Broken Frontier

It’s been three full weeks since the special guest lecture I put together, and, in a way, I’ve been suffering from something similar to a post-partum depression since the event. This thing I worked on for months—planning, e-mailing, advertising—it was over in a matter of hours. Paul Hornschemeier, Jeffrey Brown, and Matt Kindt arrived at noon that Friday all those weeks ago and had left town by three o’clock. In a flash the lecture was over, the signs and bulletin board displays announcing their visit had come down, and their words were little more than memories.
To battle this empty feeling, in the weeks since the lecture I’ve been trying to come to some kind of estimation of the success of the event. The major question on my mind has been "All the work I put into the lecture—was it worth it in the end? Was it all in vain, or did something good come from it?" If the answer to that question was yes, something  constructive could be drawn from the lecture, then I felt like I could let go of my feelings of dejection and move on to my next advocacy opportunity.

The problem is that achievements can be measured in many ways. Should I, for example, judge the success of the event by sheer numbers, using the numbers of students in attendance as some kind of validation of my accomplishment? If so, I’d say the event was indeed successful. The previous year we had around 80 students show up, whereas this year we had over 120, and increase of over 50%. The attendees this year included two high school field trips of approximately thirty total students, as well as my graphic novel class and various other students who had been bribed into coming with the thought of extra credit. One teen who showed up had skipped school that day to attend the lecture, and another came with his parents to ask questions of the pros on the possibilities of making a career of comics someday. Overall, attendance was fantastic, so I cannot be disappointed in how the lecture turned out in that regard.

If we instead choose to base our success on the almighty dollar, I believe we still end up with a victory. After the lecture itself, we had set up a table in the foyer where the guys could sell some books. Judging by the fact that most of the crowd hung out in the foyer to talk to them and did not disperse until almost forty-five minutes after the lecture had ended, I would venture a guess that they came away from the lecture in the black. Each of the guys sold several books—perhaps not quite as many as at a normal signing, but the audience was made up primarily of college students after all. Even those who did not buy a copy that day asked the guys then (and me in the days since) how to go about purchasing the books online later. There too, then, could I consider the event a triumph.

Finally, I can evaluate the success of the lecture using the comments the students themselves made to me in their written responses to the event. Admittedly, a few wrote to say that they left the auditorium that day no more likely to read a comic than when they had entered, but they still felt somewhat enlightened on what comics really were. One  student quite eloquently wrote to me that "Before attending the lecture, I had a quite narrow mindset on what a comic book really was. I fit the description of the common skeptic who believes comic books are jam packed full of superheroes and shallow plots with colorful artwork incorporated in." Another student admitted that her entire experience with comics was that they were "something people read for amusement—like in the daily newspaper. It turns out I was wrong."

Many students were intrigued by the diversity of comics, both in the types of stories they tell and in the formats they use. They came to the conclusion that, with many types of comics out there, there might be some comics out there that they might enjoy reading. One girl stated, in regards to Jeffrey Brown’s work, that she "liked the idea that his comic books were all based on his relationships. I think that it could be something that everyone could enjoy," while another girl said, "I did not expect them to write about things that we college students could relate to so easily. I think when that happens, one becomes more interested in hearing what they have to say."

Finally, many of the students were surprised by the amount of thought and work the lecturers put into their work. For the first time, they seemed to be considering comics an artform. One girl stated, "I believe it takes an enormous amount of discipline and self-motivation in order to do what comic writers do." Another student, this one a male, stated that he  "would never want to make a career out of being an artist. It seems like all three struggle to make a living at what they do."

In the end, it’s difficult to gauge exactly how many of these students really got something from the speakers. Some students said they were intrigued, but were they really or were they simply sucking up to their teacher, writing what they thought I wanted to hear? Several students said that they would have bought copies of the books but they didn’t have money. Were these students really broke or simply blowing smoke? Perhaps it was all just a show, but I remain optimistic. I have told my classes in the weeks since the lecture that there are copies of each of the lecturers’ books now available in the library for them to read. My hope is that weeks from now I can go to the library and find them all checked out.