Passion is a funny thing. Go looking for it and you’ll never find it, but let it find you and it’s virtually impossible to avoid. And once you do find it, passion can fuel you to great heights, allow you to do astonishing things—things that others can’t even imagine. In this way passion is kind of like a superpower. But in the comics (as everybody knows) a great strength must have an equal or even greater weakness. So if passion is a superpower, then fear is its kryptonite.
Twenty-five years ago in early Spring I picked up a copy of The Amazing Spider-Man. I had read comics before, of course, but there was something special about this one. It moved me like no other story had. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. My mind started to race with possibilities. In that moment I realized that I wanted to tell stories—fantastic, heroic stories about extraordinary characters doing extraordinary things.
Simply put, my passion had found me.
After that my every waking thought was focused on comic books. They were the first thoughts that got me up in the morning and the last ones that carried me off to sleep at night. I thought about them in class, at church, at the dinner table—everywhere!
It wasn’t long before piles of notepads filled with my stories and ideas started to collect under my bed. I envisioned myself working for Marvel Comics pitting the forces of good against hordes of evildoers in worlds I had created. My passion grew stronger every day until it was like an invisible shield protecting my dream from anything that might jeopardize it. As it turned out that shield would come in very handy.
One day I told my cousin that I wanted to become a comic book writer. He looked at me with a strange expression and said, “Why would anybody pay you to write a comic book? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He walked away laughing.
His words stung but my passion was strong. Just like a hero’s superpower, passion had protected me and my dream, but I had suffered my very first bout of doubt—however small. At this point it had not yet become full-blown fear, but it had made a ding in that invisible shield.
Even so I was determined to make my dream come true and pushed even harder, learning everything I could about the comic book industry. Finally I found a news release from the publisher of Marvel Comics—Stan Lee, himself! It was all about how to submit a comic book script. I couldn’t believe it! It was like I had struck gold—detailed instructions on the whole submission process.
All I had to do was send in my idea and wait for the job offers to roll in! I could see myself in the Marvel bullpen: pitching stories, making deadlines, working with artists to bring my words to life. I visualized my name under the coveted words “Written by”. I imagined kids all over the country waiting to read the latest issue of Spider-Man or The Avengers by yours truly. My passion was never stronger. But, the ding my cousin had made hadn’t really gone away. It was a hidden crack, waiting to reveal itself.
Now I should mention that, at the time, I was unaware that over 99% of submissions were rejected at the point of entry by the submissions editor. But to be honest the idea that an editor would ever reject my story never occurred to me. So I happily sent off my first submission to New York. If this sounds like arrogance, it wasn’t. It was pure passion—a love for what I was doing.
Six weeks later an envelope arrived in my mailbox bearing the Marvel letterhead. Heart pounding, hands shaking, I opened it and read the words…
“Congratulations. I have reviewed your submission and I have forwarded it to the appropriate editor. Good luck.”
I couldn’t believe it! I had all but been accepted—and on my very first try. At seventeen years old, I was going to be a writer for Marvel Comics! Then I made what would become a fatal error: I told my father.
“I did it! I’m going to be a comic book writer and work in New York,” I said waving the letter in the air.
My father looked at me with doubtful eyes and shook his head. “Now don’t get your hopes up. Nobody from around here has ever been a writer.”
It wasn’t just what he had said but the look in his eyes that shook my resolve. It was a look that spoke of some hidden knowing about how dreams end up in the real world. And in that instant all my joy, all my excitement vanished. It was as if my father had popped my birthday balloon.
Now, my father wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t a cruel man nor would he have ever hurt me intentionally. In his own way, he was trying to protect me. He didn’t want to see me disappointed. But in that moment, the dent in my shield buckled under the strain of this newest blow and what had only been a doubt was now fear. And for the very first time I feared that my dream might not come true.
What if the editor didn’t like my story? What if it wasn’t good enough? Dad was right. Nobody from our little town had ever done anything like this before. What made me think I was any different?
I went from expecting an acceptance letter to dreading a rejection. My energy had totally switched. I was now focused on what I didn’t want to happen instead of being focused on what I wanted to happen.
Sure enough, that editor never did call me.
After that I sent in more and more submissions, but not with the joy and excitement I had once had. Now I sent my submissions in desperation; desperate to prove that I could do it—that I was good enough. And with each submission came a new rejection. My fear deepened. At one point I actually started to send in ideas expectingto be rejected.
In time, my passion faded—having been poisoned by fear. And slowly I just stopped submitting.
But passion is a hard thing to keep down. After a few years I tried again. Though I still got rejection letters, I started to get hand written comments and suggestions from the editors—words of encouragement and advice. They wrote things like: “Keeping sending in submissions”, “I look forward to your next idea.” “Don’t give up.” These letters went on for nearly a year. Long enough for doubt to creep back in. That doubt morphed into fear—fear that it was taking too long, that they might never accept me.
Had I not been in “fear-mode” I might have realized just how close I was to breaking into Marvel. In later years I would learn that I was just a submission or two away from an offer.It still hurts to think about it.But fear makes you run away from things. Passion allows you to run to them.
