Category: Michael Davis

Michael Davis: The Middleman

mlk480dotearth-9918094Damn, it’s 1963 all over again in Missouri.

The police are using tear gas and billy clubs to control a group of peaceful protestors. All that’s missing is German Shepards and fire hoses but hey, rubber bullets more than make up for that.

I often wonder seriously, once so seriously, someone asked me to “Please stay here,” if I should take a gun and just end me before LAPD does.

The ‘here’ she was referring to was Earth.

Bet that fucked you up.

A bit over a year ago, in a restaurant two drunken white people thought they could use me as a punching bag.

They attacked me.

They hit me.

They were two, I was one.

I defended myself, they punked out.

I was the one arrested.

There is videotape evidence of my innocence.

I took a plea deal on the criminal charge.

W H Y?

Why would The Master Of The Universe take a plea deal when he has the resources and media reach to clearly win this bullshit case in court? Because, as Master Of The Universe I’m invincible as a Black man in Los Angeles I’m a fucking nigger, a less than human target waiting to be shot down like a dog in the fucking street.

My case should have NEVER had gotten ANYWHERE near a court.  It should have been dismissed the moment the tape and the 20 or so eyewitness backed my story. It wasn’t. So what’s MOTU to do? Get the FUCK out, as quickly and quietly as possible, that’s what.

White America, when a big mouth, well connected, uppity motherfucker who’s CLEARLY IN THE RIGHT AND IT’S ALL ON TAPE, won’t even chance a day in court because he thinks the system is racist, THE SYSTEM IS FUCKING RACIST.

Everyone has value.

Yeah right.

Nice sermon, bumper sticker and uplifting message just not for Black men. In the eyes of some law enforcement my value is nothing. I can be taken out at anytime in anyplace, if I don’t ‘act right.’

So, as to avoid living my life in fear, having to stay inside battling bouts of horrible insomnia debilitating migraines fueled by thoughts that she’s not here (she’s gone hell, they’re all gone) why not simply pull the trigger of the gun I’ve held to my head many times?

What happens if I simply cannot deal with my inner demons inside my home anymore?  I know full well if I go outside and don’t ‘act right’ there’s a chance a real chance I could be shot in the back.

So, why not cut out the middleman and shot myself?

What happens when I don’t take my meds and voicing my ire on Facebook is not enough? What happens when I’ve had enough of seeing UNARMED Black men choked because THEY WERE BLACK? What happens when I realize that I don’t eat skittles anymore because it just reminds me of an unarmed BLACK CHILD KILLED BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK?

What happens when another unarmed Black man is shot down like a dog in the street in Los Angeles and that event underscores the horrible place my life over the last 12 months has become?

What happens when she’s not there to tell me, to stay here?

I’ll tell you what happens.

I leave my home in the upscale white neighborhood I live in. It’s 3am in the morning and because I STILL cannot sleep I drive to Ralph’s supermarket to shop. I’m stopped by the police often and this night I’ll be stopped again.

But this time, I’m depressed.

This time I’m not kissing the ass of the motherfuckering racist cop who’s stopped me before. This time I say the absolute wrong thing.

“I did nothing. I’m not showing you any ID. I’d like you to call your supervisor when he arrives I’ll show him.”

This will not stand. I know this. He repeats his command to show my license and I repeat what I said. He orders me to get out of the car. I make no move, my hands are on the steering wheel, and my interior lights are on. “I’ve done nothing.”

He screams for me to exit the vehicle.

For, what I know is the last time, I say ‘no.’

He grabs me through the windshield I refuse to let go of the steering wheel. Instead I close my eyes and say goodbye to all my friends.

Then, like every lazy comic book writer will someday write, my life flashes in front of my eyes.

And I wonder.

I wonder what Comicmix will write about me. I wonder if Bleeding Cool will do a tribute. I wonder if I’m big enough to have my obituary in the New York Times like Dwayne.  I wonder if Denys will ever forgive me for the lie I told him when he asked was I okay. I hope he’s okay. If Denys couldn’t save me, no one could. I wonder if James knows he’s going to rule the comic world; Danielle, the entertainment world; Jasmine the music world and Tatiana?

Tatiana the entire world.

I wonder if Stradford knows just how much his friendship means to me.

