Growing up in the 1960s, I was a diehard DC Comics fan. I was also a fan of Marvel and Charlton and Gold Key and Warren and the handful of other publishers than sharing space on America’s comic book spinner racks, but it was DC Comics that stood front and center in my heart. DC’s comics were slick and beautifully produced and, more importantly, they were home to the world’s greatest superheroes: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman (the only superheroes to survive in their own ongoing titles from the 1940s Golden Age straight through the Comics Wasteland of the 1950s), Aquaman, Green Arrow (who likewise survived the near-death of the superhero genre, albeit as back-up features), the Flash, Green Lantern, the Atom, Adam Strange (just a few of characters which helped jump start the new heroic age of comics that exploded in the 1960s), and many more.

I don’t recall exactly when I realized that there were, somewhere, people who actually produced the comic books that I devoured by the dozens off the rack at the cigar store on Ralph Avenue or the candy store on Remsen Avenue and Avenue B, but by 1964 or so, I was creating my own comic book stories, written and drawn (badly in both instances) on lined loose-leaf paper and in composition books. I suppose it was Marvel Comics, which featured creator credits on page one of every story, that did the trick. Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Don Heck, Dick Ayers, Sam Rosen et al were credited with different aspects of the creation of those stories. Writer. Artist. Inker. Letterer. While math was never my forte, it was easy enough here to put two and two together and see that making comic books was an actual job.

And I wanted it!

I knew I’d never make it as an artist, but coming up with stories was easy for me. I didn’t show these stories to anyone because I was fairly certain they sucked, but I knew I could do it. By the late 1960s I had also discovered fellow comic book fans and comics fandom. By 1971, along with friends Paul Levitz and Steve Gilary, I was about as deeply immersed in said fandom as one could get and, thanks to the exposure afforded me by the fanzines we published (The Comic Reader and Etcetera), more determined than ever to make the jump from fan to professional.

In 1975 that determination lead me to meeting the first of three editors to whom I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Another of those three, DC’s Julius Schwartz, had already left his mark on me through the insanely great comic books he oversaw there, including the aforementioned superhero age jumpstarting Flash, Green Lantern, Atom, Adam Strange, and other titles he edited. I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say (and even if it is, it’s my opinion anyway) that Julie was probably the most influential editor in the history of the medium. His (at the time) thinking man’s approach to comic book story telling was the foundation upon which later editors like Stan Lee were able to build an entirely new direction for comics.

But before I met Julie, there was Wally Green. In late 1974, after about a year of ghostwriting for friends who had proceeded me into the business, I screwed up my courage and sent off a batch of ghost story plots and a couple of sample scripts to Gold Key Comics, which at the time was publishing such anthology titles as The Twilight Zone and Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery. Wally got in touch with me and invited me up to Gold Key’s New York offices to discuss my submissions (I have a vague recollection of them being on Park or Lexington Avenue, but that’s neither here nor there). Like their location, my memory of the exact conversation is lost in the haze of the last forty years, but Wally sat me down and, story idea by story idea, went through my submissions and explained exactly why he wasn’t going to buy them. He explained that there was nothing inherently wrong with any of them, just why they weren’t right for the Gold Key books he edited, and he hoped I would continue submitting stories to him.

Wherever those offices were located, I left them walking on air. I was two blocks away before I realized that I had been soundly rejected…but it didn’t matter. Wally Green, a professional comic book editor, had treated me, a 19-year old wannabe, with the same professional courtesy he would extend to his own stable of writers. And for me, as insecure about my nascent abilities as it got, it was a gift from the Muses. Instead of the standard rejection form letter that I’m sure most editors would have sent out and which would, likely, have left me crushed, I had been given an open, honest, face-to-face critique that was, far from being dismissive, an affirmation and encouragement of whatever talent I showed.

Thank you, Wally Green! You were, and remain in my heart, a mensch among men! (Later, Wally did work, briefly, at DC, at which point I was able to tell him the above story and thank him in person for his warmth and encouragement. His response was to be baffled that an editor would treat any talent, professional or, especially, wannabe, any other way.)

Wally’s encouragement gave me the courage to take those stories rejected by Gold Key and send them off to the editors of Charlton Comics in Derby Connecticut. Not too much later I received a letter from Assistant Managing Editor Nicola Cuti: “We’re accepting “DISTRESS” (See enclosed billing instructions)…The synopses sound good so do them up in script form and we’ll probably take them.”

