I’m back at comic conventions. The season has ramped up fast and I’m still learning to pace myself. Furthermore, I have put a firm foot forward into pushing new original content. If you don’t already know, fanart is a fraction of what I offer. However, when you look at conventions, they’re largely aimed toward pop culture and fandom. When I look at the general folks who walk through, the largest portion of attendees are looking to meet a celebrity and buy something representing a thing the love. It makes sense. The celebrities bring the crowd in, and fandom events are about celebrating what we love in loud and proud, inclusive spaces.

I’m guilty of the shift a lot of novice artists make after their first few conventions. If you start out with original content, and a lot of hope, your first few shows will do a number on your outlook and self-esteem. There’s a slim chance you’ll have built the skill, and the visual attractiveness, to have your work support itself well. The majority of the pie you’ll be eating is humble. You can read Exhaustion & the Planet Comicon Fairytale from 2023 if you want more insight on how I handled that experience. However, the shift that takes place is the obsessive need to turn things into money or quit. Those that don’t quit drive themselves straight into fanart as fast as possible.

Original content feels impossible to move. That doesn’t mean it is impossible, though. I know several folks who have spent the entirety of their careers pushing original comics and books. Their success often comes from how they measure it and what success means to them. That doesn’t mean they don’t make money, or that they don’t want to make money. Everyone needs to eat. Getting paid makes more work happen, after all. I think all of us want to benchmark our success with hundreds, or thousands, of dollars per show, and assume we’re abject failures if we don’t.

Saving face, reassuring ourselves we matter, and making as much money as possible, are responses that kick in after what feels like failure. It’s a mad scramble to turn things around that results in chasing what’s hot. “What do I like? What do they like? How can I become the center of this Venn Diagram?” These questions are at the root of the creative shift young comic artists make, and I know I made. I spent too many years making fanart I didn’t love or care about because I wanted to be trendy. I tried to make art of things I liked, or mostly liked, but it did nothing for me. Even worse, when that art failed to meet sales expectations, it kicked me down even harder.

“Am I unable to make good art? Do I just not like good things?” These became questions that pushed my confidence further into a hole. I found myself at odds. I could sit through making pieces I had no relation to that convention goers might like, or I could try to make art of the stuff I like. But, like a hipster bound for Seattle, my interests are niche and vague. Thanks to my taste, I’m twenty years behind on what’s hot. I used to like that my interests set me apart from my peers. What once made me feel unique suddenly had me feeling crotchety, obsolete, and undesirable. Nobody wants fanart of the B52’s at a comic show!

All the while, I was still making my original work, Champions. I was putting out new issues. When I hit shows, I put the comic out on a stand, but I wouldn’t promote it. I promoted my fanart. I promoted my name. I still carried the shame I felt from when Champions was what I was promoting and it seemed to fail. I let it fall to the side.

Here’s the thing: success isn’t just a dollar bill. In fact, when building a brand, there’s a lot more to it than that. I’ll never tell anyone not to strive for financial success. It’s a necessity in our capitalist hellscape we call America, so get that dollar. But, we need to find alternative metrics to measure our success.

Measuring success, however, is a philosophy rife with subjective and objective measurements. Subjective doesn’t always mean just an anecdote or how someone feels. Subjective can also mean whatever feels best as a measurement. Or, perhaps measuring something nebulous. The subjectivity of what you count can be a dubious path. Consider how Facebook repeatedly comes up against backlash over fake accounts being tied up in their algorithms and advertising. Counting just user numbers becomes meaningless when you can make up any number of your own users. But, it might be a metric advertisers care about, until they catch on at least.

It’s important to think both subjectively and objectively about success measurement and goals. But, play things fairly. I’m not concerned about upsetting advertisers, necessarily. Just make sure your measurements don’t come across disingenuous to the community you start to grow. Tracking followers on webcomics, or even Twitch or YouTube is a great path forward. Track reads on your Substack, your webcomic, or social posts, whatever matters to you. Do your best to avoid the ease by which numbers can be falsely inflated.