I wonder if the ‘Mikes’ Gold, Grell, Baron and Raub know the same. I wonder if Maggie will cry a lot, if Missy and Kai will also. I wonder if Steve and Josh will both wear a Yankee hat to an Orioles game in my honor.

Then I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I said hurtful things to Darlene.

I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to reach Brett. Brett, once my son in every way but blood, who still wants nothing to do with me.  I’m sorry I let Sheila’s call go to voicemail right before I left my home and hope she will forgive me.  I’m sorry I could not get my hands on those animals who hurt Paige.

I’m sorry couldn’t find the words to say to my Kitty.

I’m aware of a loud ‘bang’ then…

Then I’m happy.

I’m happy I saw my brother Lee again. I’m happy Lucy came back into my life I think of her little girls and I’m even happier. I’m happy because my Amber will find a way to make me smile no matter where I am, alive or dead.  I’m happy that with any luck I’ll see my family again.

I’m lucky. God let’s me in…just barely.

My mother, my sister, my grandmother and great grandmother wait for me. Some of my other family is there also. Joy joins my happiness as I see Kim Yale, Linda Gold, Carol Kalish and the man I wished was my real father, Don Thompson.

My A& D brothers, Chris Cumberbatch and Freddy Jones give me a smile.

I realize at the end, I don’t hate my haters. They helped make me. At least that’s what Dwayne McDuffie says when he, Robert Washington, Malcolm Jones III and I sit down to create a comic book…

So I ask again, here, today during yet another bout with my depression why not spare my friends, the pain of a trial where the outcome will most likely be not guilty and put a bullet in my head?

My life is not my own. It belongs to any cop having a bad day. Any D.A. wanting to get a uppity nigger, regardless and spite of proof. My life belongs to any white racist punk ass bitch drunk in a bar or any racist coward with a gun who hates hoodies.

Like I said, why not cut out the middleman out and kill myself?

Today, it’s because I promised my beloved Jean I wouldn’t.

Tomorrow?

I don’t know.

I’m just fucking glad I don’t live in Missouri.

But I do live in L.A.

Michael Davis: Milestone Raising 2.1

static_cv2-291x450-1780080A couple of weeks ago Paul Smith asked rather or not Milestone would be better off away from DC.

Last week I addressed his question—but must now admit I did so in a drugged out haze. The drugs (some legal) affected my thought process and I’m afraid what I wrote was a result of such.

Or, it was an April Fool’s gag.

Either way here’s the non-drugged (much) and/or non-gag answer.

Paul, every partner in any partnership be it personal or professional will at some time or from time to time ask if they would be better off with someone else. Its human nature at it’s most pure.

I’ve asked that question, many times.

Regardless if business or personal relationship after I ask that, I ask the following, what’s my goal?

What would the goal be in leaving DC?

(more…)

Michael Davis: Who’s Sorry Now?

It’s been a while since I’ve taken someone to task with a good old fashion rant, so…

Last week I missed my ComicMix deadline.

Not that anyone noticed.

Usually when I missed a deadline it’s because of illness or stupidity.

Not that anyone cares.

I drive myself pretty hard and take on a lot of stuff and there are times when I drive myself too hard.  When those way to often moments happen I’m subject to the worst migraines and I’m unable to work.

How bad are these headaches? You know the expression; ‘I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy?’  Well I would, because I’m just that kind of bastard. If I miss a deadline because of illness a migraine is almost certain to be the reason.

I did not miss list week’s deadline because I was ill. So that leaves being stupid. (more…)

Michael Davis: Damage Control

A sad day in comics is coming.

Sad days are in my opinion, the one thing that the comic book business knows better that any other entertainment business. Yes, other media has its share of sad days but those are usually the death of someone.

I wish (and so do you) I had a dollar every time I’ve heard some newscaster, after lowering their voice, state with deep, deep sorrow:

“It’s a sad day in Hollywood, Bart Simpson was shot and killed this morning when he smiled at a man in Florida. After the man shot the famed Simpson he told police he thought the smile was a gun. This was the latest in what has become a wave of ‘colored’ killings.  Florida’s ‘Stand your ground ruling’ accomplished what critics of the law thought it was intended for, the elimination of Black kids from the cites of Florida. Once the last Black child was eliminated, killings of other colored youth (including cartoon characters) spiked to new highs.