So I decided if they didn’t want me I’d start my own company, write my own characters and worlds.
By now I was married and had a new baby. My wife and I worked on the company together. My day job wasn’t bringing in enough and the company was draining away our savings. To say fear was back would be an understatement.
I was excited that I was finally pursuing my passion, but I didn’t know then that passion can’t be pursued. It can’t be forced or compelled. But we pushed on.
Finally the first book was done. We paid a small fortune for printing and advertising space with Andromeda Distributors, the largest comic book distributor in North America. I drove from comic shop to comic shop promoting the release. I made appearances on local television and radio.
Then there was nothing left to do but wait for the first orders to come in.We figured if we could just sell 500 copies, we could pay the expenses and the upcoming rent. Who couldn’t sell 500 books in all of Canada and the US?
A week later the order arrived from Andromeda. My wife waited with growing anticipation for me to open the envelope. I ran my finger down the orders to the bottom total. I saw, but didn’t quite understand, the number 7. I blinked, trying to process what it actually meant. My wife was smiling with anticipation, “How many?” she asked.
At first I couldn’t speak. I suppressed the tears pooling in my eyes. “Seven,” I heard myself say.
“Seven thousand?” she asked excitedly.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
She reached for the paper. “Maybe it’s counted in hundreds?”
I let her take the order form and I slumped down on the floor. I stared at the 5000 copies of book one and two we had pre-printed, wondering how I was going to pay rent that month. And for the very first time in my life, I hated comic books.
With no money to continue and no way to sell the books we had, I watched my dream wither and die before me.
About a month later Andromeda sent us information on the big comic book convention in Toronto. Over 500,000 people were promised to attend. It cost $600 to sign up as a vender, not counting travel and accommodations. To be honest, the thought of packing $10,000 worth of comics in my car and driving to Toronto was terrifying. I had never driven more than a hundred kilometers away from home before, let alone a city as large as Toronto. I wasn’t even sure my old car could make the 4000km round trip.
But we decided to try it. So we sent off the fee and on a chilly October afternoon I set out alone for Toronto. I pulled away waving to my wife and baby with high hopes. To this day I only remember being more afraid one other time—and that was to come about 12 hours later.
I drove through the night. With only $80 in my pocket I couldn’t afford a hotel. It was about 2:30am. I had been driving for hours. Then I struck a piece a metal on the road, just outside Quebec City. I pulled off the highway and got out to see that I had two flat tires. It’s hard to describe how I felt in that moment. Terrified doesn’t quite do it justice.
With no phone and the little cash I had in my pocket I started walking. To where, I had no idea. Exhausted and cold, I came upon a convenience store about an hour later. After a long night and having to spend most of my money I was back on the road just before dawn.
I had a lot of time to think as I drove along the St. Lawrence. I felt alone and lost. I had no idea what was waiting for me in Toronto but I was way past imagining anything good. Where was the kid who loved superheroes and comic books? The kid who thought nothing could ever get in the way of finding his dream? I looked in the mirror and couldn’t see him.
I arrived at the convention later the next day. I’d like to say that this is the part of the story where everything changed. When the redemption moment happened and the hero digs deep and finds his passion once more and becomes the bestselling comic book author he had always dreamed of.
But as the title suggests, this is a cautionary tale of what fear can do to our dreams, how it can crush passion—if you let it.
By the time I got to the convention center my energy was so poor that I didn’t even appreciate where I was. All my life I had dreamed of being at a convention just like the one I was at. Some of the biggest comic book writers and artists were just a few tables down from me. And yet, I didn’t even introduce myself. I never left my table. I worked hard to encourage people to notice my book, but few did. I spent most of the convention watching the crowd pass by my table. When the weekend was over I had sold nothing—not one book. I packed up and I drove home feeling more crushed than ever.
The next week after that I went to the bank to close my business account for good. It was one of the most painful things I have ever done. It was like admitting for once and for all that my dream of becoming a comic book writer was finally over.
Though those times were rough, the years have dulled the pain and I am able to look back at them with a new sense of appreciation. The lessons I learned were invaluable.
Today my passion for writing has changed and evolved because of those hard times. I’ve learned (once more) to write for the joy of it and for myself. As I write this I am just finishing my first novel. It is an accomplishment I would have never been able to do without the above events. They are a part of who I am; they shaped my outlook and my understanding of passion and how to protect it.
That being said I think, just maybe, if I could open up one of my old comic books and pull a time machine from its pages I’d take a trip back to 1987 to visit a boy still full of passion and hope. He’d probably have a comic in his hand and a smile on his face.
I’d whisper these words of advice to that boy…
1) Focus on what you want, not on what you don’t.
2) Fear only exists by your own creation.
3) Take a minute, slow down to appreciate and enjoy.
4) Never worry about what other people might think about your dream.
5) Remember that it’s all about the journey, not the destination.
6) Never tell anyone about your dream until you make it happen.
© Copyright by Troy P. Roache, 2014. All rights reserved: