No More Mr. Nice Guy

Originally published November 16, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1461

I’m not a nice guy.

You have to understand that up front. There’s this perception among many that I’m a nice guy, but I’m really, really not.

I like to think I’m a good guy. Decent, moral. A loyal guy. I try my best to treat people well. I think I can be fairly entertaining, usually polite. Convivial, except at parties, where I usually tend to retreat to a corner and wonder how long I should stay before it would be acceptable for me to bolt. I try to be a good husband, good father, good friend, and I think I succeed more often than I fail, although I do have my failures, to be certain.

But I’m not a nice guy.

Because I get too angry, because I don’t suffer fools gladly, and because when I’m convinced I’m right, I hold that conviction with such clarity and certainty that I just get annoyed with people because why the hëll can’t they see that they’re wrong?

I think I used to be more of a nice guy than I am now. A lot more patient, a lot… well… nicer. But that’s been worn down, worn out, like anything put to a grindstone. And that grindstone, much as I hate to admit it, has been fans.

Now y’know, usually I say something like, “I’m not talking about every fan. I’m probably not talking about you. I’m talking about that guy standing behind you and to the right, trying to hide his face, trying not to make eye contact.” But I’m not saying that this time. I don’t feel like letting people off the hook. Because I want you to think about you, yourself, and I mean really think, and really consider, and say, “Hey, maybe he really is talking about me.”

My niceness has been worn down, worn out by fan ingratitude, by fan pontificating, by fan ignorance, by fan insensitivity, by fan meanness, by fan cruelty. I’ve seen it at conventions, I’ve seen it at store signings, I’ve seen it on the Internet, I’ve seen it over and over and over again.

I did a store signing in the midwest. Got up at 4 AM to make a 7 AM flight to get me out to a 1 PM signing. Twenty people showed up. Nineteen went away happy. One person decided he didn’t like my manner: I was too loud, too boisterous, too annoying. I didn’t sign an autograph for him fast enough. So he talked about what a creep I was on a popular and heavily trafficked website. Final tally: Nineteen satisfied customers who kept that satisfaction to themselves versus thousands of people who read about how I was a jerk.

I used to be nice and do store signings. No more. No percentage in it. No point. Another piece of the nice guy dies.

At MIT, a woman who had been standing in the autograph line for Neil Gaiman, once she had Neil’s autograph, then sidled over (right past me, of course) to stand in front of Harlan Ellison. People had been doing it all evening, but it was the first time Ellison noticed. He told her she should get at the end of his line, effectively stand in line twice. She looked crestfallen, frustrated. Wanting to avoid Yet Another Ellison Was Mean to Me anecdote, I pled her case to Harlan. Ellison relented, signed the autograph… and she proceeded to diss him. Instead of saying “Thank you,” she told him she’d heard how difficult he was (her language was stronger, actually) and how obviously everything she’d heard was true. She ragged on him and insulted him. This was after he’d signed the autograph, mind you. I wanted to crawl under the table. I’d butted in on behalf of a stranger, gone out on a limb for her, and she’d sawed it off behind me.

This was after Mr. Nice Guy took a fatal hit at Dragon*Con with the theft of his wife’s backpack. I’m more certain than ever that a fan took it, because a disinterested thief would most likely have swiped only the valuable stuff, like the palm pilot, and ditched the rest of the bag. But it was nowhere to be found, which means it’s more than likely that a fan considered himself the lucky finder of a souvenir: Peter and Kathleen David’s wedding album.

But the Internet… jeez, that’s where nice guys go to die.

I will never forget when acclaimed writer Roger Zelazny passed away… and a fan opined that, well, that was okay, because Zelazny hadn’t written anything worth reading in years. Other fans immediately excoriated him for his insensitivity, but I’ve always wondered whether there weren’t many others who thought the exact same thing… but upon seeing the reaction to this one guy, kept their yaps shut out of self-preservation.

The Internet, where dwell thousands upon thousands of fans who resent the hëll out of Ellison as he pursues his lawsuit in defense of copyright protection… something that in the view of those who follow the philosophy of “I see it, it’s mine,” is absolutely incomprehensible. Fans used to getting what they desire, when they desire it… fans for whom, as Carrie Fisher wrote in the film of Postcards from the Edge, “Instant gratification takes too long.” A generation of Veruca Salts shouting in unison, “But I want it nowwwwwwww!”

After Bobbie Chase was fired as an editor from Marvel Comics, the Internet was alive with fans stating that she was a lousy editor. I, who worked with her for twelve years—which , you’d think, would put me in a position to speak with knowledge instead of out of my ášš—said she was a dámņëd good editor. Almost unanimous fan reaction? I didn’t know what I was talking about. No, no, said these experts who never had a plot edited by her, never discussed story overviews, never attended an editorial meeting, never in short had the slightest editorial interface with her at all, ever, they all knew better because they didn’t like the current run on Iron Man, so therefore Bobbie Chase was a lousy editor. Some were harebrained enough to claim that my run on Hulk would have had the same merits even if Bobbie hadn’t been my editor on it. You follow that? If the book is good, she gets no credit; if it’s lousy, she gets all the blame.

At which point I dropped the entire rec.arts. comics board, after fifteen years of active participation. Life, and my fuse, is too short.