(more…)

Michael Davis: Steranko – Who Is He, And What Is He To You?

davis-art-140128-150x165-3842199My subtitle is the title of a great Bill Withers song, but an even greater Creative Source song. If you are of the age where you think of Twilight as a classic film, chances are you have never heard of Bill Withers, Creative Source or that song.

Pity.

I could understand not being aware of Creative Source. They were a bit off the beaten path. However any music fan not aware of Bill Withers should drop less Ecstasy and lighten up on the trance. People, Boom, Boom, Boom with an occasional auto corrected voice may be music, but a song it is not.

Whatever age you are, if you are a fan of comics you should have heard of Jim Steranko, or simply Steranko as he is better known.

A comic fan, a true fan of the medium, not aware of Steranko is akin to a history buff thinking Lincoln is only a carmaker.

I’m not about to, nor am I qualified to give a detailed overview of his work. Please, yes I’m saying please, do yourself a big favor and look him up.

As I said, I can’t even begin to cover his contributions to our industry but I will share with you what I hope is a small indication of his importance to an industry he changed forever.

In the mid to late 90s I ran Motown Animation & Filmworks, (MA) Motown is the most famous record company in the world and if you doubt that name three record companies and do so without Goggle.

Oh. I’m sorry. You’re quiet now.

MA was a film and television division of Motown that at the time Motown was owned by Polygram and both were Phillips Companies.

Phillips is a enormous corporation and anything what comes under their umbrella is protected with an army of lawyers that will crush any affront to their intellectual properties (IP), patents, products and the very saying of their name is like a lone Klan member yelling “jungle bunny” at the Black Murderer convention.

On the flip side, if you make any move while within a corporate structure that has even the smell of being problematic you could be bitch slapped.

Bitch slapped like I was when I appeared on a CNN financial news show and answered “Fine” when asked how I thought what I was doing would affect the stock price.

The show was live and after I unclipped my lapel mic – if that long – my cell rung. The booming voice of Clarence Avant, Chairman Of The Board of Motown Records told me to, “Never, ever, comment of the stock price, anywhere, anytime for any reason!”

He was not happy.

And that was just over one word.

That was a serious blunder on my part. I simply didn’t know but ignorance when you head up a key division of a major company is no excuse.

I learned fast that without first running some decisions past Business Affairs I’d run the very real risk of a very bad day.

IP was at he very heart of my core business at Motown and because of such I created a comic book division called Motown Machineworks. One of the titles was a book and character called Stealth.

As soon as the press broke on that book I got a call from a fairly well known artist. I won’t mention his name because what I’m about to say may cause him to pop some shit in my face when next we meet and I don’t need that kind of noise in my life. Hell, I’m already on probation because of the last two people who popped some shit in my face.

This creator said he had a friend who was producing a book called Stealth. I said that was a problem. He agreed. But he said the problem was mine.

I explained to him that MA owned the trademark to that character name and suggested whatever he was smoking he stop. He boldly told me that he would create a P.R. nightmare for me if we did not “Cut the kid a check.”

“So let me get this straight. I pay someone to stop you from causing Motown a public relations problem over a trademark we own.”

Yep, that’s what he meant.

“Fuck you.” I cheerfully said with a pretty good chuckle. “Tell that kid to lawyer up and I’ll make sure he knows you were the one to clue me in.”

C L I C K.

Never heard a word from him on that matter.

Even if I wanted to cave like a little bitch when I had no reason in the world to do so, the amount of time and effort dealing with this would be a needless waste of resources and resources mean money and losing money in corporate America is bad but wasting money on a non issue?

I may have been shot.

What, pry tell, does this have to do with Steranko and his importance to the comics industry? I’ll tell you.

A couple of days later I get a call from Jim Steranko.

What follows is the word for word exchange between Jim and I. This I know because I have journals going back to high school. The time of the entry is 2:20 pm. That means I did not wait to get home to write about it.

 “I’ll get to the point, I created a character called Stealth some time ago and I read recently that you are launching a book about a character with the same name. I’m sure my character predates yours and I call on you as a gentleman to step back from that name.”

“Take it. It’s yours.”

How important is Steranko to comics?

