Notes from the Underground

I am writing this communiqué from deep inside enemy territory. I have scaled barbed wire fences and tunneled under stone walls. My hands are raw, my glasses are cracked, and I can’t feel my toes.
I am, as they say, ‘in the industry.’ I make comic books for a living.
Okay, I edit comic books for a living. Assistant edit, if you want to be picky. But I do get paid for it. I even have health insurance.
I’m one of those people whose names you skim over on the inside front cover of your comic books. I tug balloons into place and fix syntax and call creators on their birthdays; I sneak between borders and leave my invisible footprints all over the panels. I’m in the know. I’m in on the secrets. I’ve got the door code.
If you couldn’t see my name, you’d never even guess that I was a girl. And even then, you’d miss the part where I’m queer. The purple hair, tattoos, and facial piercings are just icing on the cupcake.
Poe’s ‘I’m Not A Virgin Anymore’ just came on the stereo. How appropriate.
I’m out of the closet, out of the longbox, and out of the mainstream. And I’m putting my voice out here because as I stand on one side of comics with my nose pressed against the newsprint, I have to believe that someone’s out there on the other side, pressing right back.
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February 5th, 2007
Categories: Uncategorized . Author: Rachel Edidin