And, just like that, I was a comic book professional. Charlton paid $5 a page for scripts in those days and the $25 I received for that first story (which was drawn by another relative newcomer named Mike Zeck and appeared in Scary Tales #3 in late 1975) remains the sweetest money I’ve ever received. And, as instructed, I wrote up the other synopses and Nick did take them, and, just like Wally’s professional treatment of me gave me the courage to keep going, Nick’s acceptance of my writing was affirmation that I could in fact make it in comics.

That was validated a few months later when I wrote my first story for DC Comics, a “World of Krypton” back-up for the Denny O’Neil edited Superman Family, my foot in the door at the Crown Jewel (in my eyes anyway) of comic book publishers. That first assignment lead to others, introduction pages for House of Mystery, short stories for anthology titles, an ongoing “Nightwing and Flamebird” back-up, a stint on Aquaman, the New Doom Patrol and, before I knew it, an actual career as a comic book writer.

But…no matter what I wrote, there was still a part of me that wouldn’t believe I had made it until I cracked the hardest and most prestigious nut in the joint: the editorial office of Julius Schwartz. That opportunity finally came by way of a backdoor opening thanks to DC’s licensing of a new toy line from Mattel, “He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.” Editor Dave Manak had, for reasons I don’t recall, asked me to write the MOTU tie-in comic, which consisted of a three issue miniseries, a 16-page insert that ran in one of the company’s advertising groups, and an issue of the Superman team-up title, DC Comics Presents. DCCP was one of the Superman line of books then edited by Julie, but for this one issue he stepped aside to act as “consulting editor” while Dave took care of the bulk of the editorial work.

I guess I didn’t screw up my handling of Superman too bad, because the next thing I knew, Julie was in my face, growling, “You wanna write an issue of DC Comics Presents for me?”

Uhhh. Yeah.

For the next three or four years, until he gave up the Superman franchise with the coming of Crisis on Infinite Earths in 1985, I found myself a Schwartz office regular, writing dozens of issues of Superman, Action Comics, DC Comics Presents, Superboy, Supergirl, and the daily Superman syndicated newspaper strip. Being one of “Julie’s boys” was, for this fan of 1960s era DC, the ultimate validation. Getting to know this legendary curmudgeon (it was all an act!) was just the icing on the cake.

So thank you, Wally, Nick, and Julie. I’m fairly certain if not for you three gentlemen, I would have had a fine career as a high school English teacher, a valid and worthy profession to be sure…but imagine all the subsequent adventures I would have missed.

Crazy 8 Press celebrates its three-year anniversary this summer, and as part of the festivities they will showcase their first ever anthology, Tales of the Crimson Keep.

This collection will feature seven brand new stories from Crazy 8 Press authors Michael Jan Friedman, Peter David, Aaron Rosenberg, Russ Colchamiro, Glenn Hauman, Paul Kupperberg, and Robert Greenberger. Tales of the Crimson Keep, edited by Greenberger, will also feature an introduction by fellow author Kevin Dilmore, whose winning first line inspired the entire concept.

At Shore Leave 2011, Crazy 8 Press solicited opening lines to a story which would be written in round-robin fashion from the show floor. With a dollar donation to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, anyone was welcome to contribute a first line during that con’s Meet the Pros event. The following day, at the introductory Crazy 8 Press panel, the one-liners contributed were read aloud, with the audience voting for their favorite line.

Dilmore’s “There’s no way we’re going to get all of this mopped up in time!” was the hands down winner and over the next 36 hours, the Crazy 8 Press authors took turns in the tiniest space available, reviewing notes and writing what ultimately became Demon Circle. Friedman did a final polish and the completed eBook was released soon after with proceeds going to the CBLDF.

Now two years later, Crazy 8 Press is revisiting this spooky realm, with familiar and new characters in stories set before and after the introduction tale, which as an added bonus will be included in the Tales of the Crimson Keep collection. For the Crazy 8 Press authors who were not a part of the story’s creation, it presented an interesting challenge. “I had to be a quick study, tapping into the fiendish part of my writer’s brain.” Colchamiro said. “Wizards, demons, and The Keep itself. Okay, well … here we go.”

