Every Penny

When I went out with Stephane last weekend and talked geek nonstop for three hours, one of the things we discussed was how we store our comic collection. I cringed at the thought of his hodge-podge organization, and he laughed endlessly about my need to categorize everything, as if tracking each of my purchases was somehow overly obsessive. He seemed to accept my desire to alphabetize, and he certainly understood the notion that I need to have everything in pristine condition, but those extra steps I take seemed to confuse my friend and give him great amusement.

But Stephane isn’t the only collector who finds my methods to be a bit anal. Over at the Collector’s Society, svndst1030 wrote, “I used to be like that but I realized how much time I was wasting so I just went to being somewhat organized.” Although he was partially joking and still feels the need to be organized to some degree, I can’t help but think that not only am I not wasting time, I’m actually getting optimal enjoyment from every comic I buy, making them worth the price I pay, if not more.

Let’s take the latest issue of Catwoman as an example. Including shipping and the Mylite2 bag with acid free full back, the issue cost $2.30. In theory, just reading and enjoying the comic a single time is worth $2.99, the book’s cover price. But for me, I enjoyed it many more times, but not by reading the thing over and over (God no, how could I keep the thing mint?).

The first thing I did was stare at and enjoy that gorgeous Adam Hughes cover. Not his best effort, but it still took a considerable effort on my part to tear my eyes away and finally open the book to start reading. Of course, reading takes me a little longer than the average comic reader, too. Not only do I soak in each panel, I also turn each page so slowly and so gently you’d think it would turn to dust if I put too much pressure on it.

Next I took five minutes to enter the issue into my Comic Collector database. Here’s where I store all the information I can think of for that issue: creators, issue number, title, date purchased, purchase price, storyline, characters…you name it. I spelled it all out in this database, loving every mundane moment.

Then I scrutinized the covers, the spine, the pages, looking for every miniscule defect I could find. I spent maybe three minutes on this task, and I enjoyed every second (well, except for that one deflating moment when I noticed the color-breaking spine crease near the top staple on the front cover. D’oh!). After putting my grade report into the database, I searched my Catwoman collection to see if there were others with similar defects on the front cover (lucky for me, this was the first and only). Had I not been taking the time to add the details for each and every issue into my inventory, how could I determine if I was having a consistent problem with spine stress? Just one more advantage of “wasting time.”

After that, it was time to put the book into its bag and seal it up for all eternity. There’s something therapeutic about putting a comic in its clear plastic bag. It’s like returning a baby bird to its nest. It just feels right. It’s natural. Peaceful. And after it was all sealed up, I looked at that cool Hughes cover again, enjoying it even more behind that shiny wall of protection. How does a thin piece of plastic make comic art look better? I don’t know. But ask any fan who uses Mylar bags and he’ll say the same.

After all that, I still wasn’t done. There was even more value to be had for my $2.30 because I now had to flip through my other comics, peaking at each issue for the briefest of moments as I looked for this issue’s final resting place. Once I found its spot, my heart warmed yet again. “Goodbye friend,” I said to myself, already looking forward to the day I’d revisit her. “I’ll be in touch.”

And when I closed the box to shield my precious from the light of day, I said a prayer and thanked the universe for such a lovely thing as a good comic book.

Yes, I spent close to 45 minutes on something most others are lucky to spend 15 minutes on, speeding through on their way to the next story. And for me, it wasn’t a waste of time. Oh no, it was anything but.

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special announcement. Postcards, an incredible new anthology edited by Jason Rodriguez and yours truly, has finally been announced. And believe me, the news only gets better after this...wait until you see the names attached to this project.

I'm not only excited about this project because my name will be printed inside, but this really is a fantastic book. I know the theme. I've read the stories. This is a book comic readers can enjoy, but so can their non-comic reading parents and spouses. So if you're looking for a book to help get your loved ones interested in the format, Postcards is only a year away.

You can bet I'll have many of these bad boys in my collection come next summer.

DHL — Delivering Happiness Late

Getting your books online has its rewards. By ordering through DCBS each month, I save a great deal of money (okay, it doesn’t actually save money because I put that savings right back into my comics fund, but you get the idea), I save a great deal of time because I don’t have to drive through rush hour to Mile High every Wednesday, and surprisingly, I get my comics in great condition. What’s not to love?

DHL, that’s what.

For the third time in a row my DHL shipment from DCBS has been delayed because of incompetence. There’s no other word for it. And there's also no excuses. Although I’ve already signed the waiver that allows them to leave the box at my front door, they once again left a note that states they’ll redeliver tomorrow. And believe me, this is beginning to piss me off.

I have a fairly stressful job, and when I get that happy email notice that tells me a box of comics will greet me when I get home, I get pretty keyed up about it. Like today. I was happy as a clam all day, laughing and singing as more and more crap piled up. Who cares about deadlines and irate customers when you have six pounds of comics waiting for you when you get home? Instead, I imagined myself enjoying a superhero yarn or two, or getting historic with Loveless. With as many books as I had coming, the world was to be my oyster.

But instead of a beautiful box of happiness, I found that fucking notice. It was stuck to my front door and I about tore it to shreds in a fit of rage (some super villain I’d be), especially when I saw the glue residue the sticker left on the door. Why can’t they just get it right? Is it too much to ask that I get my comics on time? And do they have to sick it to the door when the damn things are designed to hang from the door knob?

So I called DHL. I worked through some deep breathing relaxation while I waited for Marty, a manager at the local station. When he got on the line, I politely explained my problems, detailing how many times this has happened and how each time I was told that the “new driver” was to blame. After a little discussion of how upset I was, he called the driver to re-attempt delivery, which, unfortunately, is the same thing I was told the last three times.

I’m not holding my breath.

Now, before anyone leaves a comment to point out the fact that I already have stacks of comics and trades to read, let me say that I’ve thought of that already. And you know, for me, that reasoning just doesn’t cut it. I don’t have an explanation for why I feel this way (well, not a logical one anyway), but for whatever reason, I want something new. Those older books, well, if I haven’t got to them already, there’s something about them that’s making them unworthy of my attention. They’re yesterday’s news, so why bother?

Help Me Obi-Wan

“Oh my God!” I said with a combination of confusion and disgust while cleaning up after dinner.

“What?” Stephanie asked, turning quickly to make sure I hadn’t hurt myself.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, more to the wall than to anyone else. “I’m reading a book about Yoda.”

“Oh Honey,” she said, her eyes filled with true sorrow as if I had just told her my brother died. She reached up and gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Let’s not tell anyone that, okay?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that a grown man would read a book called Yoda: Dark Rendezvous?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, her sympathy evaporating. “How can you read something like that after reading In Cold Blood and To Kill a Mockingbird?”

“I don’t know,” I said, not seeing any real reason to be reading such drivel aside from the fact that I’ve collected and read Star Wars novels for years. “I think I need to write about it on the blog.”

“Oh no, c’mon. Don’t do that,” she said, the pleading in her eyes more pronounced than ever. “We have friends who read your blog. We don’t need to tell anyone about this, do we?”

“I just think it’s something I need to explore.”

“Well, if you do, be sure to mention my reservations on the subject,” she said, leaving me to finish the dishes alone as she headed for the living room where the 2006 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, March, sat on the couch waiting for her return.

Talkin’ Geek with Stephane

I saw X-Men 3 yesterday with a fellow comic reader, Stephane. We both thought the movie was a decent bit of fun with some great moments, but it wasn’t much more than we were expecting.

Afterward, we headed next door to CB&Potts, a local watering hole crowded with 100s of happy hour enthusiasts trying to drink away the stresses of the work week. And there we were, two 30+ year old married men eating plate after plate of nachos and enjoying cold drinks, surrounded by TVs, drunks, and plenty of attractive young waitresses. But we were oblivious to it all. Why? Because we were there to talk geek; everything else was muted background noise.

Our conversation went from the Juggernaut’s costume in the X-Men movie to the early adventures of Superman to the new lesbian Batwoman. Our discussions never strayed far from comics or collecting, and when it did, we pulled it right back in.

It was fantastic.

But while the conversations were fun, I learned something dark about my friend Stephane.

“I have a stack of comics just sitting in the corner,” he said, using his hand to measure roughly how high the stack has grown. I put down my nacho and listened intently, trying to control the inevitable flinching that would show my uneasiness.

“Oh yeah?” I said, trying to laugh it off like it was no big deal.

“Yeah, some of them are just flapping out in the open,” he said, taking the menu and folding it over loosely to show me how some of his comics were flopping on top of the others.

I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to un-see the image of his disorganized comic collection that flashed before my eyes. “Can I get another drink, please?” I asked the waitress with the weird silver ball protruding from her cheek. I turned to my friend and smiled, my heart racing as I realized I was sitting across from a criminal.

“I couldn’t handle that,” I said. “All of my comics are in the same size of bag with the same exact acid free boards. They’re all in alphabetical order and perfectly organized. I can find any specific comic in my collection in less than 10 seconds, and it’ll be in perfect condition.”

He fell onto his side, laughing. He said he’s been reading my blog, so my last comment just added to his vision of just how insane I really was. Funny thing was, I was thinking the same thing about him. What kind of loony wouldn’t have his comics organized in a box?

Apparently, the same kind of guy who would have mismatched books on his shelf. After discussing his appalling stack of comics, he told me he had recently rearranged his bookshelf, and that he was trying something new. Instead of the expected and widely approved method of going alphabetical, he had organized his books in such a way that “might be interesting” to those who perused his selection.

