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SPOTLIGHT ON SELF-PUBLISHERS
There are a number of ways into comics. Pitch relentlessly and get published somewhere. Become a success in another field (like TV or books) and get offered a job with a company hoping to piggy-back on your existing audience to get them into comics. Etc., etc.
Then there's self-publishing. Create something, put it together and publish it yourself. This is probably one of the more demanding roads to comics, given that it requires the creator to wear a number of different hats. It can also give way to "vanity projects" that nobody else would want to publish, but it's a great way for tyro talents to make their first mark on the industry and see where they can go from here.
This week, I'll be taking a look at a half-dozen or so self-published comics, with four full-fledged graphic novels and two comic book projects, one of which won a Xeric Grant for self-publishing. As always, I've included links to the websites of these creators in the publisher listings, or failing that, an email address for the creator, so that you can go check them out for yourselves.
 A while back, I reviewed a book called The Sentinels, a self-published black and white superhero book that I thought was a pretty familiar take on the superhero genre, without the benefit of the more polished talent and production values that Marvel, DC or Image might bring to the table. I'm afraid that The Calling reminds me quite a bit of The Sentinels, as it really does read like someone who has read a lot of superhero comics, has a love of the genre and wants to put their own stamp on it, but really isn't doing anything too terribly different from what has gone before. Which is not to say that The Calling is bad, as it's pretty solidly-executed old school superhero book with an intriguing element of faith lurking in the background, it's just that if you're going to compete with the flashy, full-color superhero books that dominate the market, you've got to be as good or better than they are or bring something to the table that none of them do, and The Calling just doesn't hit that mark.
The Calling is actually a collection of single issues that Halcom has been producing, rather than a graphic novel, and the resulting story is pretty well broken down by chapters. There are some continuing subplots, and the first story extends across two chapters, but Halcom writes in a more old school manner, leaving the six part arcs behind for more self-contained story fodder. His writing reads a lot like '70s and '80s material in general, with dialogue that is a little too "on the nose" and aimed at getting across story information rather than replicating the way people talk and some of the goofiest, cliched villains and heroes you can find (I have trouble taking seriously a villainous government conspiracy whose mutated operatives are called "Darkops", for exaxmple). And yet... for those who get their biggest kicks out of Marvel's Essentials, The Calling might be worth a look. It doesn't have the claim to being "of its time" as the Essentials do, and certainly Halcom isn't the equal of classic wordsmiths like Roy Thomas or Stan Lee, but there's a certain similar vibe there.
The artwork on The Calling is on the amateurish side, but it does improve as time goes on and certainly the basics of storytelling at least are there. Halcom doesn't have a terribly exciting design sense when it come to costumes or backgrounds, but you've got to give him (and his inkers and art assistants like Don Pedicini Jr.) credit for putting the work in. Even at the earliest stages, there are plenty of backgrounds in the work and the storytelling is clear, if less than subtle, full of bombastic motion and expression.
To be honest, the best thing that Halcom could do with The Calling is to get away a little bit from fantasy and superhero standards like the rogue government ops, lost immortal loves and vampires and focus a little more on the background elements that make The Calling stand out as different. There's an implication that The Calling that grants people their powers and calls them to heroism comes from God rather than a metagene or mutant ability, and that's a fascinating idea that could give the book a bit more distinction, even though it might put off some non-Christian readers (although not this one, I'm generally interested in religious themes in comics as long as the writer isn't proseltyzing too much or insulting my own beliefs). In addition, while the notion of mother and daughter heroines isn't unheard of, it is rare to have the two of them on the same team, and that would seem like a natural focus for the stories as well.
In the end, I'd say that if you disagreed with me on The Sentinels, you might disagree with me on The Calling as well. Or if you're a superhero fan whose old school needs aren't being met by any of the current Marvel/DC/Image books and you don't mind black and white, somewhat rough artwork, you should definitely give The Calling a look as well. But my own tendencies are to look for genre and storytelling a bit further afield when it comes to self-publishing, and I can't help but see The Calling as a vanity project, borne out of plenty of love and hard work but of interest to only a very small, specific group that doesn't include me.
