Newsletter #33: Beginnings
How many Ryan Stegmans does it take to screw in a lightbulb? It actually doesn't matter how many because they're all too stupid to do it, even combined.
“Comics’ Bad Boy (bad artist, person)” Ryan Stegman has been “tweeting shit” again. It’s a little sad, but I get it. He’s riddled with insecurity and unattractive features, and those unattractive features just feeds the insecurity. What a horrible loop I wouldn’t wish upon anyone! But, alas, it is what it is, so we simply must tolerate Ryan and, honestly, pray for him.
This reminds me though: Several months ago I auctioned off an “erotic short story” for a comic book retailers charity, but the task of writing it proved more difficult than I thought during these non-erotic times. So, instead of writing about sexy things, I pivoted and wrote about the opposite of that: our friend Ryan. I debuted the story on his self-fan podcast, but since then I re-worked parts to make it even better, for a better audience: mine.
NOBODY ASKED YOU T—
So, without further ado
LIKE LITERALLY NO ONE A—
The tale I call…
THE BEGINNING BOY
By Chip Zdarsky
Our story begins, as most great stories do, at San Diego Comic Con. I was a young creator, freshly at Marvel Comics, turning one of their D-list characters, Howard The Duck, into a C-list character with remarkable ease. I looked across the convention floor and saw a comics creator behind a table, being berated by a young-ish man.
That, I thought, would never do.
So after posing for several photos with fans (because I respect the fans), I politely excused myself with my trademark smile and cinnamon scented belch, and went to see what the commotion was.
It took me a while to realize that the creator was Mark Waid. Being a fan of his strong, powerful creations, I didn’t expect him to look like a turtle who just ate a jalapeno popper. He was also crying, begging the youngish man to back away. I sauntered up, asking what the problem is.
“I just want to break into comics!” screamed the young man. He was a weird sort. Tall and lean, but whatever fat or muscle he DID have on his body kind of slid down along his massive frame, like he could only gain weight downward.
“This man is a living legend” I said, making quote marks around the word ‘living.’ “So show him some respect!” As I ripped through this mystery man, Mark Waid picked up a hot dog that had tumbled to the convention floor during the altercation. He whispered “I’m so sorry” to the con dog and started eating it again, as if apologizing to it somehow made it clean?
“I’m—I’m just so damn frustrated!” screamed the man, kicking the hot dog straight out of Mark Waid’s slippery, glistening fingers. Mark barked like a seal, which is somehow cute when a seal does it.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know how you feel. We all want to break into comics. To be the chosen few to handle classic characters like Green Lantern, the other Green Lantern, Captain Marvel, the other Captain Marvel, and reap the benefits, like a tenuous paycheque, or the berating of fans. It’s … beautiful.”
The man looked at me, slack-jawed. Like he’d just found his long-lost, much more attractive brother.
“Hi. M-my name’s Ryan Stegman.”
We shook hands. His big moist mitt enveloped mine. It was extremely soft, and, even though my face was nowhere near it, I just knew it fuckin’ reeked.
“Good to meet you, Ryan,” I lied. “So, you want to be a comic artist?”
“More than anything in the world, mister!” screamed the young Stegman, spittle flying everywhere. “But the problem is, I can’t draw! And, more importantly, I don’t want to put in the work to get better!”
“Fair,” I said. There was something about this young man that I took pity on. Maybe it was because he was so very, very sad. Maybe it was his amazing height. I knew that, according to studies, tall white men should be successful. The fact that he wasn’t just didn’t seem right. He must have had so many other hidden things working against him.
Maybe it was all those things that made me want to help him. Or maybe it was the wet fifty dollar bill he slipped into my hand.
“Look, maybe I can help,” I said. “Just a second.”
At that moment, Stan Lee was walking by. He was mobbed by more fans than even I. But those fans parted, like a stinky sea parting before San Diego Moses, as I walked toward “The Man.”
“Chip!” shouted Stan. “So wonderful to see you again!” We embraced.
“Same, old friend. Same.”
We exchanged a long look. I could see in his eyes the pride he felt, knowing what great things lay before me, knowing his creations were in capable, loving hands. And he could see in my eyes a confidence that, yes, I would take care of his creations and respect them, because by respecting his creations, I would respect him, which meant the world to me.