“For example, I have an art book right next to a graphic novel,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. My ears began to burn. “See, I figure that maybe if someone is interested in art, they might be interested in reading a comic.”

“I couldn’t handle that,” I said. Hell, I could barely even listen to such a crazy idea. “I have all of my books in alphabetical order. I have my nonfiction in one area, my fiction in another. Heck, I even like to segregate my small hardcovers to the top shelf because they look so cool lined up next to each other. Much better than having a shelf with a mismatch of tall and short books.”

He laughed.

I cringed.

Then I quickly changed the subject in an effort to save our friendship. “So, you thought Famke Janson did a good job as Phoenix, huh?”

Trigger

I’m so back it’s disgusting. After spending an hour last night hunting down information on the new John Carter series coming from IDW in August, I went back through Previews and found all sorts of stuff I want. It’s as if The Princess of Mars opened the flood gates.

“Why are you so excited?” Stephanie asked when she got home from work.

“The Princess of Mars, baby,” I said, hopping out of my seat and pointing wildly at the soliciation and the covers I had found online. “The Princess of Mars.”

“Oh boy,” she said, mentally rolling her eyes at me.

Later, on our way to dinner I said, “I can’t be out long. I need to do some more research. There’s so much I want to buy now.”

“What’s so important now? Can’t it wait?”

“No way. I’ve been out of the game so long, I feel this need to buy everything. And I need to do it now!” I said.

“How long have you ‘been out of the game’?” she asked, mocking me.

“Two days,” I said, amazed at how long and how short that time frame was.

“Oh boy,” she said again, the conversation over as I started thinking of all the stuff I planned to order this month.

Guess Who’s Back

I’m at the comic shop, pretty much just going through the motions. I don’t want to be there, and the comics I’m buying don’t thrill me in the slightest. I still hunt for the best copy of each, but even that doesn’t get my heart racing like it usually does. Sure, Previews always brings me a great deal of excitement, but for reasons I’ve already explained, I’m not even enthused about that. Behind the counter, Aaron tries to talk me into a number of series, but I decline to even talk about the books he’s telling me about. I’m just not interested.

At home I start flipping through Previews. Eh. There are some cool looking books with covers that make me want to buy buy buy, but that feeling is so muted I turn the page without much more than a cursory glance. Apparently you see one great cover, you’ve seen ‘em all. And if Previews doesn’t get me excited, nothing will. So I’m about to put down the catalog before I even get through the comics section when my eye catches two words: Mars and Burroughs.

Oh shit! What’s this? My eyes bulge out of my head like someone hit me on the back of the skull with a mallet. There on the page, staring me in the face as if it were a gift from the comic gods, is the solicitation for Edgar Rice Burroughs’ A Princess of Mars #1 from IDW. I have to re-read the solicitation three times because I’m so excited that I can’t focus on the words.

And not only are my favorite characters coming back to comics, but my favorite artist, Frank Cho, is providing a variant cover. This makes for one very happy and excited collector.

Edgar Rice Burroughs. Mars. Cho. Variant covers. If that can’t bring a collector out of a slump, nothing can.

---

Just found out the Cho variants for the first three issues will be limited to 1-in-30, so they won't come cheap. But that's a good thing. I'm salivating already.

---

Mark Wheatley will also be supplying some variant covers. How long 'til I have 'em all?

Hmmm, That's Odd

As I said yesterday, I have no strong desire to read, buy, sell, or even think about comic books. It's to the point where I was actually dreading the inevitable drive to Mile High Comics after work to pick up this week’s batch. Sure, okay, that makes sense. I’m burned out, so I can see why that drive would seem more like a burden than it would an exciting excursion.

So why the hell was I bummed when I found out the holiday pushed back this week’s books to Thursday? While I wasn’t looking forward to going to the comic shop, was I somehow secretly excited about it at the same time? Do I have some sort of pain/pleasure fetish I wasn’t aware of?

Either way, it really doesn’t make any sense. I could understand it if there was a book I was particularly looking forward to, but aside from the new Liberty Meadows, I'm not interested in any of the comics I plan to buy this week (which is an interesting thought in an of itself). Hell, now that I've seen the cover 100 times, I'm not even that excited about Liberty Meadows.

I’m perhaps more confused about my collecting habits right now than I’ve been since I started this blog. I’ve come to accept my desire to hunt and gather. And I can almost comprehend the insatiable need to buy something only to put it in a box. But having mixed emotions about heading to the comic shop? That’s a new one even for me.

The Crispy Collector

I have a stack of unread comics at least four inches tall. I have 12 trade paperbacks and graphic novels I’m yet to read. I have several football cards on my bookcase waiting to be encased in plastic and placed next to their brothers in my closet. I have three unanswered emails from artists interested in doing a commission for me. On top of that, I’ve spent less than 10 minutes on eBay in the last week, haven’t stepped inside a bookstore in two weeks, and my visits to comic news sites have dwindled to one a day in which I read nothing more than headlines.

Ladies and gentlemen, consider this collector burned out.

It’s a new feeling for me. With so many different things to collect, it’s hard to imagine a time when I’d be equally uninterested in all of them. Yet here I am. Right now I’m completely indifferent about my collections. I’m not motivated to buy, sell, or enjoy. As far as I’m concerned, as of right now I’m no longer a collector.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I’ll be back in the game in no time. And if the past is any indication, when I’m back into it, I’ll be back into it hard. But for now, it’s hard to imagine that time. And just like I have no idea what triggered this mood, I have no way of telling what will trigger the change that I know is coming.

So for now, I’m just going to sit back and…and I don’t know what else. What do most normal people do when they’re not buying something for their collection, selling something from their collection, or thinking about buying or selling? I guess I’m about to find out.

Unbelievable

I still can’t believe what happened Sunday. Honestly, it feels like I just lost a pet. There’s this hollow feeling inside. But I’m not sure what’s making me more confused and sad, the fact that I lost two important auctions, or the fact that I spent $38 on the one I did win. I mean, how can I spend $38 on a Nick Collins card but lose a rare Walker and Favre?

I think maybe I need to see a counselor.

Two Time Loser

Well crap! A few days ago I was all giddy about the prospect of crossing three more Packers football cards off of my list, and now I’m moping around the house, still completely stunned at the way things went down.

All three auctions were scheduled to end Sunday afternoon, so I left my mom’s birthday celebration early and rushed home, telling my wife to weave between traffic...time was too short to be waiting for these suckers driving the speed limit. Before the car was in park in the garage, I had zoomed inside and logged into eBay to check the first auction. It had 15 minutes to go and it was still only at $2.25. Whew. Plenty of time. And because I was ready to bid $28, I knew that was enough for a Javon Walker card, even if it was limited to only 10.

With 10 seconds left, I typed in my bid, clicked the button, leaned back, mentally crossing the card off my list. But wait. That doesn’t say congratulations. That says…what does it say? The experience was so new, so unexpected that it took me valuable heartbeats to figure out that I hadn’t won the auction. Instead, the screen was telling me that I was outbid. And those precious moments I spent trying to decipher the meaning behind the words may have cost me the card. I tried to up my bid, but it was too late. The auction had expired. I hadn’t given myself enough time to re-bid.

I couldn’t believe what just happened. I sat there in shock for several minutes, speechless, still not comprehending what went wrong. I actually just lost an auction. Amazing.

These cards come along too rarely to let another slip through my fingers, so I vowed then and there that I would never lose another one. And I would get my first test in only 16 minutes, this time with a much more valuable Brett Favre jersey card.

Despite my previous loss only happening moments before, I saw myself letting the seconds remaining tick down to 20. What was I doing? I have to bid quicker in case I was outbid. How could I forget that valuable lesson? So typed in my bid as fast as I could, and this time I was rewarded with the congratulations notice. But wait. What have I done? There’s still one second left. Oh shit. I clicked refresh and saw my life flash before my eyes as the blood red text appeared: You have been outbid! That’s bullshit. You mean to tell me in that one second, some asshole swooped in and won my card? That bastard!

I moved around the house in a daze for the next two hours, unable to comprehend pretty much anything. I was just so damn confused.

“I think I just lost an auction,” I said to Stephanie. “Two actually.”

“That sucks,” she said with no more emotion then she would’ve shown had I said we were out of twist ties.

Didn’t she hear me? I said I had lost not one auction, but two. Armageddon was upon us, didn’t she recognize that?

Lucky for me I still had one more auction to attend to. In my mind, I was guaranteed a win. And how do you guarantee a win? You bid more than the card is worth. And bid I did.

And I won. I won a Nick Collins card for $38. “Who’s Nick Collins?” Good question. Perhaps an even better one would be, “Why did you just spend $38 on one of his cards?”

This Bugs the Hell Out of Me

So I’m reclining on my desk chair, surprisingly relaxed after a terrible day at work, my feet up on the desk for prime comfort. I’m reading my nearly perfect copy of Possible Side Effects, opening the book just enough to read most of the words without craning my neck, the spine so tight the end boards feel like a spring loaded trap pushing against my hands. The cover is encased in shiny, smooth BroDart. The pages are bright white. The corners sharp. In other words, the book is gorgeous.

