Never Meet Your Heroes
Soft Openings And Hard Lessons.
Thank you for joining me for the first-ever edition of my newsletter – with the emphasis on new. Well, technically, it’s more of what’s known as a “soft opening.”
You may have already seen or heard some of what I’ve been working on these days. Covers, conventions, my short movie FLY, signing a first-look deal with Amazon, and now this newsletter. It’s been in the works for some time because there’s bigger stuff on the horizon, and I want you to hear all the future news here first.
But before you get a sneak peek at the future, let’s jump back to 364 days ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I posted this letter:
I’d love to tell you it feels like it was just yesterday, but it doesn’t. I think that’s because I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to come up for air.
So why launch a brand-new newsletter a day before my exit-versary? Why not wait until tomorrow? Well, that’s because…
I’m a shameless self-promoter more than I am a romantic.
You see, my short film, FLY, is making its L.A Premiere TONIGHT at the IFL Film Fest- Los Angeles & Hollywood, at 7:30 pm at the Regal Cinemas Live (1000 W Olympic Blvd). I’ll be there, and there might even be a drink-up afterward. You can still get tickets by tapping the button below.
Hang on, I’m not done yet!
I’ll also be appearing at FanExpo Philadelphia this coming weekend. For more info, gently caress the button below.
I’ll have more details about my appearance, signing times, etc., including a few sneak peeks at some of the commissioned sketches I’m working on for the con, like this Daredevil from a previous show.
Now, come closer, and let me tell you a story.
New York City 2007: 29 W 21st St.
I opened a bar called Flatiron Joe’s. (FYI, that’s where the “Coming Soon” illustration on my Welcome Page came from, courtesy of the brilliant Kevin Nowlan.)
The “soft opening” of Flatiron Joe’s was a tough adjustment for me. I come from a world where you draw your art or write your story, and then finesse it until it’s ready to be seen. The idea of opening the doors and not having our menu locked or the venue adequately staffed was antithetical to everything I had known prior and kept me up at night, especially because my name was on the door.
But today’s newsletter isn’t about Flatiron Joe’s.
That’s a story for another day. This is about today’s “soft opening.”
New York City 1993: The offices of Valiant Comics.
One of my favorite comic artists on the planet is Barry Windsor Smith, and up until that point in my career, I had never met him. Never even seen a photo. But something about his art and that he was a Brit with the coolest name in the business made me imagine him looking no more out of place opening for Led Zeppelin than as the face staring back at me from a Renaissance master’s self-portrait.
I got my first comic gig as a colorist at Valiant (yet another story for yet another day). Before I was among the three-quarters of the staff who were eventually laid off, Barry had just started working there, and his penciled pages were circulating around the bullpen. As I drooled over Barry’s artwork, even at that early stage of my career, I knew I would never be that good. I had so many questions, but we never crossed paths in the office.
So here I am, back at Valiant three years later, and my career is starting to take off. Let’s be clear, I’m feeling pretty good about myself, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing, and I’m seeing a real future in comics ahead of me. The conquering hero has returned, and I’m handing in pages for X-O Manowar #0.
As I strutted my pages into the bullpen, a staffer pulled me aside and said, “Haven’t you always wanted to meet Barry? He’s right over there!” I looked across to the opposite side of the bullpen, and there, looking exactly like the rock star I imagined, was BARRY-WINDSOR-SMITH!
I shuffled over (DAMMIT! Where did my strut go?) and introduced myself as if he would somehow know (or care) who I was. Barry was polite, charming, and so friendly that I would never have known if he didn’t. However, what I did know was that I may never have an opportunity like this again, so I asked him if he’d take a look at my pages.
It couldn’t have been more than 10, maybe 15 minutes max, but in that short time, Barry taught me more about sequential storytelling, flow, and guiding the reader’s eye than I had known up to that point. Lessons that, to this day, guide every single page and cover I draw. I had been to the mountain.
And that’s when things went south.
I had always heard that Barry didn’t sell his original art, but here I was – vibing, joking, and, dare I say, connecting with one of my idols. So, I went for it...
“Mr. Smith, if I can be so presumptuous, I know you don’t sell your pages, but if you ever see anything I’ve done that you like, I’d trade 10 of mine just to have one of yours.”
Without missing a beat, Barry looked at me and said, “Joseph, you shouldn’t be so presumptuous.”
Now. Before you go off making any judgments, let me be clear…
I’m the @$$hole in this story.
Sure, at first, I was crushed, but as I limped home, two things occurred to me. Up until that moment in my life, I had never uttered the phrase, “If I can be so presumptuous,” so I had it coming on that alone. But more importantly, here I was, a complete unknown who Barry Windsor Smith just met, placing him in a terrible spot. He either had to lie to me and say, “Sure, kid, someday,” or shoot me straight. By the time I got to my apartment and thought about what had happened, he had become more of a legend to me than ever.
And I learned more than just storytelling theory that day.
Fast forward a year later…
New York City 1994: My studio apartment, E 25th Street.
My buddy, Jimmy Palmiotti, and I were putting the finishing touches on our first title, Ash, for our very own company, Event Comics. Back then, if you were doing a creator-owned book, it was a tradition to have a centerfold pin-up by one of your favorite artists. The first person I called was Barry, who gladly agreed, and soon after, we received a gorgeous, inked piece and color guide of Ash alongside Barry’s Young Gods from his Storyteller anthology series.
Sometime in November of that year, Ash hits the stands. I called Barry to thank him once again and to let him know that we were FedExing the art back to him for morning delivery. I wanted to make sure he was aware in case it was just left on his doorstep. But before I could finish, Barry cut me off.
“Joseph, don’t FedEx it back.”
I assumed he was going to suggest a different carrier. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“You know when you walk into a restaurant or a store, and they have their first $20 bill framed behind the register? That piece is yours. It’s your first $20 bill.”
Now I’m going to give you a second to let that settle in – because it took me days.
You good?
Cool, moving on.
Barry’s Framed $20 bill graced my studio during my Event Comics days, came with me to the Marvel Knights offices four years later, and today, on the “soft opening” of my newsletter, I’m gonna hang it right here for you to enjoy.
Never meet your heroes? Bull$#!t!
Thank you, Barry.
And thank you for reading, and though the menu is still in flux and we’re entirely understaffed, welcome to my “soft opening.”
You’re Amazing
JQ
Want to know more about Barry?
Before I forget, I want to give special thanks to my pal Simon Owen. If you’re interested in improving your social profile, subscribe to his newsletter. It’s invaluable. Also, a big thank you to my buddy Jonathan Last and the kind folks at Substack, particularly Linda Lebrun, who all held my hand through the entire process.
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wow thats a most excellent story. as a fan i have always been leery meeting my artist heroes never wanted to be disappointed, maybe because i use a wheelchair to get around cons when i have gone ( normally use prosthetic legs to walk). my experiences have been more positive than negative. been a handful of times when i gotten the brush off just to say i was a fan not wanting anything, it does sting but got over it pretty quickly. thanks for the soft landing. ✌️
Hell of a first $20 bill. Love that story. Thanks for doing this Substack thing.