What Creators owe Fans/What Publishers Owe Creators

Originally published April 12, 2002, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1482

James B. of San Diego wrote in to “Oh So” to comment on my opinion that all creators owe their fans is their very best work, to which he said that I was “…absolutely right. Technically speaking, of course. Technically, all a creator does owe his fans is his very best work. Just as, technically speaking, all a publisher, say—oh, I dunno—Archie Comics, owes to any creator would be the agreed-upon amounts due under the contract or agreement said creator was working under, right?”

Now James raises an interesting point. However, he took my sentiment totally out of context to accomplish it.

The context, you’ll remember, was about pros being badgered by fans over where certain projects were, and fans opining that writers “owed it” to the fans to be completely forthcoming as to the projects’ whereabouts. It was about the demands made by fans above and beyond the publication of the work. If one is going to start drawing parallels between publishers and fans (with creators as the constant) then one would have to argue that Archie Comics would not be out of line to insist that writers and artists go on tour promoting the material without any form of compensation because it was owed to the publisher.

James went on to say, “When I first asked these questions in a letter to CBG, Maggie (I think) responded that publishers taking care of these creators beyond the scope of their contracts, when their work merited it, was a sign of respect. Forget what was “technically” right: Looking out for these exceptional creators and their families was just “fundamentally” right. It’s certainly obvious from his columns that David feels that way.

I find it curious that he doesn’t extend this logic to the fans.”

Okay. Except I never said that. And attaching how I “obviously feel” to something and then discussing that isn’t exactly the same thing as discussing how I actually feel. Particularly when I have, in fact, talked about this very subject in the past.

Discussing matters of what is fundamentally right and wrong when it comes to corporations can often be a waste of time, because corporations can be designed to shield those who run it from little mundane considerations such as morality, fair play, and ethics. What I believe I’ve said in the past—and what I say again, now—is that publishers “looking out for these exceptional creators” has very little to do with what’s fundamentally right and wrong because business is business is business. Instead I think it has more to do with what’s fundamentally smart. “Right” and “smart” are two different things, sometimes overlapping, sometimes in their own spheres. There’s any number of times, I’m sure, when you’ve done something you felt was right but wasn’t especially smart. When it comes to business, I don’t think “smart” and “right” need intersect all that much. Instead it comes down to what’s good or bad for business.

Smart business means not pìššìņg øff your top talent. Smart business means that when someone has created a character for you that’s bringing in scads of money above and beyond what was originally anticipated when the character was purely in print form, you go out of your way to make the creators of those characters happy. Very smart business would mean doing so pre-emptively. Reasonably smart business would mean when a creator comes to you and says, “So I’m reading in Variety about the multi-million dollar movie based on the character I created; am I seeing anything of that?”, you start making some calls and—at the very least—cut a respectable check.

Why is this smart business? Because it inspires your creators to do their best work for you. And it can prompt other creators to want to come aboard as well.

Now yes, granted, it can backfire. You can compensate your creators and they can use that money to go off and form their own company. But if you hold tight the purse strings, all you do is wind up pìššìņg people off and driving them away anyway, never to return. (I should point out that this problem could be avoided by alternate means of compensation. For some reason, the word “Porsche” comes to mind. But that’s probably just me.)

Bad business, on the other hand, involves stonewalling and getting the creator of the property angrier and angrier. It’s a no-win situation, and putting yourself into it just because you have lawyers on retainer is simply dumb. Archie Comics was in a no-win situation after Dan DeCarlo passed away. They ran a full-page ad right here in CBG mourning his loss… leaving themselves open to charges of hypocrisy since some felt that the legal battle Archie subjected him to took a lethal toll upon him. Of course, if they hadn’t acknowledged his passing at all, they would have been slammed as cold and uncaring. And Todd McFarlane apparently came away from working for Marvel and DC having learned one fundamental corporate lesson: I’ve got mine, so screw you. He got himself a quick fix of creative respectability from bringing in people like Neil Gaiman, and has jerked Gaiman around ever since. (And yes, Gaiman was playing in McFarlane’s “playground”… but that doesn’t mean McFarlane gets to snag the pail and shovel Gaiman brought along to the sandbox and say, “Oh, and this is all mine, too.”)

I’m not making the argument that creators “deserve” anything from publishers because from a corporate point of view, to quote William Munny from Unforgiven, “Deserves got nothin’ to do with it.” The alternative to considerate treatment for your creators is a publicity nightmare, and who needs that?

That’s why my position on, for instance, creators going the extra distance for fans has nothing to do with publishers doing the extra distance for creators. In the case of the latter, failure to do so means people and reputations can wind up getting bloodied. In the case of the former, if the creator doesn’t attend conventions (for instance), it’s neither a positive nor a negative. It’s a wash. And if creators do attend conventions, that entails a certain degree of publicity risk now, doesn’t it. After all, you don’t have to worry about inadvertently offending people or putting their noses out of joint, and thus getting your reputation trashed, if you simply stay put in your studio or office and stick to doing what you’re paid to do in the first place. Once you’re out there, though, pretty much anything can happen, and endeavors to “give back” to the fans can blow up in your face. So every individual creator has to decide for his or herself if they should (not to sound too “Rocky Horror”) take the risk.

I can only speak for myself (and for my invisible friend, Bruno, but I try not to talk about him too much.) In my case, absolutely yes, I continue to go out the conventions and meet and greet fans. I’ll go that “extra distance.” Do I feel I owe it to the fans?

No.

I feel I owe it to Jack Kirby.

Jack Kirby was the first pro I ever met, at the first convention I ever attended. It was one of the late, great Phil Seuling conventions, produced in New York every year by the even later (but, astoundingly, even greater) Phil Seuling. I was about fourteen years old, and I was watching the evening news with my dad. And there was a news item about the comic convention being held in New York City. We were living in New Jersey at the time, and I can only imagine my dad’s watching me staring enraptured at the TV. I was fairly isolated as a comics fan. I knew no other kids who read comic books, I belonged to no clubs, there was no comic book store aside from a newsstand in town. And naturally there was no internet. Yet right there on the TV screen were people going through box after box of comic books. And, oh my God… Jack Kirby was a guest there. You could actually meet Jack Kirby.

And out of the blue, my dad said, “Would you like to go?”

I was stunned. “You’re kidding.” He wasn’t kidding.

The next day we drove into Manhattan and there we were, in a room crammed with comics fans and retailers. Fourteen years old, and I’d never seen a back issue box, much less a room filled with them. I was able to fill in holes in my collection, something that was a first for me. And I met Jack Kirby. And folks, he was absolutely everything you could possibly have wanted from a professional. He was generous with his time, he was patient, he was convivial. He made everyone he spoke to feel special. He answered every question, no matter how stupid (the stupid ones were mine, in case you were wondering.)

I looked around at all the smiling faces, all the people being made happy by Kirby’s presence. And I thought, What an incredible thing… to be able to bring so much joy to people’s lives just by being there for them. So now, when I’m in a position to do the same thing, I am prompted to wonder WWKD: What Would Kirby Do? On that day years ago, I got the answer, and I’ve tried to emulate it. And from then until now, I think of Kirby’s example every time I go to a convention, and try to live up to that model of behavior and comportment.

Why?

Because it’s the smart and right thing to do.

(Peter David can be written to at Second Age, Inc., P.O. Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)