And, oh Holy Night, if a pro strikes back at a fan, then listen to the howling that follows. Behold as fans heap vituperation upon slam, slight upon snideness, inaccuracy upon insinuation, all with a sense of self-righteous impunity… and if a pro fires a broadside back in the same spirit, then witness the targeted fan scream about how ill-used he was. “How dare (fill in the pro’s name) stoop to that level!” comes the cry, with absolutely no sense of irony, no realization that there is a tacit acknowledgment of the base nastiness and insensitivity in which many fans wallow. Pros are expected to take the high road, you see. We’re supposed to be above it all. We’re supposed to let any potshot, any snipe, any falsehood stand.

I remember the glorious Catch-22 of a fan who slammed one of my Star Trek novels on line. I made no response. I saw no reason to. He didn’t like the book; ah well. So what happened? A week later he started a new thread: “Peter David doesn’t give a dámņ about the fans.” His reason? Because I didn’t respond. Didn’t “care enough” about fan opinion to defend the work. But if I had defended the work, you bet fans would have been commenting that, boy oh boy, that Peter David sure can’t stand criticism, he’s got to go after everybody who dislikes his work. Ðámņëd if you do, dámņëd if you don’t.

You know who’s a nice guy?

Kurt Busiek. Nicest guy in the world. Patience of Job. Thrifty, obedient and cheerful. If he tried to screw someone over, his head would explode.

So what did we see in Comic Buyers Guide? A letter from one Jeff D., back from WizardWorld, who wrote:

(Alex Ross made) one interesting remark about Kurt Busiek’s Astro City. When someone asked if Ross would continue to paint the covers, Alex said something to the effect of, “If Kurt Busiek can’t get the scripts finished, we can’t help him.” Ross then went on to say that Astro City is Busiek’s own series, but Busiek has had no difficulties meeting other deadlines. I know he has been sick, but I think he owes it to his fans to either make a commitment to Astro City or let the series’ followers know where the project stands.

I read that letter and was appalled. If Jeff stood up and made that comment in my presence, I’d ream him a new one. Because I’m not a nice guy. Kurt’s a nice guy. Which is why Kurt responded several issues later:

Well, I’ve never not been committed to Astro City and, at the risk of seeming testy, I have often let readers know where the project stands, to the point that it sometimes feels as if I do little else. But maybe it’ll help ease the curiosity, at least, of CBG readers if I go into it again.

And Kurt went into great length and, frankly, heartbreaking detail, over the medical hardships that have unfairly been visited upon him, either by cruel happenstance or by a God who views nice guys with the same affection that Vince Lombardi did.

Now if Kurt had been soliciting Astro City and then not delivering it, why, then there’s at least some basis for complaint, although the ones most entitled to crab about it would be the retailers who had set aside money for a book that didn’t ship. But there have been no solicits. Kurt’s doing it the right way. He’s waiting until he knows he can deliver, and then he’ll deliver it.

Thomas Harris felt no need to publish lengthy explanations as to where his sequel to Silence of the Lambs was for ten years. J.K. Rowling isn’t pouring out heart and soul to her waiting audience explaining the whereabouts of the next Harry Potter. But Kurt… Kurt’s a nice guy. Even more, he’s a Nice Guy. So instead the most he lets his ire show is acknowledging that he is risking sounding a bit “testy.” The fans, apparently, have not worn him down. Yet. He hasn’t gotten fed up. Yet.

And the fans aren’t getting it. Yet.

Now me, not being a Nice Guy, or even a nice guy, my first inclination if some yutz opined that I owed it to the fans to explain in detail just where a particular project was, would be to say the following:

“It’ll be out when it’s ready. Now sod off.”

It should be noted that another letter writer, one Anthony F., has written in and noted in part:

The tenor of (Kurt Busiek’s) letter seems to be one of frustration and irritation with readers who question his ability to write comics for Marvel but not produce an issue of Astro City… I would like to thank him for the detailed explanation of his health problems. Since I consider Astro City the best comics series ever produced, I do not want him to pass the writing chores to another writer or produce new issues of inferior quality. Therefore, Busiek should do whatever he has to do to regain his health… When I miss a day of school, my students are often overcurious and sometimes indignant as to why I was not in school. I look at that as high praise (or criticism for the sub). I think Busiek should also consider the curiosity and questions a form of high praise. I wonder whether there would be this concern, if it were The Avengers or Power Company he wasn’t writing. If, for one reason or another, he never produces another issue of Astro City, I will have felt fortunate to have read and enjoyed the issues he has written.

Most of what Anthony says is utterly respectful of Kurt and his work and, frankly, I like the cut of Anthony’s jib. But despite his assertion, I do not see Jeff’s comment as a form of praise at all. Praise would be, “I love Astro City, and I’ll buy it whenever it comes out.” Genuine concern would be, “Astro City hasn’t been out for a while; is Kurt Busiek okay?” But no… what we got was that Kurt “owes it to his fans to either make a commitment to Astro City or let the series’ followers know where the project stands.”

Lord love a duck. And the response made Kurt perhaps look “testy,” or made him seem “frustrated” and “irritated.”

And no, Kurt didn’t ask me to write this, and no, I haven’t even spoken with him about it, and no, he doesn’t need me to defend him, but what you have to understand is that I’m not testy, not frustrated, not irritated, and not a nice guy. What I am is pìššëd øff.

How dare Jeff, how dare any fan, presume that any writer “owe them” anything other than the best work possible, period, done deal, end of story. Writers do not owe explanations, genuflection, gratitude, homage, autographs, nor any dámņ thing except best possible effort, close quote, end parenthesis, finito, -30-, put it to bed, that’s a wrap, ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.

Oh, and the fan who stole our wedding album: I hope you choke on it.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)