I recall thinking, "Wow, that's really nice of him to think of us like that.  What a fine feeling he has given us!  I must remember this."

So a couple of months ago when the big Thieves & Kings trade paperback came out, I had a couple of boxes shipped to my apartment.  I packaged about twenty of the books up in individual envelopes and mailed them off to about 20 friends and business relations.  I remember feeling really good about that.  (I was also functioning on about 7 hours sleep in a 48 hour cycle, so I was also feeling that wobbly-sick, ‘not enough sleep but I still have a million things to do' kooky kind of energy.)

Anyway, I got about three or so back in the mail a couple of weeks later, due to the standard problems.  Changed addresses and whatnot.  But one of the returned books came back under slightly different circumstances.  —Granted, I didn't have very high hopes of this one getting through.  I'd sent one of the books to somebody I'd never met and never done business with before.   I sent a copy to Mr. Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin & Hobbes.  As millions of other people, I really enjoyed Watterson's daily newspaper strips.  His influence on my work is evident in those ancient Quinton strips I did back in high school, and reprinted in issue #2.  (I'll reprint them in the next TPB, seeing as they're now part of the story continuity.  If I get the time, I might re-draw them.  Probably won't, though.)

Anyway, I also sent Watterson a letter, saying something to the effect of, "Hey, look at this thing I published!  Check out how much space you get to work with!  And you can draw and write whatever you like!  This is artistic and intellectual FREEDOM!  Self-publishing rules!"

I read an essay he'd written about how frustrating it was to work for a syndicate, and I figured the appeal of owning one's own publishing company would be immediately apparent.  It occurred to me, (in my kooky mental state), that he might in fact not even be aware that self publishing was an option.  When this struck me, I leaped up, enamoured with a super-hero's resolve, and knew it was my mission to make him aware.  Anyway, that was the gist of my letter.  I wanted him to contribute to the comics medium (hopefully with new ideas and new characters.  As much as I admire Calvin & Hobbes, I'm sure he MUST have other material he'd like to explore.  Most of the really good writers do).

Now, like I said, I didn't have my hopes up.  As with many popular figures, he'd be virtually unapproachable.  Indeed, his publisher opened up pack I'd sent and read the letter, (which, if I recall, also said something to the effect of, "With self publishing, you don't have to deal with those money grubbing slime balls who want to merchandise your ideas with no regard to creative integrity!").  And they decided that Mr. Watterson didn't need to receive a copy of my comic book collection.

So they sent it back along with a little note thanking me for being a fan of Calvin & Hobbes, and politely informing me that they would accept no such packages either now or in the future.  The letter I'd written was missing.  It was probably sent on to Bill, who (assuming he read it), would have done so without the benefit of the T&K volume to show I was ‘for real', (so to speak).  Considering it was hand written in my standard kook-like scrawl, I expect I came across like some sort of lunatic spouting ‘down-with-the-establishment' style insanity, (which at the time, I suppose I was).  How nice.

Upon reflection, it occurs to me that Watterson could probably do whatever he wanted in terms of getting comics published on the weight of his name alone.  Self publishing seems a little pointless when you can make all the established publishers jump through your hoops instead of the other way around.  It also occurs to me that it is probably standard policy not to accept stuff like my book for rather sensible legal reasons.  Big names sometimes get sued for stealing ideas, so it's best to just return unheard of comic books like mine before guys like me can point fingers and make trouble.  (After realizing this, I felt a little yucky about being part of the human race.)

Ah well.  It was kind of crumby, but otherwise there was no harm done.  Though, I'd still really enjoy seeing what Mr. Watterson could do given twenty four sheets of 10" x 15".

C'est la vie.

Anyway, I'll see you all in issue #16.  On twenty four sheets of 10" x 15".