It's all on me, though; it's Charlie Brown kicking at the football. Pieces of shit act like pieces of shit. That's what they're supposed to do, it's why they're put on the planet. You don't get to be mad at D&Q for acting like D&Q, or at DC for acting like DC. It's the same rule for us as it is for creators: comics fucked Kirby, and it'll fuck you, too. I'm just a half-ass blogger with a small audience whose posting schedule got cut down by about 75 percent in the last year. I'm getting the exact treatment I deserve. The only difference is that I really don't care. I don't want to make comics, ever, and I don't ever want to have a professional job in comics past the one I have right now. They have nothing to threaten me with, nothing they can take away from me. I don't need review copies or advance previews or insider access. I don't need to be liked by people with no talent. I don't need to hear the gossip about who is sleeping with Paul Levitz' ex-girlfriend or the latest Scott Snyder office meltdown. Those are the things they try to ply you with: "Here's a story, the real story, about why Mark Waid doesn't work here anymore." Go away. Tell Rich Johnston. I don't care about any of it. Everything I ever hear about these people only convinces me further that I want nothing to do with them.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Where It's At These Days
If I had Tumblr, that would be a better place to post this: