to improve) with time. I’ve also had the good luck to make some wonderful friends, both at Dark Horse and at elsewhere, who have been nice enough to make a point of introducing me around and generally holding my hands to keep me from bolting.

You can discuss this column here.

Ask, and You Might Receive

When summer kicks into Portland, it kicks hard, and my shitty apartment (oh, how I loathe this place. But now is not the time to talk about mold, ridiculously inept construction, or tragic lack of rent control laws) is not air conditioned, which means the temperature in here is about two hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit.

This is not conducive to creativity. Or to much of anything, apart from drinking tonic water and lime juice and whining about how hot it is. Also, my in-laws are in town, and I have been Very Stupid and committed to more projects, in and out of work, than I have time for.

Which is all a long-winded way of asking you to do my homework for me, because it is WAY easier to write from a prompt.

Post questions in the comments thread, and I’ll do my damnedest to answer them in the next several weeks. I figure that if each of my readers asks a question, and I answer a question a week, that should at least get me through July…

Ask away!

Editorial Redux

When I tell people that I work in the comics industry (which, incidentally, I’ve been doing for two years, as of last week–booya!), they almost always immediately assume that I’m an artist, and shortly thereafter, they look confused and ask me what exactly a comic-book editor does.

From now on, I will just link them to Friday’s Editorial Conference, by Greg Hatcher, which makes my job sound about as superheroic as I like to believe it is:

“No one ever puts down a book or a magazine or a comic and thinks, ‘Man, that was great. That was one hell of an editor that put that thing together.’ Yet most of the time it’s the editor that makes it happen.”

Right freakin’ on!

Pull up a chair and talk about editing here.

Screwed and Unscrewed

I’m not going to enumerate what’s wrong with Tokyopop’s godawful Manga Pilot contract. Other people have already done so beautifully and thoroughly, and there’s no need for me to rehash what’s already been expressed eloquently elsewhere.

What I am going to do is take advantage of this particular debacle to repeat a point that I’ve belabored at length to friends and on forums–but not yet in this column.

It is hard as hell to break into comics (or any industry) as a writer or artist. And it is awfully easy to jump at the first chance you see to get your work published and visible, and, in the process, to make horrible mistakes. There are entire businesses built around exploiting newcomers and aspiring professionals, and there are people who will cheerfully take you for all you’re worth and do so in a way that will leave you with no legal recourse whatsoever. It’s reprehensible, and it’s infuriating, it’s awfully common.

So, here is my Excellent and Useful Advice to Aspiring Comics Creators:

Don’t Rush In.
It’s easy to be blinded by the excitement of being offered what looks like your first professional contract. Don’t. Take the time to read any document before you sign it (no-brainer, right?) and to become at least superficially familiar with the terms that are likely to come up.

Know Your Rights.
Pick up a copy of Tad Crawford’s Legal Guide for the Visual Artist or the equivalent, and read it; then pass it along to your friends and make them read it, too.

Know What You Want.
As you learn what goes into professional creative contracts, know what you are looking for. Know what points are negotiable and which will be deal-breakers for you. There’s nothing inherently wrong with signing away rights–IF you know what you’re doing and have a good reason for it–but know your terms and don’t let anything slip past.

Question Everything.
If you need or want clarification on a point in your contract, ask BEFORE you sign it. If the wording is unclear, request that it be rephrased.

Check References.
Talk to creators and agents, and see what they have to say about the publisher. Have any of them worked directly with that publisher? If so, are they still working with them? If not, why not? What works well for one creator may not be good for another, so the wider a range of people you can talk to, the better.

Support Unscrewed.
As far as I know, Unscrewed is the comics industry’s only creators’ rights watchdog organization. It is a grassroots project that rose out of creators’ frustration with a horribly exploitative publisher who had a long history of thoroughly abusing the artists and writers he hired, and who was able to get away with it because there was no organized means for creators to warn each other about this scumbag. Since then, Unscrewed has been doing its damnedest on little-to-no budget and volunteers’ efforts to keep an eye on the comics industry and help prevent the kind of shit that led to its founding. It is the kind of organization that works best if you work for it–the more people involved, the better and more through and effective a resource it will become.

Don’t let publishers get away with this shit. They know better, and you should, too.

Discuss this column here.

Why It Still Matters

I spent last weekend at the Emerald City ComiCon (which is awesome, by the way, and which I heartily recommend to anyone who hangs out in the Pacific Northwest or is interested in heading in that direction for a few days), mostly working at the Dark Horse table. It was pretty low-key–we weren’t doing any in-booth signings or sales, just giveaways–which meant we had time to chat with a lot of the people who came by.

