In between sneezes today (I am perpetually at war with the natural world), I've been podering buttons. Last year we got a buttonmaker and pounded out a mountain of giveaway buttons for conventions. They did well; there were fewer than five left of several hundred last time. So I'm doodling and noodling ideas for the new buttons. Plus we're updating the look of some of the website this weekend. This is what I get for making sure everyone has a script to work on. Ah well.
Today the
Book of the Year Awards from Foreword Magazine are announced in NYC at Book Expo America. I don't know how fast the info will get out there, but MAN IS VOX: Paingels by Coach Carter and myself is up for an award in the Graphic Novel category. There's been
some talk on the Comics Journal Message Board about the awards, as they require a 60 dollar entry fee. Quite a lot of book awards do this to avoid full-on entry bombardment; but it's a foreign concept in the comics awards realm (although anyone who's applied for a Xeric knows something about the costs of application--they don't have a fee to apply, but they want a lot of stuff). We entered Paingels out of pure curiosity about the process of such awards.
Awards are funny things to begin with. Awards mean media attention, are a fine excuse for a press release, and feel pretty good to get. Back in my teen years, I was a DeMolay. Now DeMolays have their rituals and what not, and it's all spelled out in what was then a little beige paperback called "The ritual". There were no goats or swords or eye of newt involved, but a lot of very specific activity, speech and footwork. The main purpose of the ritual in the little town I was in was to Dispel Boredom (3rd level spell, so you had to work at it!); it was also the basis of worldwide competition.
Every year there are state Conclaves where DeMolay chapters gather to compete in ritual competition. Teams of 13-18 years old boys compete so see who can do the rituals perfectly. But there is room for interpretation in these rituals, especially concerning footwork. But there are assumptions and long-held beliefs and arguments over coffee between Chapter Dads about them. So if you do something different, try to interpret things differently, you can get smacked in the judging. There are two judges who sit with a copy of the words of the ritual and dock five points for every word you miss, skip or garble. There are two footwork judges who keep their eyes locked on your Hush Puppies, and they can be even more savage. Then there's two interpretation judges, because the purpose of all this rigidity is to promote originality in expression.
The end result is a baffling competition with arcane rules, odd prejudices that can't be predicted or ignored, and frankly a lot of tension. Book awards remind me of this. But Conclaves were a lot of fun. And there's nothing like winning one, especially when you have no idea at all if you could win or not.
One more Conclave story: I competed in my first Conclave when I was 13, and won a special award for Best Preceptor. There are a lot of preceptors, so it was a big deal. My precept, the virtue I espoused so well? Filial Love. There was an odd moment when they announced the winner of this particular medal--see, with all the rituals, these are ceremonies that are done to someone. You need a person. Well, in competition, you mime the existence of this person, fiat persona. And when you say the subject's name where required in the ritual? Since the forties that name has been...John Thomas. So imagine the awards emcee seeing this on the sheet, thinking some wiseass did it. After some quick conferring, they announced the Best Preceptor as...John Thomas.
And now you know the rest...of the story.
If you've looked things over and decided you want to come see us at Wizard World Chicago in August, just pop on by Artist's Alley and look for the setup at left. This is a quick design sketch by Jer that we have made real. We'll have shirts for sale, button sets, all sorts of goodies.