While enjoying the second essay, I notice a tiny brown speck the size of a needle point on the outside edge of the pages. It’s tiny. Smaller even than the one defect I noticed when I bought the book. So I hold the book gently and blow, making sure no moisture escapes my mouth. Satisfied, I return to the story. But no, my gust of breath didn’t dislodge that piece of lint. So I try again.

Damn it. Still there. I’m no longer relaxed. I can’t focus on the story. All I can see is that brown speck that ruins the beautiful white landscape of those pages.

It’s time to pull out the heavy artillery. Ever so lightly, I brush my finger along the edge of the page, knowing just a tiny amount of pressure could spell doom for the book’s luster.

I recognize my mistake instantly. My heart sinks. My eyes bulge. That tiny dot wasn’t a piece of dust or lint after all. It was the world’s smallest bug. And bugs have blood inside. And damn it, blood smears! And now, in one moment of poor decision making, there’s another flaw staring at me like an open wound.

Noooooooooooooooooo!

Not 24 hours after sweating profusely trying to find the perfect one, my copy of Possible Side Effects stumbles from the ranks of the near perfect and now rests with thousands of others in the “severely flawed” category.

Stop Me if You’ve Heard This One

Stephanie and I went to another book signing last night, this time to hear Augusten Burroughs read from his new memoir, Possible Side Effects. The place was already packed by the time we got there, so we had to sit three rows from the back. And unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to find a copy of the book. So before the author showed up I scurried to the stack of books in the front. Instead of going through my usual routine of scrutinizing all 100 copies, I simply grabbed three and scampered back to my seat, somehow ashamed of myself, feeling the eyes of the entire audience boring into me as if they knew I was looking for a perfect copy and hated me for it.

All three of the books I had picked were minty fresh, but given the fact that I had the next 90 minutes to hold and inspect them, I found the most minute defects to complain about. Almost imperceptible to the naked eye, the tiny ding on the flap on the book I chose was driving me crazy. It was to the point where it was almost hard to pay attention to the author. So when the autograph line moved us to the front and the stack of copies, I couldn’t resist looking through the rest.

And look I did. After studying the binding, the spine’s tightness, and the entire dust jacket of eight different copies, I decided enough was enough. The book I had was acceptable. More than acceptable. It was one tiny imperfection away from being flawless. I could live with that.

Yep, I could live with it, just like you can live with a throbbing headache. The next five minutes were torture. The author sat a few feet from me, about to sign my book. Yet behind me, only just now out of reach, were the rest of the copies I hadn’t looked through. And I just knew that I was about to have Augusten Burroughs sign the second nicest copy in the story. Argh!

I finally stepped in front of Burroughs and handed him my books. Once he signed my inferior copy, all was fine with the world. What was done was done. That tiny imperfection was now mine for all eternity.

One in a Million

I’m a sucker for cool covers. I’ve bought my fair share of comic books just to have that cover in my collection. Heck, I have a full box of comics I’ve never read (the bulk of those featuring covers by Frank Cho or Adam Hughes). I don’t care that I never read them. I’m not buying them for the stories; I’m buying them for the glorious art that graces the cover.

Even with my addiction to cool covers, I’ve managed to distance myself from the variant craze that’s once again sweeping the comic industry. I’ve picked up a few second prints with sketch covers and the like, and I’m forced to pick the cover I like when a book has more than one cover to choose from. But those don’t really count. These books aren’t produced in limited quantities, and for the most part, they don’t demand higher prices on the secondary market.

No, what I’m talking about are those incentive covers and other rarities. You know, the ones store owners receive if they order 25, 50, 100, or more of a particular issue. I’ve stayed away from these things for several reasons. First, the prices are just crazy. Spending $25 or more for a comic that just came out is ridiculous. Second, most of the covers don’t do anything for me. I’m amazed at how often the variant cover looks worse than the mass-produced version.

I’ll admit to buying one variant. I picked up a copy of the Joe Jusko variant for Captain America 8, but that was strictly to ensure I had every issue in the Ed Brubaker run on the title (of course, since that time I decided to skip the anniversary special, so that excuse went right out the window). Yes, I was a sucker. It’s not particularly rare, it was costly, and let’s face it, it doesn’t look nearly as cool as the covers Steve Epting has been producing. But hey, it made the collector in me happy to say I still had a complete set, so I’m cool with it.

Now, however, I’ve fallen for Red Sonja again. While I was able to stay my hand when it came to the $3 copy of the Tan cover for Red Sonja 6, I’m wondering if I’ll have the same will power for the upcoming Joseph Michael Linsner variant for issue 13. I’m not sure how rare the cover will be, but you can bet it won’t cost $3.

I could handle paying a little extra for a rare cover I really like, as long as it happens infrequently, and as long as I found one in minty fresh condition. I just don’t want to make a habit out of it. If it’s a one time deal, then cool. Consider it a present to the collector in me. But the sickening part is that I’ve been doing research (if you can call searching eBay research) on other variants, research that has landed more than one variant on my watch list.

How does a guy go from considering a Linsner variant that hasn’t been published yet to thinking about picking up past variants from the same title? It makes no sense. Sure, I like those other covers too, but what I’m really doing is laying the ground work to completing a set. If I plan to get the Linsner, why not get all the others too so I can have every one of ‘em?

The interesting thing about my “research” is that I’m proving that buying variants is definitely not a good investment (or rather, since I don’t “invest” in comics, these aren’t a good value). In reality, it’s a waiting game. The longer you wait, the cheaper these issues are. It’s a trap. My brain wants to buy one because of their rarity and potential value, but the fact that they’re selling for less and less should be a red flag, right? Well, it’s not. Instead, I’m salivating at all the bargains. Look at how cheap I can get these really rare comics. D’oh!

What is wrong with me? I took logic class in college, and believe me, there’s not a shred of logic in my argument. What’s worse, it’s the rarity issue that’s driving me out of the football card market. In that arena, sports card values aren’t so much based on the player anymore, they’re based on the rarity of the item. Some Aaron Rodgers rookie cards are going for over $600, and he’s never started an NFL game. It’s ludicrous.

So why am I thinking about diving into this? Oh, that’s right, because of the gorgeous cover, right? But c’mon, look at it. Sure, it’s nice, but is it that special? Red Sonja is half naked, which is a huge selling point, but I have a box of comics with a half naked girl on the cover and they weren’t that expensive. Is this one worth the headache and extra dollars?

So which is it? Is it the cover or the rarity that’s making me consider variants for the first time? Whichever reason I go with, it’s not a valid excuse.

Three Down?

Yes! There are currently no fewer than three Packers cards from my want list on eBay. That’s huge! Sure, I’m more into comics and art right now so it’s hard to get amped up for a piece of cardboard with a picture of a guy on the front, but damn it, crossing three more cards off my list would make me one happy camper (at least for that fraction of a moment when I realize I’ve won the card, then after that it’s back to not caring about cards).

Now I just need to figure out how to manage these bids when I have such a depleted bank account…

Motion Sickness

I was putting away my copy of Uncanny X-Men 472 last night before bed and I thought to myself, “Why am I still reading this garbage?” It’s not that the story was particularly terrible, it’s just that I didn’t care about anything that happened. So yeah, maybe it was terrible. (I’ll admit that I bought the issue because I love Chris Bachalo’s art, and believe me, he didn’t disappoint, but comics are so much more than the art. Well, they should be anyway.)

So naturally I began to wonder, “Am I still reading comics because of the collector’s mentality, or am I actually getting something out of my monthly habit?” Don’t get me wrong, there are some great monthlies out there. Anything Ed Brubaker or Gail Simone or Brian K. Vaughan write is sure to be fantastic. But a lot of the other stuff I buy makes me feel like I’m just going through the motions. Reading the solicitations in Previews and placing an order is more fun than actually reading the books. Hell, putting ‘em in mylar bags and organizing them in my comic boxes is more fun half the time.

I can’t remember the last time I messed myself because a comic was so powerful I couldn’t contain myself. Novels and nonfiction manage to knock my socks off from time to time, but should I expect a similar experience from comics? There are gems out there; I know because I’ve read plenty. So whenever I read a comic that isn’t at that level, a small part of me screams out in pain. I know I can’t expect every issue to be top of the line, but when you’re reading 20 comics a month, a few of them should attain perfection, right?

If I search myself for the truth about why I’m still buying these things, I find two interesting answers hidden under the surface. First, there’s the natural worry that the issue I don’t get is the one that everyone loves. It’s the perfect comic. Not only is it a great read, but its values go through the roof on the secondary market.

In comparison, the second answer I give myself seems to be less important, but the more I evaluate, the more I see that it’s the real motivating factor for why I continue to collect modern comics: I can’t stand the thought of having an incomplete run of any series. The moment I start buying a series, I have to keep buying because once I stop, I’ll no longer have a full, complete set.

Those non-collectors out there might question my sanity. “Let me get this straight. You’re reading comics you don’t particularly enjoy just because you’re worried that if you don’t read it, it’ll be a good story. Or that you won’t have a complete set anymore. Is that right?”

Yep. Crazy, huh? Writing that down makes me realize just how idiotic it all sounds. But it’s true. And when you combine these two aspects of my thought process, they become so overpowering it’s almost crippling. As a matter of fact, my brain is shutting down right now. It’s almost as if thinking on this as much as I have actually triggered a safety mechanism that shuts down my mind so I can’t discover the truth.

Unfortunately, I’ve been here before, and obviously, since I’m still having this inner dialog, I didn’t do anything about it. Maybe now’s time to change that.