His impact in the field commands and deserves that kind of respect.

He’s that important.

WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

THURSDAY AFTERNOON: Tweaks!

 

Michael Davis: Late? I’ll Give You Late!

davis-art-131224-150x168-6521812December 7th 2013, a date that will live in infamy, the United Parcel Service was suddenly and deliberately attacked by its own ground and air forces and soon beat themselves into a very dark place a place made of their own stupidity.

It’s Christmas. The time of love, peace and goodwill towards men.

Mike Gold is going to kill me.

I’m sending this in on Monday night, which for me on the west coast is 9 pm (ish) but for him it’s after midnight on his east coast. No, I did not wait until the last minute because I forgot or had nothing to write.

I waited for the last minute hoping to hear good news from my boy, Denys Cowan. UPS had promised good news regarding the disappearance of his most cherished pieces of art.

None came.

Imagine, if you will, being in love with the one person you have dreamt of all your life.

Imagine the love of your life leaving you for someone else. Imagine the hurt and pain you will have to endure knowing that he or she is lost to you forever. You tell yourself you will get over it and there will be other loves, other moments indeed other milestones but the love you lost was the love of your life.

Gone. Forever. But…

One day you get a call. It’s the love of your life. They have a glorious surprise for you. No, another is no longer keeping them away from you, they won’t say why or how but they will say when they will see you again and it’s tomorrow!

Tomorrow comes and it’s today!

No lover, nothing.

It’s Christmas and you want to believe the non-committal message you received (not from the love of your life but a third party) saying they are still coming just wait.

Then you think…wait for what?

All you have been told is to expect a glorious surprise. That does not mean they are coming back to you. It could mean any of a million different things.

It could mean that of the 29 pieces of irreplaceable art they are sending nine totally fucked up pieces and expect you to be grateful.

It’s Christmas, Denys his son and I started a sort of tradition of going to the mall for last minute before Christmas shopping.

That didn’t happen this year.

No. Instead UPS continues to think they are dealing with someone and something they can “handle.”

Pity.

I bare UPS no ill will. They are a global zillion-dollar mega company. Denys and I want nothing but the return of his art.

But we have been told all sorts of things (after they got served by a well thought out and predicted outrage from thousands), which, like today just, have not rung true.

UPS is moving mountains (now) to make this right. Problem is I think, they think right is something they decide.

It’s not.

Right, the only right is the return of every single piece of Denys Cowan art in the same condition it left.

Anything less is an attempt to replace the love of his artistic life with some skank gold digging bitch that’s keeps asking what Brown can do for her.

WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

 

Michael Davis: Haters Gotta Hate!

davis-art-131119-150x133-5073950From the very second we announced Milestone in 1992 to today, there have been those who simply hate us.

Chief among our haters are a small but vocal group of black comic book creators. Back in the good old days we were just called house niggers and we were hated because DC Comics owned us.

The fact that Milestone was never, not 20 years ago and not today, owned by DC Comics is irrelevant. It’s simply ignored by those who want to say we have somehow sold out the black race by any association with any white company.

I never got that.

Most successful black entertainment companies have some association with or are flat out owned by white companies. If the product is a good one and is focused on the African-American consumer I don’t see the problem.

Now, white backed black companies that market to poor urban black consumers products such as spinning rims, $200.00 sneakers and 40oz beers, promoting these and other items as lifestyle must haves to young black kids… now that I can see black people having a issue with.

I can see calling a white owned black company a bunch of house niggers if they were producing products that underscore a thug lifestyle as desirable.

But if a white owned black company was producing worthwhile products for the black community why would anyone call them house niggers? Why would any black person call them house niggers?

Milestone isn’t owned by a white company.

We produce positive comics and television animation featuring African-Americans role models not seen enough in pop culture. They are good stories well told and considered among some of the best comics ever produced by some.

Yet some just consider us house niggers because they think (wrongly) a white company owns us.

Forget the stories we are telling. Forget the excellence in the work. We are house niggers because a white company owns us.

Except we aren’t owned by a white company, but even if were why call the work we do the labor of house niggers?

I just don’t get that.

We’re an independent black owned company that has produced work that 20 years after our debut and 16 years after we ceased monthly publishing is still held in the highest of regard.