One of the people I talked to was a guy in his thirties or forties. He had stopped reading comics decades ago but had returned recently; when I asked him why, he said it was because of Young Avengers, specifically Hulkling and Wiccan: for the first time in his life, there were gay characters in superhero comics who were more than stereotypes, with whom he could actually identify.

This stuff matters more than most of us will ever realize, because we are more or less privileged enough to see ourselves–or at least facets of ourselves–reflected in almost everything we read. Our paper mirrors are everywhere. We have a lot of representations to choose from. This is why it matters when there are–and when there aren’t–characters of color, queer characters, non-Christian characters, disabled characters. This isn’t just about demographics, or representation. It’s about identification and validation: the day you finally get to open a book and discover that it’s not just lip service, that comics really are for you, too. That someone gets it.

Think about what that means for a minute. And when you choose comics, and read comics, and make comics, keep thinking about it. We need more mirrors, and we need mirrors that reflect a wider range of faces, because there is NO ONE who does not crave–or does not deserve–that moment of genuine identification.

Tell me about your paper mirror moments–or the ones you’re still waiting for.

Hereville: A Review

I’ve been working on this review for a while, and it’s been giving me a lot of trouble, because when I try to express my thoughts on Barry Deutsch’s Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword, I usually end up bouncing up and down and making enthusiastic noises of inarticulate glee. These are behaviors that are generally frowned upon in critical circles, and they translate poorly to text, so I’m going to try my damnedest to use actual here.

Hereville is good. It’s really good.

It’s the kind of good that makes me want to carry a copy with me at all times, just so that I can look at it every few minutes as a reminder that any world that produces books like this one is probably worth the benefit of the doubt.

Comics that can honestly be described as all-ages are few and far between. Knitting a narrative that appeals to adults and remains accessible to and appropriate for kids is no easy feat. Imbuing that story with layers of rich culture and tradition without overwhelming readers, and doing so while slyly subverting both form and trope take serious skill.

Barry Deutsch is seriously skilled.

In many ways, Hereville is a classic coming-of-age story, the first adventure of a fledgling hero. It’s also a cultural narrative, steeped in the language and traditions of Orthodox Judaism. But at the same time, it’s full of contradictions and quirks that turn heroic convention topsy-turvy. It’s telling that the story begins with a friendly argument, as Mirka (the eleven-year-old heroine) and her stepmother Fruma discuss the theology of knitting.

Fruma herself is perhaps Deutsch’s most visible wink at tradition: as the heroine’s stepmother, a woman with “odd looks” (including “the longest nose of anyone in Aherville”) and a stubborn fondness for argument-for-argument’s-sake, Fruma could easily have turned into a tired misogynist sterotype. But even though—or perhaps because—she forces Mirka to knit and plays devil’s advocate in every argument, Fruma is cast as Mirka’s mentor and ally. She’s challenging rather than vindictive, and we are led to believe that wisdom and experience inform her cheerful antagonism. And role in Mirka’s story is more empowering than authoritative: Fruma’s lessons, both subtle and direct, are what ultimately allow Mirka to defeat a troll and take the first steps toward her destiny as a dragonslayer.

Fruma’s complexity is characteristic of Deutsch’s approach to storytelling: he excels at simultaneously celebrating and questioning the tradition that saturates his narrative. The Orthodox Jewish rituals and traditions are no less warm and beautiful because of the limitations they impose on Mirka, nor does that beauty render her frustration any less acute or her ensnarement in the rigid roles of her culture less unfair. In the world of Hereville, nothing is simple—and its complexity makes it all the more accessible to readers used to the intricate tangles and contradictions of real life.

Deutsch is an experienced editorial cartoonist, but Hereville is (to the best of my knowledge) his first attempt at a full-length comic, and that inexperience shows through a handful of rough spots. Both designs and style develop and refine over the course of the comic, and the difference between the art at the beginning and the end is a bit jarring—a difficulty common to webcomics when they make the transition to print form. And while Deutsch’s sepia-toned palette looks beautiful by day, it becomes a good deal less discernable in nighttime scenes, where muddy coloring comes close to obscuring the art; Deutsch’s narrative (and readers’ eyesight) would be better served by more emphasis on shadow and less on general darkness.

But if there’s any lesson to be learned from Hereville, it’s that the quality of craftwork is determined not by snagged yarn or adherence to patterns, but by innovation, intent, and intricacy—and despite a few dropped stitches, Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword is an exquisite piece of work by any standard.

You can read Hereville a bit at a time starting here–as of this post, twenty-four pages are available online–or get the whole first story in either digital or paper form (which I heartily recommend) via the links in the sidebar.

And while you’re waiting for your copy to arrive, you can discuss this column here.

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