Tales of the Crimson Keep will be available in Kindle and Nook formats for $5.99 as of Friday, August 2. The print edition will debut during that evening’s Meet the Pros event at Shore Leave, and then be available through Amazon.

Crazy 8 Press has published more than thirty titles during its first years alone, with new offerings coming this fall, starting with Michael Jan Friedman’s I am the Salamander, the first Crazy 8 Press project to be funded via Kickstarter. As an expanded line of fiction, older works, long out of print, will be brought back beginning with Sir Apropos of Nothing by Peter David.

Additional details of Crazy 8 Press’ future will be unveiled at their panel during Shore Leave in Cockeysville, MD. They cordially invite all to attend.

And keeping with the tradition of The Crimson Keep, who knows what other surprises Crazy 8 Press will unveil …

Back when I was doing a lot of work for DC Comics, I had the good fortune of meeting editor emeritus Julie Schwartz, the man most responsible for the resurrection of superhero comics in the late fifties and early sixties.

Julie–short for Julius–was part of the original cadre of science fiction fans in America. He went on to become, among other things, the fledgling Ray Bradbury’s literary agent. But what he did most to shape my life was revive the popularity of the superhero in America, repackaging Golden Age favorites like Flash, Green Lantern, Hawkman, and the Atom for me and my contemporaries. Life without superhero comics…I can’t even imagine it. And it was Julie who made sure I didn’t have to.

Comic book writer Mark Waid told me to visit Julie whenever I was at DC and pry a story out of him. I took that advice as often as I could. It turned out that Adam Strange and Space Ranger were the results of a friendly competition to see who could come up with the best new space character. Ray Palmer, the Atom’s alter ego, was named after Julie’s friend, a vertically challenged pulp magazine editor. And so on.

But when I saw Julie standing in the hall at a Lunacon one evening, I didn’t approach him just to squeeze some more DC lore out of him. The guy was past eighty, after all, and it was after eleven o’clock, and I wanted to make sure he was all right. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I’m just waiting for my ride to say his goodnights.”

Still, I hung around to keep him company. “So where do you live?” I asked him. 

“Queens,” he told me.

“I grew up in Queens,” I said. “Whereabout?”

“Near Springfield Boulevard and Union Turnpike.”

“No way. I grew up near Springfield Boulevard and Union Turnpike. Where exactly?”

“An apartment building. It’s called Cambridge Hall.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I used to deliver groceries to Cambridge Hall. Which building?”

He told me. I knew a half-dozen people who lived there. 

“Julie,” I said, “do you know how lucky you are?”

“Well,” he said, “I guess you could say I was fortunate. I’ve worked at things I’ve enjoyed, even loved, for most of my life. Not too many people can say that.”

“No,” I said, “that’s not what I mean. If I’d known Julie Schwartz lived in Cambridge Hall while I was growing up, I would have been knocking on your door every day. You never would have gotten rid of me. That’s what I mean when I say you were lucky.”

Which was right about the time Julie’s ride showed up to take him home.

Julie passed away a couple of years later at the age of 88. I went to a memorial service for him. He had selected the music himself.

I’ve met lots of inspiring people. Talented people. People to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for enriching my life. 

But none to whom I owed more than Julie Schwartz.

Superheroes — and their creators — lurk in all corners of the globe.

In this case it was Bethesda, Maryland, at the SPX (Small Press Expo) comic book convention, around 1997 or so.

After hours — maybe 1 a.m. or so — I was hanging out at a party in one of the hotel rooms with my pal and comic book fan extraordinaire Tom Peters, putting back a few beers. And who should wander over but Frank Miller.

Dark Knight Returns. Sin City. Daredevil. Elektra Assassin. Ronin.

Yep. That Frank Miller.

Having known Tom for many years at that point I knew his love of comics and the various encounters he’d had, so I turned to the famed creator and said, “I’ve got a Frank Miller story for you.”

Slightly amused, Frank Miller indulged me as I queued up the scenario for Tom. For the record, I don’t remember Tom’s original Frank Miller anecdote, but I sure as heck remember what happened next.

As background … Tom is more than a comic fan. He’s a comic book aficionado. Even 20 years ago he saw comic books as a true art form, and is in a very real way a comic books scholar. He wasn’t your typical comic book ‘nerd.’