Speak to This!

I woke up this morning saying to hell with finding art that speaks to me. Some comic art just looks wicked cool, and a little eye candy is just what a person needs. So screw it, I’m off to buy more art. And based on this commissions thread over at the Collector’s Forum, there are some nice commissions to be had if you’re willing to pay the price…and for now, I think I am.

You Gotta Feel It

I had the most enlightening email conversation with my buddy today. I spent a few hours this morning researching original comic art, but I felt this urge to share some of my thoughts with someone else. So I asked Jason—a fellow collector who has the oddest predilection toward buying DVDs—what he thought of the style Richard Friend is toying with on his blog.

Jason seemed a little hesitant, but it was obvious he didn’t dig it that much. So I emailed him a link to Friend’s Padme piece, telling him that the artist has a more traditional style too. I was even considering getting him do a commission for me of Dejah Thoris.

That’s when Jason admitted to not being a fan of most of the art I’ve shown him in the last year. “Honestly, most of what you send isn't very interesting to me because (don't take this the wrong way) I'm not interested in comic art outside the comic page. I can appreciate good sequential art in a comic as I read, but displayed on a wall or gallery...naaah, just doesn't do it for me. I like my art to evoke a certain response and a standalone idea. It should be self-contained rather than feeling as if it's yanked from a whole.”

Jason told me he likes darker imagery, often with a blend of the erotic and the horrific. Sure, he likes beautiful women as much as the next guy, but he wants his art to be a standalone image that really speaks to him, and comic art doesn’t do it. He shared an image by John Bolton (above) that is particularly powerful for him.

That’s when I began to realize why I’ve always been a huge fan of Frank Frazetta. For me, his imagery evokes the feeling of adventure. Of heroes and villains and damsels in distress. Those are the same feelings a good piece of comic art will give me.

Jason was right when he mentioned that the art needs to do more than just look good. You have to feel something. It has to work for you on a deeper level, not just on the surface. Sure, some comic art has touched me emotionally, but most has done so only in the context of the story. Maybe having that piece on my wall won’t have the same meaning.

Granted, a lot of the art I’ve purchased in the last year means something to me on a totally different level because I met the artist or have interacted with him for an interview or whatever. So that aspect will always be important to me. And you can bet that I’ll buy art from any graphic novel I’m a part of, either as an editor or as a writer.

But when I buy art just to buy art, my conversation with Jason will be a very important key for me. Am I considering this piece just because I like the style? Or the artist? Or the subject matter? If so, I should reconsider. Because if there’s no emotional attachment, I don’t think it’ll be important to me years down the line. I would never buy art I didn’t like, but now, maybe it’s time to step it up a notch and only buy those pieces that really have an emotional impact for me.

Sure, this new thinking might just be my brain’s way of tricking me into spending more money on my next piece, but even so, I’m glad to be thinking along this line. It might keep me from buying some art in the near future, but that’s okay. As far as collecting goes, quality is always more important than quantity.

---

For those interested, I've posted a thread on this subject in the Collector's Society forums.

Moving On

This morning I caught myself jotting down names of artists I’m interested in having create me a Dejah Thoris commission. That’s right, not 24 hours after posting about how I don’t have the money to actually pay for all the comics I bought, not a week after being so into graded comics that I spent $400 in one day, and not a month after being so into first edition books that I thought I’d never need any other collectible, I found myself researching artists who might create a one-of-a-kind piece of art for me.

Good grief. It’s madness. But unlike what G.I.Joe says, knowing is not half the battle. And if it is, it’s the easy half. The fact that I know my interests have already changed doesn’t mean a damn thing. I’m officially hooked on original comic art again, and right now all I can do is get my fix. Either that or struggle through days of denial until the next phase sets in.

I’ve resisted the temptation for about six hours so far, but every time I’ve ventured online I quickly found myself in one original art site or another. I tell myself that looking around so much actually satisfies my needs, as if seeing what others own somehow curbs my impulses. What a crock. Window shopping does nothing but make your desires grow.

I’ve resisted so far, but it’s been a battle. And let’s face it, the temptation is nowhere near its peak. The need will only get worse. As will the debates that go on in my head. The voices will battle it out all day, weighing the pros and cons to the point where I can’t sleep. The rest of the time I’ll be online, researching artists and costs and turnaround times, or talking to other collectors to get their opinions, anything to make my decision easier. But all that’ll do is give me a headache.

Yep, resistance is futile. As of 8 a.m. this morning, I’m an original comic art collector once again.

And for My Next Performance…

I’m in the middle of a death defying juggling act that has the collector in me licking his chops with excitement and cowering in the corner with dread. I have three fairly large comic deals in the works and only enough money in the bank to cover one of them. That in and of itself isn’t such a bad thing since I can spread out payment without being too much of a burden on the sellers. But when you factor in the fact that I’m jonesin’ to buy that $70+ X-Men Omnibus, well, then you get a hint at my despair.

And don’t get me started on the other great deals I’ve spotted in the last few days...my eBay watch list is reaching maximum capacity.

At this point, I can’t even use my tried and true Mark-to-Market style of collecting: I’m out of options on things to sell. Sure, I have plenty I could move, but I’d have to start cutting into those collectibles I really enjoy. And let’s face it, it’s next to impossible making that decision. Will the one I want bring me greater joy than the one I already have? It’s like deciding which of your children you’re willing to sacrifice. (Okay, let’s not get out of hand here. We’re talking comics and football cards, not kids. So yeah, this is a much more difficult decision.)

At this point I’m starting to feel like a company about to stumble into chapter 7 bankruptcy. First I need to consider those debts I already have and factor in their importance. Second, I need to ponder the possibilities that might open up by spending money elsewhere, as if the future is in the palm of my hands if I make that right decision.

You’d think some of these decisions would be easy for me by now. Hell, I could just read some of my blog entries and supposedly have the answer. For example, buying that X-Men Omnibus today does what exactly? I don’t have any BroDart, so I won’t be opening the book or reading it for at least a month. Look what happened when I had to buy that Fantastic Four Omnibus. Good God, it’s still in its shrink-wrap. So I should be able to strike that from my list, right?

Wrong. Instead my mind works double time factoring in the other elements of that transaction. For example, if I don’t buy it now, I run the risk of In Stock Trades running out of copies. This would mean I’d end up spending extra money in the long run because all other sellers charge shipping fees.

Is saving $8 to $10 in shipping worth the repercussions of delaying those other transactions a day, a week, a month? I have no idea. And to be completely honest, part of me doesn’t even care. I’ve lost interest in those others. It’s almost as if my mind has tricked me into believing I already have all of those comics. And any hardcore collector understands when I say that I’m beginning to look past them and on to the next hunt. So although I was excited beyond belief when I found that Amazing Spider-Man 265, right now, it’s completely off the radar. Well, except for that minor detail called payment. But is that insignificant stumbling block really worth potentially missing out on that next exciting purchase?

Holy Cow! What Did I Sell?

I got back from Moab to learn that the Ex Machina set I had for sale on eBay sold for $122. Say what? Nineteen modern comics plus a second print variant for that kind of cash? Doesn’t make any sense. That’s more than triple the final price of any other set.

My immediate reaction was, “Yes! Now I can buy more books.” But after I had a moment to reflect, my thoughts soured. Had I just unknowingly sold some crazy cool collectible that I assumed was worthless? Maybe that sketch cover was some sort of rare commodity that would’ve sold for more had I just sold it by itself? Worse yet, what if the buyer thought he was getting something else? I didn’t mislead in my auction listing, but what if I labeled my set incorrectly?

I don’t know what to think. It’s possible that my previous feedback (which mentions just how great my packaging ability is) helped raise the value of my auction, but not to that level. No, something else must be going on. But regardless of what happened, I mailed the books, and now I await word from the buyer. Will he be excited or disappointed? Only time will tell.

One More for the Road

One last post before I head to Moab for the weekend…

I had one final discussion with my wife last night about the differences between my purchase of a few $100 comic books and her $100 spent on a haircut. She pointed out that she goes to that extreme only three times a year, whereas I spent a whole year’s worth of haircuts in one afternoon. She spreads out her $300 spending, while I leave the door open to more and more expenditures.

I tried to tell her that there will be no potential return on her investment. I, on the other hand, can one day sell my books. Sure, I might never be able to recoup my costs, but at any time, I can turn around and get at least some of my money back.

Awhile later, after reading my last couple of blog entries on the subject, she couldn’t resist pointing out that my purchases are hidden away in a box upstairs. “Your comics are hermetically sealed and un-viewable while my glorious hair can be enjoyed daily by everyone I encounter!”

Hard to argue with that.

You Can’t Wash Clothes with Comic Books

Is there some unwritten rule I don’t know about that ensures things go wrong the second you spend your money on something frivolous?

The appliance repairman just spent 30 minutes in our home and left with a $70 check. His verdict? We’d be better off buying a new washer/dryer set than paying him to fix the old one. Now that’s money well spent. He said he could probably fix it for $400, but if his solution didn’t solve the problem, we’d be out that money and still wouldn’t have a washing machine that worked properly. Wonderful!

Those comics I ordered suddenly aren’t looking as cool as they once did.

I’ll Take "Haircuts vs. Comics" for $100, Alex

Stephanie and I were relaxing on the couch Sunday night watching a pretty boring film. It didn’t really keep our attention for long and we started having little snippets of conversation to drown out the dialog on screen. Naturally, our conversation eventually switched to my recent comic book purchase. It didn’t stay there for long, though.