Any slick con artist with a few bucks in their pocket can buy fake followers and likes. Anyone can spend a weekend making fake accounts to inflate their numbers. When the smoke clears, though, they’ll find themselves standing alone with nothing to show for it.

Almost all my content is original content these days. Something I love about creating metrics for success at a live event is tracking genuine interactions. Yes, my end goal is to sell folks a print or a book, or even better, get them into the Brimstone Order (Only the best people are there 😉). But I like to take notes on who’s reacting to what. One of the first comments I ever received on my figurative pieces from Faithless, Fearless, was, “Oh! I want to be her!” The comment came from a 30-40 year-old woman with tattoos. It made me feel like I was on the right track.

I do what I can to note people’s thoughts and reactions. Any reaction is better than no reaction, even if it’s older, more conservative folks souring their face at my work. Hey! I know who my audience isn’t, now! It’s unfortunately true that building an audience involves in-groups and out-groups. Knowing who likes my work and who is offended lets me know who’s with me on what I like doing, and who I can consider trying to win over or ignore. That’s powerful, though completely anecdotal.

I still struggle to properly advertise Champions. The series is over, I’m moving on, and so is my artwork. I think that’s something I can fix, though. With Violet 9, on the other hand, I have a pull up banner for the series, with stickers and sketches that accompany it. I’m considering even more ways to beef that up, while making measurements on how people react to that. One of the nice things about my banner is that it has QR codes on it. Whenever someone snaps that QR code, that’s a mark for success. It’s insanely hard to get people to click on links, or scan codes. When someone does, that person should be celebrated for showing real interest. It’s still not a cakewalk. The series is for mature audiences, and it’s not fanart, but tracking scans is another way to add value to an event.

Something I added to the experience during Nerdin’ Out Con, in Rochester, Minnesota, was improving the way I interact with potential new fans. As I said, it’s hard to get someone to click or scan something. Extra steps always make things harder. Imagine if all 230+ readers here were patrons in the Brimstone Order? That would be wild, but you’d have to be convinced to click through, then be convinced to sign up. That’s a lot of steps! Because of this, when folks talked to me about pinup work, webcomics, or directly Violet 9, I gave them greater incentives. If they followed the series, I threw in a free sticker. I also made sure to reinforce that they’re a part of something I care about, and that their input can impact where the pinup series goes. I did my best to make them feel important.

Community is everything. Never let go of people who want in or care.

I had two major interactions that came from signups on the Violet 9 Webtoon. Like alluded to, as a brand, the most supportive community members are the coolest. I appreciate every reader, every like, and interaction. It’s incredible. But, I do have more interactions and experiences with folks who dive in and join, so of course I’ll remind them they’re the best of the best. It’s positive community management. When newcomers feel special, they tend to stick around.

While I go over Nerdin’ Out Con today, I won’t just be counting sales. I’ll be keeping track of what things people had to say about my work. I’ll go over my notes of what those people were like, and how we overlap. I’ll also take note of the folks that took those extra steps to follow a new comic, or to sign up for Fighting the Good Fight.

Success is far more than the dollar. I wish I’d had better training on that before getting over my head at comic conventions. These metrics aren’t fakeable, like reads, views, and followers. When I follow these remarks and do what I can to include the new readers, I’m confident I’ll find more spaces with my people and more fans.

I often reflect on one of the sales I had with Champions. At the ill-fated Planet Comicon in 2018, I sold a copy of issue one to someone who wanted something new. I didn’t celebrate the way I should have. To make matters worse, that reader came back the next year and bought an issue two! Again, I failed to treat him like he was more than a consumer. Where is that guy? What happened to him? Did he like it? Did he get issue 3? 4? The trade paperback? He’s long gone and I’ll probably never know. He could have been a pillar of my community. I should have treated him that way.

Next time you’re faced with a reckoning about whether or not you’re successful, take a step back and start plotting out what measurements you should be taking note of beside your cash box. There’s a lot more going on than you might expect. And, if you’re looking for even more insight, stay tuned to the Brimstone Order for more tools in this week’s Behind the Scenes content, dropping Wednesday, April 16th, 2025. All the cool kids will be there.

Today’s Tune

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