Our television show Static Shock has been on the air somewhere non-stop since 2000. Milestone has a worldwide audience and a dedicated fan base like no other.

The biggest pop culture event in the world just honored us with a celebration and bestowed on us one of the most significant awards in comics.

But to some black comic book creators we will always be house niggers.

OK. I get that. Haters got to hate. Hate us, hate whitey, and hate anything and everything they are not or can be.

In the 20 years since Milestone came to be we have never, and I’ll say it again, never attacked any black creator or company. But for all of our two decades we were and still are the target of countless attacks and outright lies.

I just don’t get it.

We never attacked anyone we rarely responded and when we did our response was; ‘there’s room for everybody.’ That was not just Milestone’s company line we believed it then we believe it now.

Recently a black creator of some renown wrote that he believed Milestone may have been given his companies’ business plan and used that to create the plan for Milestone.

That did not happen. It couldn’t have happened. It was impossible.

Milestone was already in the stores months before the date he assumed we stole his plan.

He has since acknowledged he was wrong in that regard. His creation and talent and are both still considered brilliant not just by me but every surviving member of Milestone. Our partner who did not survive loved his work as much if not more than the rest of us.

I’m not mentioning the work or creator because that sad chapter between his camp and Milestone is closed and I don’t want to give the impression they are the reason I’m writing this.

They are not.

Some other black creators are now saying Milestone not only stole the business plan but Milestone itself was “inspired” by and only came to be because of the idea and hard work of another black publisher.

So Denys Cowan’s idea wasn’t his idea and our business plan wasn’t our plan.

So now we are house niggers, lairs and thieves.

OK. I’ll be your house nigger if that’s how you define house niggers in your world. In your world I’ll be that. Since I don’t live in said world, what the do I care?

However, in no one’s world will Milestone be anyone’s lairs or thieves.

So, haters, think what you will. Say what you will. Believe what you will.

That’s on you.

I’ve no idea why you hate us the way you do but have at it. Continue to voice your hate in your forums, your on-line chats, your next hate Milestone meeting, any and all public and private social media.

But listen to this very carefully. Whatever you say, just be prepared to prove it. I’ll say that again, whatever you say, be prepared to prove it.

Be prepared to prove we are lairs. Be prepared to prove we are thieves.

Because sure as shit you continue to slander us you will be asked to prove it. Stick with calling us house niggers that you won’t have to prove. It’s laughable to us anyhow so feel free.

Slandering me and my Milestone partners as lairs and thieves, that’s no laughing matter to me. We are neither and continuing to say we are you will be asked to prove it. That question will come in a targeted legitimate onslaught. So unforgiving will the correspondence asking for your proof be, I shudder to think about it.

Shut up, put up, or pay up.

I’m fed up.

WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

 

Michael Davis: New York, New York. It’s a Hell Of A Con.

davis-art-131015-150x121-5188201I had every intention of attending the New York Comic Con. My plans were made months ago. I was looking forward to seeing friends and family; I am a New Yorker after all.

I’ve avoided the New York con over the last few years for a number of reasons, chief among them is they seem to have forgotten all the help I gave them some years ago when they were not as big as they are now.

I hate that shit.

I hate when people want something from you they treat you a certain way but when they don’t (think) they need you any more they treat you like they don’t know you.

Another reason I have avoided the NYC Con is the Javits Center where the event is held. The Javits staff has no respect for comics, geeks or those they consider crazy ass people in costume.

The last time I was there a few years ago (admittedly this may have changed) if you left the convention center and wanted to return you had to go to the back of the line of people who had yet to get in.

So if you waited 45 minutes to get in you would have had to wait on the very same line as if you had not already gained admission, paid your money, got your pass and considered yourself safe from the New York City cold ass weather.

No, you geeky nerd, get to the back of the line. The fans are not the priority at the NYC Con-not by a long shot at least they were not the last time I was there.

Like I said, that may have all changed and if it did-I could give a shit.

If the people at the NYC Con think I give a fuck about representing them in the best light they have another thing coming. The moment someone from the con picks up the phone and apologizes for treating me like shit after I hooked them up then I will more than happy to consider what my loud ass voice says about them.

