My first comic book was a Sailor Moon single issue. I discovered
Sailor Moon not through television (as I grew up in a house without cable) but
at a small Japanese gift store down the street from my Grandmother’s house.
They carried more trading cards and holographic stickers than they did single
issues, but that was irrelevant. If it was Sailor Moon, they had it. Slowly, I
became addicted. I hoarded every cent of my allowance for those comic books.
Every time I raked the leaves, or took out the trash, or made my dad’s lunch,
it was for comics. Or specifically, Sailor Moon single issues.
I needed to know what happened NEXT, and to that end, I needed an
actual comic book shop. Like many of its kind in the 1990's, the only comic
book shop in my small town was…unfortunate. The Treasure Trove was little more
than a hovel with cardboard covered windows and a peeling paint job. The
proprietor was a man missing too many teeth, perpetually hunched over a dusty
display case of baseball cards. But they carried Sailor Moon singles, and Star
Wars trading cards, so I kept coming back with whatever allowance I had
accrued. One day without warning, the Treasure Trove closed. This led to
roaming chain bookstores that primarily carried collected volumes. The
collections were more expensive than singles, but since they were bound and
more than twenty-two pages in length, they bore a striking resemblance to
actual books, which made it much easier to trick my parents into buying one for
me on occasion (thanks Mom & Dad! See also: my darling Grandma).
Some time later I joined the Anime Club, and met a boy who would
be my very first boyfriend. One thing lead to another and on an excursion to
Berkeley, we stepped into another dim comic book shop at the end of Telegraph
Avenue. Said boyfriend, sweet thing that he was, bought me issues of both
Skelebunnies and Gloom Cookie. But they weren’t for reading. They were for
cutting up to make collages. “I can’t wait to see what you do with these,” he
grinned as he handed me a little plastic bag full of comic books.
Flash forward to me, scissors in hand, destroying an issue of
Gloom Cookie in the name of art. It was then that I realized that it was
actually interesting, and I needed more. I was on a mission, and that mission
led me to a little comic book shop called Dr. Comics & Mr. Games in
Oakland. Suffice to say that Dr. Comics was nothing like the eerie, yawning
comic book shop of my childhood. It was well lit, well organized, and well
staffed, and each and every staff person still seemed to have all of their
teeth. The boy at the counter showed me where they stocked Gloom Cookie (and
many other Slave Labor Graphics titles, if I wanted to have a look), and when I
went to make my purchase, he slipped a flimsy little promo issue into my bag.
“This title’s a shop favorite,” he explained. “I hope you like it
too.”
That flimsy little promo issue was HellBoy, and it ignited an
obsession in less than 20 pages. I have been buying comics ever since. Little
did I know that years later it would later lead to love at first page view upon
seeing a photo of a friend of a friend, wearing a HellBoy sweatshirt. That
friend of a friend was Eric Royal, who would become my husband.
But I digress. This is what has kept me coming back for more:
1)
A GOOD SHOP! Essential, really. Since that first day at Dr. Comics
& Mr. Games, it has been my establishment of choice for fulfilling all of
my comic book needs. Well kempt shop and staff with a great attitude. In
addition to their excellent selection, they also carry games, toys & bacon
airfresheners. Seriously. Give them your money.
2)
The opportunity to meet and follow the work of specific creators.
3)
People to share it all with.
Comics have brought so much joy into my life. There is such joy in
knowing that anything is possible with words and pictures.