Just then Stan gagged a little. I was about to do the Zdarsky maneuver (a better version of the heimlich maneuver), thinking he was choking on a hot dog, but that wasn’t it at all.
“What’s that godawful smell?” Stan cried.
“Ah, that’s—”
“I’m Ryan Stegman, sir!” Ryan put forth his hand for a handshake, but I batted it away just in time.
“I’m sorry, Stan,” I said. “This is a … young … artist who wants to work for Marvel. He’s … not ready to tackle the big characters, but I was thinking maybe someone with no real face to speak of … whose muscles defied rational anatomy. Something in an entirely black costume so he could hide his many errors with gobs of his stale ink. I’m thinking … Venom.”
“Is that one of mine?” Stan asked.
“No, sir” I replied.
“Then sure.”
The speed with which Ryan pissed himself hearing that affirmation surely broke some sort of record in a disgusting spin-off Guinness book. Stan moved away quickly, as did all the onlookers, leaving me and Ryan and a carpet stain the size of a child’s inflatable pool.
“My GOD, mister! That was amazing! Who was that man? Mr. Marvel?”
Of course he wouldn’t know who Stan Lee was.
“Sure, Ryan. That was ‘Mr. Marvel.’ You have a shot now, okay? A shot at being a real Marvel artist. I don’t want you to blow this.”
“Oh, I won’t, mister! I’m gonna devote all my free time to this when I’m not on twitter looking for affirmation or watching reality TV about sexy singles or having my many daily baths or yelling at kids who aren’t mine while they play sports or paying my wife to stay with me or snacking on Doritos that have been crushed and re-formed to look like carrots or takin’ big ol’ shits or whizzin’ like there’s no tomorrow or of course sleeping 16 hours a day!”
Oh, god, what have I done? Usually I’m supernaturally gifted at making excellent decisions (see: my career), but this could go horribly wrong and ruin my reputation in the industry! I needed to save this somehow.
“Uh, hey, Ryan. I’ll tell you what. When your first issue of Venom comes out, I’ll order 200,000 copies in order to give you the illusion of a hit. I have a lot of money so it’s not a big deal for me.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Ryan didn’t even thank me, but I couldn’t hold it against him. He clearly had no upbringing to speak of, as evidenced by how he would mutter “fuck off mom I’m big now” every time a woman would walk by.
Ryan turned and stumbled away, the enormity of what I just did for him not coming close to settling past his incredibly thick skull. As he started to disappear into the crowds I heard him say, “I wonder if DC is hiring too.”
It’s been a couple of years since that day and I don’t regret a thing. I shudder to think what could have become of poor Ryan if he’d left that convention without a job. And I also managed to accrue 200,000 copies of Venom #1, which I give out on Hallowe’en to kids once the candy runs out.
I look at Ryan on twitter now and marvel at how far he’s come, showing a certain amount of life satisfaction from the thousands of Russian bots that follow him on a social media site. I’m glad I stopped him from murdering Mark Waid. And I’m glad to call him an “online friend.”
WOW. UH, THANK YOU FOR THAT
You’re welcome.
And hey! I forgot to mention these, but TWO collections of my Marvel work have come out over the last couple of weeks!
X-MEN + FANTASTIC FOUR! A dream book with some of my favourite characters and big Marvel stuff! Drawn by the legendary team of Terry and Rachel Dodson with magnificent colours by Laura Martin! If you like X-Men or the Fantastic Four or maybe even me, you should buy it!
DAREDEVIL VOL. 4! My god, this was the big one. Marco, Francesco and Jorge help me bring Matt out into the light in the biggest fight of his life. This wraps our first year on the title and sets the stage for even wilder moments. Get it!
I don’t have anything out this week, but I gotta say, if you’re heading to your comic shop SAFELY, then ADVENTUREMAN #4 has to be on your list!
I’ve worked with all of the creators on this title and I’m furious to say that this is some of their best work ever. The book is fun and big and gorgeous and everyone should read it! Not to mention the fact that they keep super-sizing the story at no extra cost for YOU, the READER!
SPEAKING OF “SUPER-SIZING” THIS IS A REALLY LONG NEWSLETTER MAN
I know! But I always have trouble ending them!
JUST STOP
Okay!