Anywho, like I was saying I had every intention of going to the NYC Con. In fact I was to be part of a big announcement there. That announcement and seeing my friends and family were more than enough reason for me to brave the Javits Center and if not to forgive at least forget (for the moment) how the NYC Con has treated me.

As luck would have it the announcement was postponed and because it was raining it started to pour and I had to deal with a family issue. So the agonizing decision was made to skip the NYC show.

That unbearable choice was made in about 30 seconds. OK, it was made in about one second, if you don’t count the 29 seconds it took me wipe the silly grin off my face.

Yes, truth be told I still could have made it on Saturday. But since the con is over on Sunday that would have been not a lot of time so what’s the point?

But…

If the same scenario but instead of the NYC Con the venue was Dragon Con or the San Diego Comic Con International (you know, the real Comic Con) I most likely would have been in Atlanta or San Diego on that Saturday in a heartbeat.

Or maybe not.

I’ll tell you this. It would really have bothered me not to make either of those conventions even if it was only for one day. That’s what the NYC Con has yet to learn. How to get people to want to go not because it’s a comic book convention but because it’s the NYC Comic Book Convention.

Once they learn that, I’m in. Hell, if someone I know can tell me they have learned that or that they are treating fans better I’m in. It’s all about respect and it seems like they don’t have any.

Soooo until then I’ll just keep pointing stuff out like how fans and professionals alike were pissed when they found out the NYC Con hijacked Twitter accounts to post excited tweets about the convention – it included links to its official Facebook page.

All done without anyone’s permission.

Like I said. It’s about respect.

WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

 

Michael Davis: A Hard Day’s Night

davis-art-131001-4365445When I was around six, I was asked what kind of haircut I wanted.

This was big deal because up until then I had no say over anything in my life. This was my very first grown up decision and I had to weigh it carefully.

Even at six I knew this was a life changing moment. My mother told me to think about it while we were on the bus going to the barber shop. We lived in South Jamaica Queens at the time and except for church there was no place, no place as honored in the black community.

For me there were no two places I hated going to more than church and the barbershop.

What was there to like at the barbershop?

It smelled horrible from all the cigarette and cigar smoke mingled with the distinct smell of snuff being spat into a spittoon. For all of you not familiar with snuff, it’s a type of tobacco. People would put that gross shit in their mouths between their gums and lips and suck on it until the flavor was gone then spit it out before they popped in another jaw full.

Gross with a capital GROSS.

I know some people still do that and with all due respect-that shit is freakin GROSS.

A trip to the barber shop for me was a hellish journey to a smoke filled, snuff smelling spit fest. Oh,and least I forget, when snuff is spat it’s a dark brown / almost black liquid which had a good chance of missing the spittoon and landing on the six-year old sitting in the barber’s chair at the time.

That happened…to me…a lot.

So yeah, the barber shop was horrible and in retrospect, I must have liked church better. At church I was merely threatened with Hell if I wasn’t good. At the barbershop I was spat upon with black ooze, strapped to a chair while some creature took a motorized knife to my head.

The day I walked into the barbershop ready to answer my mom’s question as to what kind of haircut I wanted that particular Hell became Heaven to me for I was no longer a child I was no longer a kid, I was, heck, I don’t know what I was but I know I had respect.

Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better, it did. The barber did not; I repeat did not sit me in the damn kiddy contraption that boosts the height of the child.

Nope.

Instead I sat (aided only by a telephone book which in my mind was no aid at all) in the barber’s chair all by myself.

But wait, there’s more!

When asked by the barber what kind of haircut was I to receive my mother told him to…wait for it…wait for it…wait for it…ask me!

At that moment I knew what I was, I was a man! A fact that was underscored by the barber when he looked at me (with what I could tell was a new respect) and asked, “Well little man, what kind of haircut would you like?”

The day kept getting better. Why? Because the entire barbershop, that to me looked like hundreds of people, heard him ask me and then heard my answer…“I’d like a Beatles haircut.”

The barbershop erupted in laughter…and just like that I was back in Hell.

“Little man, you’re black, didn’t anyone tell you?”

More laughter.

I knew I was black, but why that should stop me from getting a Beatles haircut was beyond me. So like the man I was I asked and then the laughter became physically painful to me and I started to cry.

Never again did I ask for a Beatles haircut and, in fact, I started asking questions before I made statements or asked certain things.

