T Campbell's Blog

"Oh, man," says Gisele. "Your friends really let you down. I mean, they must've read your blog and no one noticed you were talking about leaving this weekend?"

And I'm like "Yeah! Yeah! Why didn't anybody tell me I was an idiot?" Does anyone besides Gisele, Wednesday, DroolingFanGirl and Rebecca Cardon actually read that thing? Why the hell didn't I opt for black-on-white text? "I'll call you back."

I drive away from the convention hall to a hotel lot, park and start walking, almost on autopilot, passing a field with snuffling horses under a brilliant ice-blue sky.

Seriously. How does this happen? I've been forgetful before, but never about something I thought was so important. This was to be my big debutante ball in the print comic world, my play to relate to comic-book creators as an adult, rather than a starstruck kid.

Do I want to fail at making moves into print comics-- into a field where all my web experience counts for far less? Did I do this to myself?

"Or is this a sign from You?" I turn and ask God.

I don't make a habit of talking out loud to God in public places. My spirituality's mostly the foxhole kind... an even split between Rikk and Will from Fans. But I think this qualifies as a foxhole.

"Are You telling me to just give up? Settle for being just a hobbyist? Throw all my efforts into getting the editing job at Laurin before it's too late?

"What do You want from me?"

I walk some more, deeply distracted, and quickly find myself lost. Not in the spiritual sense, but in the "where's my car?" sense.

I spot two passersby walking their dog and carrying guitars. This man and woman look like they wandered off the set of A Mighty Wind, only their clothes are modern-hippie and they're in their early twenties. I ask them for directions and we walk back the way I came, learning each others' stories on the way. The man does all the talking.

"Yeah, we know this street pretty well, we've been walking up and down it for the past seven days. You know, you can play street music for money anywhere: Chicago, Savannah, New York... but if you try it here, they'll arrest you. We got left here by some friends of ours who weren't really very good friends at all... we've been walking up and down this street where they were supposed to meet us, and I don't think they're going to show up."

There are some holes in this story. The dog looks too well-fed to me. And there's a honeymoon vibe between the couple; they just don't look frazzled or exhausted enough. But still, nice to be reminded It Could Be Worse.

I end up giving the couple five dollars for their help, seeing Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum and visiting a (caution: audio) middling haunted house designed vaguely like Castle Grayskull.

Start the long drive back. And I think.

Think about those two, clearly chasing their musical dream to well below the poverty line, but still seemingly happy with each other and their lives.

And I think about this blog, strangely enough. Would I want to read about this experience five years, ten years from now, and remember that a glitch like this kept me from chasing my dreams? Would I want anyone else who reads it to get the wrong lesson from it?

"Signs to give up" can also be "tests."

This was a costly mistake, to be sure. It can never be repeated. (Taking everything into account, including the maintenance work I had to do on the car afterward, it turns out flying would have been cheaper than driving.)

But it may be an even costlier mistake to throw away my plans for this convention. I have much to learn, still, about the business and society of print comics that shyness has kept me from learning in years past. These are things I need to know if my print career is to prosper. And price is a factor, but I live frugally so that I get to spend when it counts.

So, yes.

I'm going back.