”You spent $300 on comics you can’t even read? That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, feigning renewed interest in the film. I just gave a half-hearted laugh, trying to avoid the touchy subject.

Of course, the collector in me had to have his say. “Yeah, but they’re really nice copies. Almost perfect,” I said.

She turned to me and said, “I can’t talk to you about this anymore.” She’s been saying that a lot lately. At least she was more confused than upset (I hope).

A few moments later the characters in the film were talking about getting their hair done at an expensive salon. I turned to Stephanie and asked, “When was the last time you paid $100 for a hair cut?”

She stared at the ceiling, trying to pull the date out of her mind’s filing cabinet. I made it easier on her and asked an easier question. “Have you ever paid more than $100 for a hair cut?”

“You mean cut and color?”

It was my turn to roll my eyes and turn away confused. I began to wonder if now would be a bad time to tell her I just won a gorgeous copy of John Carter, Warlord of Mars #18 for $80. I decided against it, figuring that the fact it was Frank Miller’s first Marvel work probably wouldn’t help my cause much.

Mark-to-Market Collecting

I don’t know all the ins and outs of the Enron case, but I do know that one of the things that led to their downfall was the use of mark-to-market accounting. Using this system, a company assigns a value of a portfolio or account based on current market price. Enron took it one step further. They projected potential earnings by assuming an active market existed for their less actively traded assets, which opened the doors to manipulating their books with fantasy numbers of what values “could” be.

In the hands of an ethical accountant I’m sure this method works just fine. But when I realized that I use a similar system for my collecting, I quickly saw how this mark-to-market model can lead a company (or a collector) down the wrong path.

By hunting eBay on a daily basis, I’ve often found myself in a tricky predicament. I might have several auctions on my watch list that end the same night. If I can’t decide which one is more important, I might be tempted to bid on them all and max out my budget in one bid-happy evening.

And how do I convince myself that I can afford them all? Mark-to-Market Collecting.

My recent purchase of two graded comics, X-Men 131 and Amazing Spider-Man 194, is a perfect example. The cost was a very steep $300 (plus shipping). I convinced myself that I had that kind of cash by looking at my various collections and determining their worth on the open market. I factored in comics, football cards, DVDs…you name it, if I owned it, I considered how much I could sell it for to help me make this deal.

And if you’ve read any of my posts in the last week, you already know part of that decision. I researched eBay for realized prices on my three Alias DVD sets. They consistently sold for over $40; some as high as $80. So when I was weighing the pros and cons of shelling out that much cash, I knew the comic purchase wouldn’t be such burden on my wallet because I was factoring in my future sales on eBay.

When part of a well-oiled machine, this system isn’t so bad. But eBay addicts know how finicky the site can be. Sell an item at auction for $100 one day, and see that same item sell for $20 the next. Lucky for me, my Alias auctions are well on their way to bringing me $50 or more, but when I think about alternate scenarios in which these sets only fetched $8, I get squeamish. It worked this time, but will I be so lucky next time?

In this most recent incident, I was already in the clear because I actually had some money saved up from my April decision to not buy any collectibles (yes, it’s still April so I didn’t get through the whole month, but I was oh so close). However, I’d like to have money available for non-collectibles like, you know, food. And what about those eight comics on my watch list? I can’t just forget about those simply because I don’t have the cash, right?

Instead, I need to look at my other assets, like my Ex Machina comic set I’m willing to offload. Or maybe it’s time to research how much I can get for my X-Files DVD sets. Yes, today will most certainly be a day of determining current market value for my many collectibles to figure out just what I need to sell in order to pickup another prized possession.

Mark-to-market collecting at its finest.

The 300 Club

I just sent someone $300. No, it wasn’t a car payment. And no, it wasn’t money due for home improvements. Instead, I managed to send a fellow collector $300 for a couple of comic books. (And by a couple I do indeed mean a couple, not several or a few, but a couple as in two.)

That’s one hell of a scary proposition. It might be small potatoes for other hardcore collectors, but for me, well, let’s just say I’m feeling a tad nervous. I’ve never spent that kind of dough on any collectible; I hope I don’t have buyer’s remorse when I finally get them in the mail. But that’s a worry for another time. For now, I’m trying to focus on the good things like basking in the excitement of owning two great comics in immaculate condition.

I mean, just look at that Amazing Spider-Man 194. Isn’t she beautiful?

Selling Jennifer Garner

I had a choice to make. Buy the Alias Season 4 DVD set or rent it from Netflix. If I rented, then I'd have to sell my first three seasons, and let's face it, there's no way I could keep an incomplete collection lying around the house.

Stephanie and I enjoy the show immensely. Call it a guilty pleasure if you will, but it's one of those things we can share and get excited about. We really have fun with it, laughing and pointing out how outrageous and silly the situations are. But like any good serialized story, we're hooked.

So buying the fourth set was obviously the best option. That is, until I found a couple of graded comics I wanted to own and struck up a deal with their owner. It didn't take long to put my Alias on eBay and put season four in my queue at Netflix.

Gotta Have It Now!

So after perusing the Internet for information on the Marvel Masterworks Spider-Man book, I quickly learned that it could be easily purchased on eBay for less than what I paid at Mile High. For an impulsive collector, that’s a slap in the face. Had I just waited and did a little more research, I could’ve saved $10. That’s not enough to go crying for mommy, but when you think that $10 could fetch a few modern comics or a new trade paperback, well, then you see what a waste it really was.

But spending too much money was only part of the problem. The other problem I discovered online presented itself when I found overwhelming fanboy praise for the recent Fantastic Four Omnibus Vol. 1. This hardcover behemoth collects the first 30 Fantastic Four comics, plus annuals, plus letters pages, plus bonus material. Awesome!

Of course, instead of being excited about this beautiful book like any normal person, it actually just added more anxiety to my daily life. Would Marvel make an omnibus that collected the first 30 Amazing Spider-Man books? If so, would I rather have the three Masterworks hardcovers or the one giant omnibus? Which would look better on the shelf? Which would be more rare, more sought after? Should I wait for the big book, or go find the others?

Decisions, decisions.

While I certainly had a debate on my hands, one thing was immediately clear: I had to have that Fantastic Four book. And I had to have it right now! There was no time to order it online. I knew I couldn’t wait a week or more for shipping...oh no, that was way too slow. Instead, I called Mile High and had them pull it from their warehouse. It would be ready the next afternoon. Sure, getting it from my local comic shop would cost me an extra $25, but it was worth it to have that big boy in my hands in a matter of days.

But that decision was only part of the issue. When it came time to place the order, I wasn’t truly prepared for their next question: “Do you want the limited edition or the regular?”

Oh no. A thousand thoughts and questions darted through my mind. I could save money buying the limited edition online, but I’d have to wait. Buying it in town got me the book sooner, but I’d be paying the same price for the regular edition as I would for the limited edition’s online price. Did I really need it now? Did I really need the limited edition? Which was more important?

The collector in me froze. There was simply no way to answer those last two questions. They were at odds with one another.

”Hello? You still there?”

”Um, yeah, sorry,” I said, stalling. “I was just, umm, yeah, I’ll take the regular edition.”

Damn it! The collector screamed inside my mind, flipped me the bird, then sulked in a shadowy corner, cursing me for my weakness. But I knew I had at least won half the battle. Sure, I wasn’t getting the limited edition, and sure I was paying too much, but I was getting the book sooner rather than later. And that in itself was something to be proud of. I sighed with relief and hung up the phone.

Three weeks later, the Fantastic Four Omnibus Vol. 1 sits between two other hardcover comic collections, looking more like a phone book than a collectible but still looking glorious.

It’s still in its original shrink-wrap.

T&Alias: The Season Four Scuffle

We interrupt this blog broadcast for this special announcement…

My lovely wife just got home and read my post on limited editions and spines. She laughed and said, “You’re such a goofball.”

Then she looked at the boxes and boxes of collectibles that had spilled out of my closet and into the office. “We need to sell all this stuff,” she said. “Just garage sale it. One hundred bucks for it all.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Sure, I had considered selling my entire comic collection just earlier in the day. It was something I had really put some thought into lately. But hearing it from her, well, I just wasn’t having it.

So I switched the subject.

“Are we ever going to finish watching Alias?” I asked, reminding her that the fourth season of our favorite show at now out on DVD and that season five would be its finale. “We can rent them if you want.”

“We don’t have to buy them?” she asked, interested now that money wasn’t involved.

“No. Actually, I was thinking of selling the first three seasons on Ebay.”

“Oooh, yeah,” she said, the idea of a little less clutter probably taking up more space in her brief fantasy than the additional money in our pocket. “You can buy the fourth one with the money you made selling the others.”

I stared at her dumbfounded. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Why not? It’d be like getting it for free,” she said, as if money had anything to do with my utter confusion at what she had just said.

For the second time in less than three minutes I couldn’t believe my ears. My wife was suggesting that I sell off my three-piece collection in order to get the fourth. Did she not see that by doing so I’d suddenly have an incomplete set? That we’d have one of four DVD sets of our favorite TV show? That’s blasphemy.

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” I said, only partially joking as she left to change after her hard day at work. It wasn’t long before I was downstairs rearranging the DVD case so the Alias sets were displayed more prominently. They looked fabulous as a set, and the fourth would make them look even better, particularly since I knew I could come home any day and start watching any season, start to finish, because I had them all at my disposal.

