Posted in: Short 'n Curlies by Si Spurrier | Tagged: short and curlies, si spurrier

Short 'n Curlies #14 by Si Spurrier

The KeyBoard Is My FuckMonkey:

You want to work in comics? HAHAHA. But okay, no, that's cool. Very worthy. Fun! And it's not as if you even like paying bills or making rent or eating etc anyway, so, no — that's awesome. Good for you. Hopefully you've got some talent too — that's always a bonus –and right now you're running through the list of Next Steps. Yes?

Yes.

So: I'm assuming — since you're an assertive, go-getting sort of creature — that you've already identified the editor you want to approach. Naturally, by now, you've discovered their email address through devious means. You've dutifully prepared your first sample (Pencils? Inks? Scintillating Yet Very Very Short Idea Pitch?), and next… oh-ho-yes… next-up comes the hard part. First Contact.

An introductory letter. A request to send material. Agonise over it, rewrite it a thousand times, then hit "send" and BRACE BRACE BRACE.

You'd be amazed at how bad some people are at this.

Marvel's resident Comics Industry Breaking-In-Advice-Providing demagogue @CBCebulski recently warned against smugness, self-entitlement and… well… wankerishness in this very context, over on The Twit. I quote:

Don't end your FIRST e-mail to me or editors with "What have you got for me?!", "When can I start?!" or "Marvel'd be dumb not to hire me."

Yes, I received actual e-mails that ended with ALL THREE of those exact statements the past two days.

…Now.

I'm hoping it's absolutely not necessary for me to expand on that. I'm hoping you're all sitting there with a lopsided grin of disbelief, wondering Who The Fuck Would Be Stupid/Arrogant/Evil Enough To Think That Sort Of Thing Is Okay?

You are? Good.

Sadly there are plenty of people (at least three on CB's evidence, and a dozen others I've heard of elsewhere) who don't agree. Their psychology's kind of interesting, I guess: either they really are so prostate-punchingly far up their own arses that they actually believe the things they say, or (more likely) they just think that a bit of brazen confidence is a clever strategy to prick-up the editor's ears and Make Their Day. But rational or not, this is Not The Behaviour of Someone Who Gets Hired.

It's the behaviour of a Cunt. Write that down.

Listen: When you send someone else your work — whether they give you a job or not — simply by looking at it they're doing you a favour. Don't for an instant think it's the other way round.

ANYway. Let's put that particular breed of Pitch-Rapist to one side and consider the alternative. Because if coming on too strong is First Contact Suicide, then the likes of self-deprecation, over-humility and false modesty are the equivalent of wiping your fetid arse on your own artwork or pitch then expecting the Editor to be impressed.

To put it another way: British people are fucked.

There's a digression coming. Bear with me on this:

See, this cuts pretty-much to the core of a fundamental cultural difference between us Brits and — say — you Americans. And before I get pilloried for even suggesting that we Imperialistic drizzledogs genuinely are more modest or humble than you thrusting gun-toting colonial Confidence Gods, that's not it at all. It's just that understatement is a standardised — no, ritualised — part of our day-to-day interaction, in a way that few Americans would recognise and fewer still would feel comfortable emulating. Brits apologise for everything; even when it's not our fault. We're instinctively allergic to boasting; even when it's justifiable. We can't bear to discuss money, we recoil from brazen displays of ambition, and automatically underplay events of extraordinary importance or spectacle. Step into any London pub and you'll hear some ale-supping wag describing the catastrophic Tyrannosaur-related incident he's just witnessed (say), as "a bit of a shock." At the next table a well-meaning US tourist is waving his arms around and describing the same event in terms of slavering maws, screams, shouts, and Oh Fuck I've Never Seen Anything Like It — and justifiably so, you might think — yet everyone in the room is glowering with irritation at that Loud And Obnoxious Yank.

What's really interesting about all this is that there's absolutely nothing honourable or humble about British self-deprecation at all. It's like a code that allows us to get the best of both worlds. Ask a wealthy Englishman how much he earns and he'll shrug dismissively — as though he finds the very subject disagreeable — and mutter something about oh, I do well enough: by which he simultaneously implies that he's richer than a Diamond-Shitting Sultan and that he's far too lovely a person to boast about it. It's cynical and hypocritical, yes, but it's all done without thought, without malice, and without deceit. Like I said: a ritual.

SO. Let's get back to the main story…

Here's our British chum who wants to work in comics. He's trembling with pent-up nerves as he types his contact-email to Big Frightening Yanqui Editor, and what's the first thing he types?

"Sorry to drop-in out of the blue like this…"

Or "Really hope this isn't catching you at a bad time…"

Or "We met briefly at ClammyCon '08 — I'm sure you wouldn't remember me — and…"

This is the exact opposite of the Coming On Too Strong letter. This isn't the Pitch-Rapist, but the Pitch-Standing-In-The-Corner-And-Hoping-The-Chicks-Come-To-Him-Guy. In the eyes of our theoretical editor what this limey creep is really saying is "I haven't any confidence in myself, so you shouldn't have any either."

I'm guilty of this myself. Really. I have to stop myself from doing it all the time. When I write to new editors these days I invariably feel the need to provide some sort of Credibility Report, but it's like I'm physically incapable of making it sound remotely impressive. Rather than "I'VE WRITTEN FUCKING WOLVERINE, MAN! I'VE WRITTEN THE SILVER-GODDAM-SURFER!", I catch myself typing: "things have been going rather well over the past year, and I'm keen to strike while the iron's warm…"

…At which the tried-and-test CUNT ALARM on my desktop whoops and flashes, and sticks a big fat pizzle in my face like the pussy I so clearly am.

There's a moral somewhere in this bilge, but I'm having a tough time decanting it. "Follow @CBCebulski on Twitter"'s a good one. As is "Follow @SiSpurrier", though that probably won't help you get into comics much quicker and may in fact give you an ulcer. No: I think it's got to be something super-simple; some glorious nugget of indivisible wisdom which should guide, inform, quantify and qualify every act taken by the wannabe Comics Creator.

Got it:

Don't be a Cunt.

BrainFart:

If asked, would the people who Know You Best describe you as having:

a) A sick sense of humour?

b) A gift for inventive sadism?

c) A deep core of bloody-mindedness?

Or d) A penchant for random ejaculations of hilariously unconvincing "Fact"?

If the answer is "all of the above", you have the dubious pleasure of fitting the psychological profile mysteriously — and paradoxically — shared by:

1. The sort of drinking buddy who's Hilarious In Small Doses, But — Dude — You Totally Wouldn't Want Him Coming Round Your House, Really, I Mean It, He's a Fucking Liability, There Was This One Time, Oh My God, You've Never Seen A Kitten Treated So Bad…

and

2. The divine being, God, Yahweh, Jehova, Adonai, haShem, the Abrahamic Allfather of the biggest western religions.

Either way, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could shit you.

I CRY DOUBLE STANDARDS, OH HUMAN RACE.

Find Me @:

Twitter: @SiSpurrier

WWWebbage: www.simonspurrier.blogspot.com

Send wurdz, thoughts, stories, Hatings, and subatomic headscarves to the Only Checked Occasionally And I Might Not Bother Replying At All Ha Ha Ha email address:

Contact@Chop-This-Bit-Outsimonspurrier.co.uk

Or the It Might Not Get To Me At All But If It Does I Promise To Recycle It snailmail address:

C/O William Christensen,

Avatar Press
515 N. Century Blvd.

Rantoul, IL 61866
(Disclaimer: Secretly, I'm nice.)

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