So the new London Comic & Small Press Expo has been and gone. The attendance was fairly low, which I had put down to The Central Line being shut down due to works (because apparently The Olympics next year just has to fuck up every aspect of modern life). Hopefully if they do one next year a lot more people will come along, because it was a very enjoyable event with a friendly atmosphere. We arrived late, because it’s us, although this is also partly due to the fact that whilst waiting on a train we were told by staff to run across the platform to the opposite carriage no less than four times because they couldn’t quite decide which one was supposed to be leaving first. Fun!
We sold out of HFTF Book 1 a while ago, so we have a brand new edition printed by our friends at Print X. And a jolly good job they did too. It has a new cover, and the interior pages have been cleaned up, so all the blacks are actually black rather than a washed out fuzzy grey. Spelling errors, bad grammar and plot holes remain, so as to be as old school as possible. As always we met some lovely people, did some sketches and said “Damn, that felt like a sale!” every time anyone spoke to us but didn’t buy anything. We are nothing if not traditional. To those of you who bought stuff, thanks. Those of you who didn’t, it’s not too late, homes –
Once again I didn’t get around to taking many photos, but here are a few:
After selling a complete set of books to a lucky consumer he asked me to draw in his sketchbook. I was just about to doodle some half arsed nonsense when I had a look through the rest of it. He had drawings in there by some proper artists, far too numerous to list (the two that I particularly remember were Scott McCloud and Roberta Gregory). If I was to have my work alongside such illustrious company I would have to up my game. So I proceeded to draw something that ended up looking like some half arsed nonsense. I guess if I claim to be an artist, I will automatically lose my ability to draw for the rest of the day. Luckily Andrew was on hand to ink a sketch I did for someone else:
I was invited at the last minute to participate in a panel, but my memories of it are pretty hazy. I’d had a few drinks by that time, so I apologise to anyone I may have inadvertently offended (the only thing I can remember saying to the assembled throng is “I love pretentious people”. Quite what I was talking about, I have no idea). If there had been more people in attendance I could have been crowned the idiot savant of small press comics, held aloft by a cheering crowd, and then sacrificed at this year’s Thoughtbubble in a giant wicker Garfield. Ahem.
We sold a fair bit but not tons – about normal for us, but from the sounds of it nobody exactly made a killing. What this tells me is that as a rule we don’t sell enough shit. In fact, Oliver and Andrew said that they sold more stuff when I was away from the table making an idiot of myself. I need to get to work on my pitching technique! Always Be Closing!
More reports here, here, here and uh… here. Who’s that creepily smiling halfway down the page? Oh yeah!