 Don and I have previously reviewed Ted Seko's work on Attack of the Supermonsters and in anthologies, and Comic Pulp is the newest work to feature his writing and art, which draws inspiration clearly from the Silver Age but has a modern edge to it. Comic Pulp is the collection of the Billy Cole miniseries, published in 1994. Billy Cole being the protagonist of Comic Pulp, a baby who bursts forth from his mother's womb ready to fight evil. You heard me right... a baby. There's a wonderfully surreal and hilarious tone to Comic Pulp that reminds me of Dean Haspiel's hipster do-gooder Billy Dogma, and Billy Cole has a purity of spirit and an energy for do-gooding that makes for infectious fun. The story is borderline nonsensical, involving Billy fighting a gigantic personification of evil and then seeking help from potential allies including money- and fame-obsessed wrestlers and dealing with brain-hungry zombies, but it's a lot of fun. On top of comparisons to Billy Dogma, I'd also compare it to the underrated hilarity of Planet Lar's Sky Ape, and Seko's book has the same quotable dialogue, with bold pronouncements like "Take it easy, and don't let anyone eat your brains" and "I got a spark plug, mister. Let's go fishing!"
Billy Cole is a great protagonist, innocent and polite (he calls everyone "mister") and yet possessing the indomitable spirit and drive of a true hero. Sure, he's a naked little baby, but he's got it where it counts in a scrap, and his ability to fly through the air and do battle puts him in the realm of the superheroic. There's a philosophical undertone to Comic Pulp about not giving up and trying to do the right thing, it's just expressed in the weirdest way possible. It's definitely uplifting and fun, though.
Seko's artwork is fascinating, a dark and inky style that isn't always the clearest when it comes to storytelling but which has such a power and striking expressiveness to it that it's impossible to really dislike. If I were comparing it to something, I'd compare it to the work of Michael Gaydos or Alex Maleev, or perhaps reference the work of Mike Mignola, but that really doesn't capture Seko's style all that well. Basically, he excels at using shadow and shape, and his artwork has the same ambiguous but enjoyable qualities as his writing. I can safely say that Comic Pulp is the best comic I've ever read with a battlin' baby.
 Nothing Left to Lose is kind of like Donnie Darko crossed with One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and Twelve Monkeys. Which is to say, it makes use of the insane asylum as jumping-on point, and blends the notions of paranoid schizophrenia and delusions with the notion that precognition and alternate visions are actually taking place. The resulting storytelling is a little uncertain and unclear, even when all is theoretically revealed, but it's downright fascinating and occasionally very creepy. Farkas introduces us to an asylum called Sunny Elms that houses a violently antisocial woman named Rachel, a man named Joe who has visions of the world ending and (at one time) a janitor named Gerald, all of whom have some ties to what may or may not be a coming global apocalypse.
Nothing Left to Lose is a strange, somewhat meandering book, taking place in the viewpoints of at least two crazy people and possibly more than that. Certainly the revealed antagonist of the book doesn't have all his chess pieces on the board, either, as his deranged rantings near the end reveal. There's a deliberate obfuscation on what is real and what is a delusion as well. However, Farkas does keep the storyline fairly focused and moving, with a nice impending sense of something big and scary happening, and a strong connection to Joe and Gerald, our two main protagonists. Even at the end, I'm not real certain what happened, but there's a definite sense of the story moving along and coming to a head, and some very creepy moments along the way.
 Don and I first reviewed Rocket Rabbit and the Professor in Nerve Bomb about two years ago. At the time, we both found Baker's work visually appealing but unfocused in terms of story. Rocket Rabbit #1 is a step in the right direction, retaining the impressive art and making much more of a stab at a coherent story, although Baker's balls-to-the-wall comedy approach still retains a flavor of something overly familiar. However, it's familiar in a good way, and I certainly found plenty to chuckle at in these pages, as well as enjoying the visual spectacle.