Yeah, who’s the goofball now, huh?

Limited Editions vs. Consistent Spines

I had been eyeing the Marvel Masterworks hardcover books at Mile High Comics for some time, always wanting them but always managing to fight the urge. At the end of March, however, I finally caved in to my yearnings when I bought a limited edition version of the first volume of Spider-Man reprints.

Despite the thrill I got after plunking down my $40, the book sat on my bookcase for several days, the shrink-wrap still intact. I would occasionally pick it up and hold it in my hand, feeling the book’s weight and solidity. I’d pick it up and set it down, pick it up and set it down. When that wasn’t enough, I’d sometimes stare at it lying on its back when it should take its spot on the shelf where it rightfully belonged. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I asked my wife about it one night. “What do you think about this book?” I asked, handing it to her gently and wincing when she flipped it over as if it were some run of the mill book that wasn’t limited to only 420 copies.

“Eh,” she said handing it back. “It doesn’t do anything for me.”

I stared at her, hoping to get more. “What?” She said, already showing signs of irritation. “If that’s not the answer you wanted, why ask?”

“Well, what do you think of the look? Do you like the spine?”

She grabbed for it and I relinquished it against my better judgment. “No. It’s ugly.” Apparently she didn’t like the marble background on the dust jacket. “I can’t believe you’d get such an ugly thing. What’ll it look like on your shelf?” Now she was just toying with me.

I shrugged it off. “That’s just it. It doesn’t match any of the other books.” I pointed out how the other Marvel Comics hardcover books had the word Marvel in red over a white background at the top of the spine, with the title of the book in white on a black background on the lower portion of the spine. This one, however, didn’t match. There was no black, no white, only marble. I went on to say that there was another version of this exact book that costs less and would match the other spines on my shelf.

“So trade it in for one of those,” she said, trying to get past me and into the hall where her freedom lay. No such luck.

“But don’t you see. The other isn’t limited in any way,” I pleaded, trying to make her see the dilemma.

“Then keep that one,” she said, the answer coming so easily it was frustrating.

“But it doesn’t match the others,” I said, emphasizing my point by holding the Spider-Man book next to my other Marvel hardcovers.

She just shook her head. She looked tired; exhausted even. “Who cares if it doesn’t match? And who cares if it’s limited to ten copies or a million. You’re going to read it aren’t you?”

I just stared at her. The uncertainty on my face must have registered loud and clear. “I give up,” she said, getting past me by doing a dip and spin move that’d make Reggie White proud.

Still undetermined with what to do, I turned to the only friend I had left: The Internet.

Wolf Boy: Like a Virgin

I just finished reading Wolf Boy by Evan Kuhlman. What a fantastic read. While I was pleasantly surprised with the story, one thing I’m not surprised about is the fact that, even after reading all 311 pages, the book’s spine is still nice and tight. No longer a virgin, exactly, but like a virgin, which is almost as good.

I read my hardcover first editions as if opening the covers too far will release a virus that would wipe out mankind in moments. I don’t hold raw eggs that gently. Unfortunately, this means that I sometimes have to squint or turn the book at funky angles to actually read those words nearest the binding. Hell, sometimes I just guess at what those words might be.

But it’s worth it; I get to have my cake and eat it too. In this instance, I get to look at Wolf Boy on my shelf and say, “What a thoroughly rewarding book that was.” And then when I slide it out and hold it in my hands, I get to say, “Wow, what a nice, tight binding. Feel that resistance.”

It’s the simple things in life…

---

On another note completely unrelated to collecting, I’d like to mention how therapeutic Wolf Boy was for me. Kuhlman tells the story of Stephen (and his family) after his brother dies in a car accident. The young boy deals with his grief by writing comic book stories, while the others handle their sorrows in less successful ways.

Wolf Boy is honest and true. This is how life truly is. The characters are flawed, but they’re human. I can relate to them all. But the story is filled with humor, too, so it was a joy to read; entertaining and enlightening at the same time.

What surprised me the most about the book is how it made me feel. I’ve really been struggling lately with my constant need to be busy. My job is stressful and not terribly fulfilling, so I spend every possible free moment trying to grasp that feeling of being needed, being fulfilled. More times than not, this time is spent alone instead of with loved ones.

Wolf Boy reminded me that life is too precious to waste. The time I’ve been given with my lovely wife, and the time I get to share with friends and family, shouldn’t be taken for granted. I should welcome every moment with open arms. I should share my time and love with the world around me, because there’s no telling when that time will end.

Kuhlman has written a self-help book in the disguise of a wonderfully entertaining novel. And I thank him for that.

Collector's Code of Ethics

If a fellow collector confides in me that he is trying to quit buying a certain collectible, or possibly switching from one to another, is it my ethical responsibility to support him in his time of weakness? Maybe that’s not my role, but what if I openly did just the opposite and actually suggested that he continue with his addiction? Would that make me evil?

Awhile ago I sold some Ed Brubaker comics to Bob from the Collector’s Society forum. Despite feeling extreme grief from the transaction, I decided to try it again. I talked to him and found he was interested in making another large purchase. However, through our conversations, I discovered he was trying to move away from buying monthly issues and dive more into trade collections.

One of the sets he was looking to buy from me was a recent Wonder Woman arc called “Sacrifice.” Another was a recent JLA storyline. But he mentioned his reluctance because he was trying to slow down on the monthly comics. In the same email he also wrote:

“Having said all that, I was planning on picking up the Wonder Woman ‘Sacrifice’ and JLA ‘Crisis of Conscious’ in TPB, but if the price was reasonable I wouldn't mind getting those. Sheesh. This is crazy. One minute I convince myself I am going to go all trades and the next minute I am thinking about buying singles again.”

Did I support him and suggest we cancel the negotiations? No. Instead, I laughed and told him I’m the same way and that I’ve been trying to kick the habit for months.

His response was resigned to the fact that his next move was inevitable. “Yes, it is a sickness I think. I don't know if there really is any cure.” The very next email we had solidified our deal.

Here I am writing regularly about the struggles I have as an obsessive compulsive collector. I’m trying to learn about myself and possibly come to terms with what some jokingly consider a disease. Yet while I’m doing that, I openly undermine a fellow collector’s attempt at getting out of the life. Or if not that, at least fixing himself up enough that he’s not a slave to the Collector’s Mentality.

Was I wrong in going through with the sale? Or was I simply doing my part in maintaining the status quo and ensuring that collecting lives on?

Maybe cashing his check and hunting for more books will help answer that question, but I doubt it.

Spines Part III

Sometimes I sit back and soak in the beauty of my book collection. In those moments of reflection, a subtle smile always crosses my face when I look at my small Ben Bova collection. I’ve only read one of the nine books—all from the Grand Tour series—so what brings me such joy? The fact that all nine books have the same trade dress. That’s right, each one looks like it belongs to the same series. Yeah, all nine of them. Amazing!

Each of my Ben Bova books are the same size, shape, and essentially the same color, this metallic silver that really makes them stand out on the shelf. Plus, the author’s name and the book title are all in the same font and in the same spot on that spine. Ah, such beauty.

Compare that to my Orson Scott Card collection. Ah, what horror you’ll find at that end of the bookcase. Not only do the spines mismatch across series, they don’t align correctly in each grouping. For example, the first three books in the Alvin Maker series look nothing alike. Hell, you wouldn’t even know they were interrelated judging solely by the spine design. Volumes four and five look similar to one another, but not similar to any others. But even with these two the pictures on the spines are two different sizes, and the title on one is horizontal and the other vertical. Of course, the newest volume looks nothing at all like the others. Argh!

Yes, I get great joy in seeing a universal look and feel to a section of my bookcase. And yes, I often cringe when books by the same author mismatch. I used to keep quiet about these dark secrets, but now, I found that I’m not alone. Not by a long shot.

Bomaya over at the Marvel Masterworks forum recently started a thread titled, aptly enough, Spines. Bomaya wrote: “I have a bugbear that is the bane of my life. Spines—and the lack in consistency thereof.”

Ah, now here’s a collector after my own heart. He went on to grumble about his deep seeded misgivings about Marvel’s choice to have three different spine designs in one 3-book series. Naturally, he highlighted other sets that suffer from the same lack of respect from the Marvel designers.

But what really got me to liking this guy was this:

“What does it matter what's on the spine, you cry? It's what’s between the covers that counts. Well yes, maybe, but I don't have time to read all the books I buy. I like buying collections because I'm a collector and I like to display them on my shelves. Occasionally I'll take one down, stroke it and flick through the pages and sometimes, sometimes I'll read them! But 99% of their lives will be spent on my shelf with only the spine visible so yes, it is important to me.”

Yes! Yes! God damn it, Yes!

In one paragraph of gut wrenching honesty, Bomaya hit on several points this collector has struggled with for years. The fact that I probably won’t read every book I buy. The fact that it’s just as fun to “stroke” and “flick through” the pages as it is to read them. But most importantly, these books spend their entire lives on the bookcase! With that in mind, part of the thrill of owning a cool book is looking at it surrounded by your other kick ass books. Sure, it’s wonderful to read the story and see what’s inside, but let’s face it, I’ll spend more time looking at their spines than I ever will reading the things. So damn it, they better look cool sitting there.