Nevertheless … as comic book fans are prone to do if they meet the creators they have come to enjoy (or even worship), Tom got into a conversation with Frank Miller about The Dark Knight Returns — and it’s inherent flaw.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

For those who haven’t read Miller’s tale, a 55-year-old Batman, in a supped-up exoskeleton, goes toe-to-toe with Superman. And Batman — being the clever and industrious crime fighter that we’ve come to know — ultimately bests an already weakened Superman using some well-timed Kryptonite (there’s far more to the plot, but I don’t want to get off track).

Tom’s contention, and one he relayed to Frank Miller, was that under any logical circumstances, Superman would crush Batman — simple physics — and the only reason Batman essentially defeated Superman was that, as the writer, Frank Miller made that choice. Miller decided that Batman would win, even though it would seem implausible, at least in theory.

(Yes, as we comic book nerds know, these conversations really do happen; not just on The Big Bang Theory).

Anyway, Frank Miller politely accepted Tom’s thesis, but explained that under the circumstances within the story, his plotting not only made sense, but paid off on multiple levels, giving the finale an epic send-off.

Tom wasn’t buying it, and finally said — in front of a room full of comic book nerds — “Okay. That’s it, Miller. You and me. Outside.”

Now … I’ve known Tom a long time. To know Tom is to love him, and also accept that he has a VERY dry sense of humor. It does take some adjusting to, but once you understand it, Tom is quite funny.

At that moment in time and space, I knew that, and Tom knew that.

But Frank Miller …?

Not so much.

So Tom’s standing there with fake fists, ready to go, the room unsure as to what’s going to happen next. Miller surveys the scene. He looks to his left. He looks to his right. He looks straight ahead. He looks to side.

Aaaaaaaand … he leaves.

My one and only time hanging out, drinking beers and talking comic books with Frank Miller, and Tom, the biggest and most sophisticated comic book fan I ever met, chased him away.

Just goes to show that even if you plot the story out perfectly in your head … sometimes it goes the other way.

I have been blessed through the years, attending conventions as a teen and getting a chance to chat with many of the greats of the day. Perhaps the first author I got to really chat with was Isaac Asimov, a perennial figure at the first few Star Trek conventions.  (It might have been, instead, David Gerrold with memory blurry as to what order I met these two.) We chatted about this and that, as you do at a convention and certainly nothing about writing.

The first time I spoke with an author about writing was Ben Bova, who came to SUNY-Binghamton in Fall 1976 to speak and since he was there as a guest of my professor, I got invited along to dinner before his talk. Bova was kind and encouraging about my interest in writing. This led to a potential job interview with Bova at Omni when I was graduating a few years later but a transit strike kept me out of Manhattan and the meeting never happened.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Theodore Sturgeon for Pipe Dream, SUNY-Binghamton’s campus newspaper, at the San Diego Comic-Con in 1978. We spent a good two hours at a bar and he was incredibly forthcoming about the craft and I was mesmerized.

Since then, I have had a series of encounters with literary and/or creative figures as I went from fan and student to professional. As a result, I was blessed to get to know many writers, producers, directors. But, this month we’re talking about our most unforgettable/inspirational meeting with one of these titans. Here, I stall because several compete with one another.

Two, though, involve houses. In 1983, I was in California and Starlog arranged for me to interview Nicholas Meyer, less about Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, but more about The Day After, his harrowing television miniseries that showed America what might happen should, the unthinkable become reality. He invited me to conduct the interview in his home and I got a sense of what success as a writer brings you. We talked about writing versus directing and his prose versus his filmed work, opening my eyes in many ways to the possibilities.

A few years later I was fortunate to cap a trip to San Diego with an invitation to visit the Wonderland that is Harlan Ellison’s home. While Meyer’s place was sparsely but tastefully furnished, Harlan’s house was and is a treasure trove. There are books everywhere, shelves three and four deep with books and comics and magazines. Draped over a railing were stories he was in various stages of editing for the final and still-forthcoming volume of Dangerous Visions, all ringing the desk and manual typewriter where he made words do magical things.

This was a writer’s home and it was something to envy and want for myself. Harlan and I have talked comics and life but never about writing, which is a shame. He turned 80 recently and I have no idea if we’ll ever have that chance, but his hard work and dedication to his craft have never left my thoughts.