Rocket Rabbit and the Professor are do-gooder heroes with a bizarre mix of creator/creation and boyfriend/girlfriend tension, but they are essentially just engines of destruction and comedy. Whether or not they win is immaterial, and Rocket Rabbit is not a book to look for if you're seeking answers to the questions of right and wrong or a story that poses any questions deeper than "Wouldn't it be funny if...?" However, for those who enjoyed the manic humor of Sky Ape or Scurvy Dogs, or the goofy parody of The Tick, Rocket Rabbit might be worth a look.
Where Baker really excels is in his artwork and design sense. I saw the Rocket Rabbit booth at San Diego, and it caught my eye everytime I went by, since it's such a striking visual, and the pure mayhem of the super brawl at Pow Palace is a visual delight as well. I also really got a kick out of Baker's amusing villain "The Ass" whose powers and personality change depending on what type of ass he is (smart, dumb, lame, jack, etc.) as well as the Apes of Wrath and the notion of a superhero president who seems to have more than a little in common with flamboyant professional wrestlers. If cheesy puns and mayhem are your kind of humor, Rocket Rabbit is your kind of book.
 Something So Familiar is a Xeric Grant winner, and it's easy to see why. Cahill tackles the difficult storytelling challenges of silent storytelling and creates a story which really conveys the emotions on the page and provides a powerful, uplifting tale of literally rising above challenges. From the start, Something So Familiar looks like, well, something so familiar in slice-of-life comics. A man arguing with his wife, his child looking on in confusion and obvious upset. However, the book takes a tragic turn a few pages in, and the resulting decision of the man isn't hard to understand or even empathize with, which is when the story takes another, quite unusual, turn. Within these pages, Cahill's nameless protagonist struggles with tragedy, loss, the everyday noise of life, the burden of living, and he receives a gift that allows him to experience a pure joy that runs counter to the harder things in life. Cahill's story doesn't offer up any answers as to the man's loss, but it does convey that moments of happiness can help overcome the moments of sadness, and even make a life that seems not worth living something to enjoy again.
Something So Familiar is silent, but not entirely wordless. Cahill uses words as essentially more pieces of the art, conveying the nature of the newspaper or using a one word billboard to show the oppressive feeling that is weighing the lead character down. There's also a clever use of "smiley face" speech balloons to indicate the yammering chatter of the radio or the backdrop of an office, as well as words in a letter that hit as hard as any image could. Cahill's art style allows him to express the important emotions of the story, especially the difficult-to-capture ennui that drives the protagonist for much of the story or the surprise and joy when he discovers his gift.
 The strange storytelling conventions seen in some manga and anime seems ripe for parody, and that's what Gary and Louis Gallegos have gotten up to in the pages of The Wandering Schoolgirl. A young girl whose sister is the anime fan gets sucked into an anime world... hilarity ensues. Well, sort of. Hilarity ensues if you're into manga and anime and recognize these cliches, and if your sense of humor is on a younger level. The Wandering Schoolgirl is fairly toothless humor, aimed at a younger crowd, and the jokes are all fairly predictable, along the lines of what you'd get in your average cartoon. And yet, there's an incongruous focus on the pervy aspects of manga, with a cut-off reference to hentai, the horndog uncle of the lead character and an evil governor with a cat girl fetish. These references will probably fly above the heads of younger readers, but given that they're presented in a sort of obvious manner that won't be as funny to most adults, I'm not entirely sure what they're doing in there.
While The Wandering Schoolgirl is not a laugh-a-minute romp, at least for me, it is genial and fun, and those with a fondness for the conventions of shojo as well as a recognition of the sillier aspects of it will probably enjoy the book. It's not unlike the hit webcomic Megatokyo, except that it's aimed younger and has a female friendly slant to it. Gallegos provides clean, clear artwork that isn't as detailed as most of the manga art its parodying but certainly has enough of the surface trappings to get the point across. Fans of manga like Inu Yasha, Oh My Goddess and the like (or parents of young kids who are fans) might want to give The Wandering Schoolgirl a look.
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