Naturally, a few other forum members jumped up and admitted to having these same feelings, and we all shared our secrets and had our own Spine Lovers Anonymous meeting. And honestly, it felt nice to know I wasn’t alone. To know that I wasn’t afflicted with some rare disease that opens me up to ridicule and segregation.

So now, when I look at those sections of my bookcase that just don’t sit right, I can openly admit my discomfort. Sure, that doesn’t make those books look better on the shelf, but now there’s a little warm spot inside that says, “It’s okay.”

Spines Part II

When a published novelist stops by your blog and leaves a friendly comment, the typical writer might feel a bit surprised, a bit honored. When Evan Kuhlman, the author of Wolf Boy, stopped by, I felt something a little different.

“Hey James, this is Evan Kuhlman author of Wolf Boy,” he wrote a few days ago. “Thanks for checking out my book and I hope you like it. And I know exactly what you mean about the wonders of virginal spines and perfect jackets.”

My immediate response? Excitement. Not because he stopped by (although that was pretty damn cool) but because it turns out he’s a fellow admirer of tight spines and pristine dust jackets. I like him already.

Many of my friends know of my obsessive hunt for that perfect spine and that flawless dust jacket. When we’re at the bookstore, my lovely wife often watches with amusement as I search through a stack of books looking for that one true beauty. But what few truly understand is that I actually get a deep, lasting satisfaction from finding that one book with the qualities I need.

For me, there’s nothing worse than spotting a stack of books from across the store only to find they’re not what you were hoping for after all. Imagine making eye contact with a pair of sexy co-eds (or sexy cowboys if that’s your thing) on the other side of the bar. Their smiles indicate all you need do is make a move and your wildest dreams are within your grasp. Filled with fantasies of what’s to come, you walk with your head held high, not even noticing the hundreds of others in the room. Nope, you have your eye on the prize. But when you get to their table, the blonde lights up a cigarette and the brunette turns out to be wearing a wedding ring. Wham! Back to reality, my friend.

Single men and women might not be able to comprehend that the situations like the one I just described are no more emotionally charged then the one I go through when eyeing a stack of books only to discover lose bindings, torn dust jackets, or reprints.

But when I do find that one special book, it’s like love at first sight. When a clean, bright dust jacket catches my eye, I’m immediately drawn to it. It's as if I’m no longer my own master. Without thinking, my hand reaches out to remove it from the shelf with a loving touch. And I know instantly that this is the one.

I caress the book’s spine and look it over from head to toe, soaking in every detail. The rest of the world has disappeared. It’s just me and the book.

With her weight held firmly in my right hand, I ever so gently open the front cover just enough to see the inside flap and the textual description of the book’s story. But I’m not reading the marketing material. No, I’m already beyond that. The siren has sung her song and I’m looking at her curves, soaking in her very essence, enjoying the aroma only a true book connoisseur understands.

I open the cover just a little more, meeting with oh so subtle resistance. The tease. It's as if she's softly begging for me to take her right there. But I certainly won’t desecrate her here. And even though I know she is to be mine, there is one more thing I’m looking for. Or rather, listening for. I open the book further. Just another fraction and no more. My ears are focused and have tuned out everything around me. They're waiting with such anticipation, it's as if they're willing the sound to appear. And suddenly, there it is. That soft creaking, that glorious moan intended only for me, that whisper that verifies what I already knew: This is the one.

I close her, saving her for another day. For now, I just look over the dust jacket and the stark white pages, looking for any hidden nicks or dings that I might’ve overlooked in my anticipation of that mesmerizing sound.

But of course, there are none.

---

And Mr. Kuhlman, if you’re still out there, know this: After tonight, your spine will be a virgin no more. I’ll be dipping into your novel this evening.

The Collector Is Nursed Back to Health

A football card collector I met some time ago on the Beckett message boards just purchased the whole lot of my Packers cards. He paid $100. Not bad, I guess. Less than what they’re worth, more than I would’ve got had I kept the auctions running on eBay. The book value on the cards is somewhere closer to $800, and I know I spent close to that number too. But after that first eBay debacle, I’m happy to have anything at all.

Just a few days ago I was hurting. Bad. I considered all of my collections to be junk; garbage that wasn’t worth the energy and time and money I spent acquiring them. I was thinking of throwing in the towel. What do I think now that I’m $100 richer? About the same, actually. My collections are still pretty pointless. But I’m willing to start reinvesting in them anyway. With a little narrower focus, perhaps, and maybe with a little less vigor. So yes, the collector in me certainly has shown new signs of life.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m back off the wagon.

Spines Part I

I was at Barnes & Noble this afternoon with some buddies of mine. Jason, a fellow collector, and I were looking at a new book called Wolf Boy by Evan Kuhlman. I have no idea what the book’s about but it has sequential art scattered throughout, so I had to get it.

I was reading the sales copy on the inside of the dust jacket when Jason chuckled and said, “You hardly even open it.”

I didn’t pay him any mind and held the book up so I could look down the spine as one might look down the barrel of a gun. As I was scrutinizing the condition of the book in my hand, Jason picked up a copy of his own. He opened it gently, the blissful cracking sound of a virginal spine being opened filling the air.

“There’s the sound you love,” he said, a smile on his voice.

“Yeah, but now you’ve ruined it,” I said, picking up another copy to look over, the first one having not met my standards.

I looked at the second copy for a moment and pointed out a very slight, barely noticeable rubbing on the top of the dust jacket. “Oh, that’s no good,” I said and put it back on the shelf.

“Nothing a nice BroDart can’t take care of,” Jason commented.

“Yeah, but I’d know,” I said, picking up another.

---

Later, Jason and I were walking through the paperback fiction section. He spotted a book he needs, A Touch of Death by Charles Williams. It’s number 17 of the Hard Case Crime series of detective fiction. He looked it over with a discerning eye and apparently approved of the book’s condition.

“You’re not going to compare it to the other copies?” I asked, noticing three others on the shelf.

“No. I looked this one over and it looks fine,” he said.

“Huh.” I said, perplexed. “You’re weird.”

The Collector Takes a Beating

My collector’s mentality took a serious blow last night, and honestly, I’m not sure it’ll be able to rebound. I’m so disenchanted right now, I’d just as soon throw away every last one of my collectibles before I hunt for another treasure.

The last few weeks have been spring cleaning time for me. Because I “just had to” purchase a few (yes, a few, as in, more than one) football cards and hardcover comic collections that were out of my price range, I found myself in need of making a little money. Since I doubt I’d do particularly well as a street walker, I decided to weed out a few of the cards in my collection. It was time to free up some space, make some cash, and re-invest in those collections I’m still passionate about.

So I put several football cards on eBay. Just some random Packers cards and sets I had picked up over the last few years. They were some great cards that had me salivating when I first picked them up, but for whatever reason, they had lost their luster. And last night the first batch of auctions came to an end...an end that would be almost comical if not for all the pain and suffering I went through.

Four auctions ended last night. The first one sold for so little that eBay’s charges for running the auction actually cost more. I had picked up the card—a Sterling Sharpe jersey card numbered 84 of 250—as part of a trade, so I didn’t have any strong emotional tie to it. (The fact that it was numbered to his jersey number, an occurrence coveted by player collectors when bidding on other cards apparently meant nothing when it was time for me to sell.) What I really found entertaining was the fact that the final selling price was actually less than the cost of the plastic card holder I stored the card in. Add that to the eBay and Paypal fees and I soon learned that it actually cost me money to give my card away. And don’t get me started on the cost of bubble envelopes.

I didn’t fare much better with the other three auctions. I’ll admit, I probably could’ve improved my selling techniques. And sure, we’re talking pennies here, so my bad experiences won’t make it necessary to eat ramen noodles for the next month. But when I factored in all the time and energy and money I put into buying these cards, I got sick to my stomach as I packaged them and shipped them off to other collectors.

I may have only spent $50 on the cards in question, but when I sold them for a $3 “profit,” I felt nauseous. I immediately began to question why the hell I collect football cards in the first place. What a stupid hobby. I mean, I collect pictures of men. And I spend a lot of money on it. Good Christ, what’s the matter with me?

No, I don’t buy cards or comics or books to make a profit. However, the ability to sell them does play a factor when it comes time pull the trigger on one thing or another. I often tell myself that my purchases are worthy because I not only get enjoyment from them, but I also get to sell them later and get some of my money back. You buy a bucket of popcorn at the movies and you don’t get anything but an upset stomach. But when I buy a comic book for three bucks, I get 20 minutes of entertainment and when I don’t want it anymore, I’ll get most of my money back. What a deal.

Now, however, I’m taking a closer look at that logic. It’s really not as valid as I had led myself to believe. How can it be when I spend $20 on a card and a year later I have to pay eBay to give it away for me?

This is so much more than the seller’s remorse I felt when I got rid of my Ed Brubaker collection a few weeks ago. I mean, I’m seriously contemplating getting out of the game. Not just taking a break, but getting out. Hell, I’m even thinking of simply giving away everything. Why not? It’ll probably cost less.

Sure, I’ll keep my true prize possessions like the SP Authentic set I’m working on or my Warlord comics, but the rest of the stuff, well, I’m starting to see it as the junk it really is. Worthless. A waste of time. A waste of money, space, and energy.