Yeah, I was six, but I wasn’t stupid.

What, pry tell does any of this has to do with comics?

Many, and I mean many “artists” have submitted work for a show I’m curating. Some of the art is just bad that’s OK compared to people just not reading or worst even not understand what they read in the call for entries instructions.

I’m just sick to death of aspiring artists and writers who refuse to do anything but draw or write. Their work, attitudes and professionalism need major overhauls and no matter how many times or how many ways you try and tell them they still assume they can get work in the fucking comic book industry.

Or they assume they can send you entire comic books (drawn in ball point pen) when the instructions call for no more than five submissions.

Learn your goddamn craft, people. Learn what you can and cannot do. Until you do you have as much chance of getting in this show or having a career in comics as you do getting a Beatles haircut in the hood.

WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

THURSDAY AFTERNOON: Tweeks!

 

Michael Davis: It’s Not Personal, It’s Business

davis-art-130924-150x120-5128234I ran this on my Michael Davis World website. I was writing another version for ComicMix because the response was so strong. Then like an idiot (which I’ve been more often than not) I realized I should just run what I wrote as is.

So…

The following email was sent to my Linked-In mailbox:

Hey Davis, I’m a comic creator trying to break into the industry was hoping you could help a brotha out with that my big fan of your work and bring back The Crush!

I am one hundred percent sure the writer wrote and sent this email with positive intentions and respect. But as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

This certainly did.

Here’s a hard and cold fact, many young African Americans are under the impression that being black gives them a pass on professionalism. The case can be made that my less than professional attitude in my public persona gave this young man leave to address me in such a way.

Err, nope.

My public persona is my real life persona. In real life I have a certain swagger and attitude that I portray to the world. That’s just who I am. In anyone’s life there is a time and a place for everything in my professional dealings there is never and I repeat never a time not to be professional.

There is no other way to say this; anyone who thinks they “know” you because you project a certain image to the world is most likely in for a rude awakening. Even worst-they may never get that rude awakening because emails and any other inquiries will simply be ignored.

I don’t do that.

Any chance I get to enlighten someone as to the error of their ways I do so, up to a point. I’m not wasting any time on someone I give advice to and they keep defending that ghetto bullshit way of thinking.

The following is my reply to the young man. As of yet I’ve heard nothing back from him in the two week since I’ve sent this:

I say this with love, my brother. “Hey Davis” is not a level I operate on. That is not just unprofessional, it’s disrespectful. The rest of your email was poorly worded as well.

Now considering you sent this to a Linked-In, a professional networking site, you are very lucky my executive assistant didn’t see this first. If he had your access to me through this site or anywhere else would have been terminated.

That said, I sense your enthusiasm and as such I’m going to give you a pass.

If you would like to send me another email which states clearly what it is you do (artist, writer) what it is you would like to talk to me about (portfolio, writing samples) and what sort of advice you are seeking (craft critique, career opportunities) I will see rather or not I can help you in any way-IF you have the talent and motivation that warrants my help. If your work is in presented in the same manner as your email then we have nothing to talk about.

I hope this response is received by you as what it is, a reality check. This is in no way a put down.

‘Who wrote this letter? Stevie Wonder?” That’s a put down.

I took time out of my day to write this. This is not a form letter; this is I writing to you with respect for your enthusiasm and a desire to see you succeed. If you think that’s something anyone in a position to help you will do then you have a seriously unrealistic view of the entertainment industry and you are not ready for a professional career within it.

Calling me “Davis” is just ghetto. If you were my boy and we were back in my hood South Jamaica or Rockaway Queens you could call me “Davis” all day long. You’re not my boy. I don’t know you…yet

You know what they call me when I walk into a meeting? Michael, Mr. Davis or Dr. Davis depending on whom I’m meeting and why I’m meeting with them.

“Davis.” Come on man!

There’s a saying, “you get one chance to make a first impression. “Well, I just gave you another. What you do with it is up to you my friend.

Again, I say this with love.

I hope I hear back from the young man and I hope if I can, to help him. That’s my plan but its up to him and like I said earlier, the best laid plans…

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold

THURSDAY MORNING: Dennis O’Neil

THURSDAY AFTERNOON: The Debut Of… The Tweeks!

 

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