I’m once again facing the cruel reality of collecting: The collection is only important as long as you’re still collecting. The moment you stop, the collectibles become worthless. I’m not sure I want to do that anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I love collecting. I truly do. And let’s face it, collecting is in my blood, so no matter how much I question it now, I’ll get back in at some point down the road. But now I’m beginning to wonder where my collection should fall on my priority list. Maybe collecting shouldn’t take up so much time and energy. Maybe it shouldn’t take up so much money. I'll definitely start asking myself, "What's the rush?" Why is there this need to own something right now when things can be had so cheaply if you just wait?

And with questions like this dominating my thought process, how can I get any enjoyment out of the things I buy? I’m not sure I can.

For the Sake of the Collection

So there I sat, the only man in a rapidly filling room of book lovers. We’re there at the Tattered Cover to hear Jodi Picoult read from her latest novel, The Tenth Circle. I had been there for about ten minutes. At the time, only a few others were scattered around the sitting area. Now, there were close to 100 women talking and laughing, each of them with a copy of Picoult’s new book.

I finally spotted another man—he was wearing a bright orange Broncos hat and a plaid shirt. If I didn’t know better, he was ready to go hunting with his buddies. Instead, he was at a book signing with his wife.

Before I even had a chance to feel uncomfortable in my surroundings, a group of three women take the seats in front of me. They were debating the proper times to wear makeup and when you can get away without. As the crowd thickened, the trio’s conversation bounced between daycare, high school, and clothes. I let my ears focus on a few other conversations around me, and that’s when I finally began to feel a little out of place. I can handle being the only guy at a book signing, but being at one in which there’s no talk about books, now that’s a bit disconcerting.

About five minutes before the event was supposed to start, the place was standing room only. I’m surrounded by women, old and young (but mostly older). I look around and spot two other men. They look unhappy. Mad even. The looks on their faces brought to mind those beer commercials with the men tagging along while their wives shop for clothing.

Not me. I’m happy to be there. But why?

Three words: signed first edition.

Jodi Picoult doesn’t write the type of story I’d usually be interested in. She tends to lean toward family drama. You know, with lots of emotional yanks. But when someone from work told me that one of the main characters in The Tenth Circle is a graphic novelist, I thought I’d give it a shot. And when I discovered that there’s actually some sequential art in the novel that ties into the story, I was sold.

Knowing Picoult would be in town for a book tour had the collector in me…not exactly salivating, but interested enough to spend 10 minutes the day before looking for the best copy with the tightest spine and the least amount of rubbing on the dust jacket. I felt like an idiot going over every single copy, but I did it anyway. The fact they’d printed a million copies didn’t phase me one bit.

Yep, the collector in me prevailed and I found the best copy (it actually took two stores to do so). Of course, the collector in me wanted to take it to the next level and get the book signed. And that’s how I found myself at the Tattered Cover on a Monday night surrounded by 150 women (and no more than seven men).

Once I got there and the place filled up, however, my inner collector vanished. He abandoned me to my fate. So I began wondering just what the hell I was doing there. Without him to keep me excited for what was to come, I considered walking out. Sure, the writer in me would enjoy hearing a published author speak, but come on. Jodi Picoult? Would a signed first edition of such a mass-produced author who apparently caters to middle-aged women really be that important?

Of course it would. Fate had taken me there, so I waited it out. And lucky for me, too, because I had a good time. Picoult was an excellent speaker, and while I wouldn’t say I learned anything breathtaking, I did enjoy her reading and hearing about her day-to-day experiences with the written word.

Amid the chaos after the reading as everyone jostled for a position in line, a slightly frumpled and moderately attractive woman of about 30 stood before me. I immediately knew she was asking herself why I was there. Then she verbalized her thoughts.

“Excuse me. Do you mind if I ask how you got interested in her work?” she asked, nodding to my copy of The Tenth Circle (a happily BroDarted copy, I might add).

I hesitated. Thousands of answers bounced through my head in an instant, but none of them really rang true. Which was I to choose? Was I there because I’m a comic collector and this book had graphic art in it, or because I’m a book collector and a signed copy is always a little more sought after?

When I didn’t answer immediately, she must’ve thought I was embarrassed or uncertain. “I don’t mean to pry, but, well--” she said, glancing around the audience.

“Not a lot of guys here, are there?” It was more of a statement. She smiled and nodded in understanding. “I’ve actually never read her. A friend from work mentioned she was a good writer. Plus, I read graphic novels and I heard one of the characters is an artist.” (Notice that I used the much more mature phrase “graphic novels” instead of the more childish “comic books.” I may be a 33-year-old married man with plenty of confidence, but I still had to edit my speech when it comes to talking comics with female, even if she was a little frumpish.)

“Ah,” she said, her mind obviously processing the information. Maybe she was scanning for sarcasm? Maybe giving me a geek rating? Who knows? But I apparently passed whatever test she might’ve given (she must’ve factored in my rugged good looks and boyish charm) because we ended up talking books for about 30 minutes as the line steadily moved forward.

I must admit I enjoyed her company and regret that it was so brief. It was refreshing to share thoughts about books with a total stranger. I have so few people in my life with whom I can discuss literary works, so it was a joy to talk about our likes and dislikes, even if we didn’t share the same tastes. Perhaps it was even more meaningful because of the lack of such conversations taking place around me earlier when I sat waiting for the evening to begin.

Aside from two co-workers, a couple of friends, and my lovely and intelligent wife, I rarely get the joy of discussing the one hobby that truly means so much to me: reading. So often you hear people talk about a TV show as if the characters were their friends, but rarely do you hear the same admiration given to a character in a book. A few of my friends would join me in a conversation on books and have the same enthusiasm I had, and here was another.

As I got closer to Picoult and her pen that would give my copy that personal touch, I remembered why I collected in the first place. This woman, Rebecca, who probably doesn’t have a touch of collector in her, reminded me that I collect books because of the stories they contain and the powerful interaction you can have with others when sharing your opinions and beliefs about a certain story or author or moment in history.

As she turned to me and said her farewell before it was her turn with the woman we all came to see, I smiled and thanked fate for making sure I didn’t leave my seat when I doubted my sanity only an hour before.

Of course, as I handed the book to the author, my inner collector pushed aside all thoughts of my newfound happiness. Instead, I was to focus on ensuring she didn’t personalize her inscription. But I was feeling particularly strong and I didn’t care about collecting. So I stood up to the collector and only cringed briefly when she bent back the front cover to make room for her hand and I didn’t make a peep when I heard the faint sound of a breaking spine.

Ah, yes, it feels so good to be a book reader today!


[Note: For all book readers out there, do me a favor. Don't ever treat your books with such disrespect as the one shown in the picture above. Love your books and lay them flat when being read. Thank you.]

The March Book Tally

Looks like the book collecting trend continued in March. First edition hard covers every where. If I keep up at this pace, I’ll never be able to read the books I own. The interesting thing is that not a single book on my list is or ever will be considered collectible. They aren’t hard to find and they probably aren’t particularly well known or sought after. So why the rush to buy them now? And why bother with the extra cash to get them in hard cover? I have no idea. But if you’re a psychologist, be sure to let me know your thoughts.

Books Purchased in March
1. Star Wars: Republic Commando: Triple Zero by Karen Traviss (1st ed paperback)
2. The Grass for His Pilow: Tales of the Otori Book 2 by Lian Hearn (1st ed)
3. Bully of Bentonville by Anthony Bianco (1st ed)
4. The Program by Greg Hurwitz (1st ed)
5. Lazy Bones by Mark Billingham (1st ed)
6. Titan by Ben Bova (1st ed)
7. The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult (1st ed)
8. Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters, and the Birth of the Comic Book by Gerard Jones (1st ed)

Books Read in March
1. The Wal-Mart Effect by Charles Fishman (1st ed)
2. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (paperback)
3. Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs (paperback)

If it weren’t for a few trips out of town, I’m wondering if I would’ve read any books at all this month. But at least I have a healthy stock of books I haven’t read, just in case I get stranded and have the time to read a book each day.

April Fool

I’ve been spending money on collectibles like crazy lately. I’ve gone way over my budget and I’ve spent hours doing nothing but researching new things to collect. Not only have I picked up two very expensive Aaron Rodgers autograph cards, but I’ve also been looking into the whole Marvel Masterworks hardcover program, Edgar Rice Burroughs first edition paperbacks, and graded Packers cards from the late 70s. That’d be all fine and dandy if I had given up some of my other desires, but those haven’t waned in the slightest.

So, what am I going to do about it? Two things. First, I’m going to try a little experiment. For the entire month of April, I’m not going to buy a single thing that I haven’t already ordered. That means no books, no old comics, no comic book collections. Nothing. Well, almost nothing. The football cards on my want list are so limited, if I spot them on eBay, I pretty much have to bid because I may never see them again. But other than that, nothing.

All that really means is that April will be the month of discounts and huge blowout sales.

The second thing I’m going to do is sell, sell, sell. I’ll call it my Spring Cleaning Event of the Year. I’m going to get rid of those football cards that don’t fit into my very strict collecting guidelines. I’ll be selling off those comic series I not longer collect. Heck, maybe I’ll even sell some trades I doubt I’ll read again.

Of course, with the huge discounts taking place all over online this month because of my April experiment, I won’t make a dime on any of these items, but I’m selling nonetheless. I might not make money, but I will make room. And in the tiny town home we live in now, every bit of space counts.

So that’s it. Stop buying for a month and sell as much as I can. Sounds easy.

Then again, it’s only the April 2.