There's a drawing I did long long ago that has wound up (I'm still not quite clear on why or how) in the very back of many editions of Watchmen. The person I did it for has offered to donate it as a #Creators4Comics fundraiser, to be auctioned.
It's one of my first published pieces of art, and in a weird way it's now part of Watchmen. It has been on Rob's wall since 1986, and has a thumbtack hole to prove it. I have no idea what it will go for or whether eBay or something might not be better than a Twitter auction.
All thoughts and suggestions gratefully received.
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When a very rich but ethically challenged publisher simply refused to pay me, and said “Sue me if you don’t like it”, (as I learned he had done to other creators) I sued him and his company. I won on all counts. I won on appeal. I won again on the points they challenged on. But—
I was only able to afford to sue him because I had become a NYT bestselling author. His legal tactic was to “paper” me: his legal team filed pointless motions that my team had to respond to, costing me money. (His lawyers were covered by his insurance, I was paying for mine. )
I won the case (and the appeal judgement codified points of copyright law in creators’ favour, such that young lawyers come up to me and tell me they studied Gaiman Vs McFarlane at Law School). It cost an unbelievable amount of money, time and stress, and at the end...
A baked potato of a winter's night to wrap your hands around or burn your mouth.
A blanket knitted by your mother's cunning fingers. Or your grandmother's.
A smile, a touch, trust, as you walk in from the snow
or return to it, the tips of your ears pricked pink and frozen.
The tink tink tink of iron radiators waking in an old house.
To surface from dreams in a bed, burrowed beneath blankets and comforters,
the change of state from cold to warm is all that matters, and you think
just one more minute snuggled here before you face the chill. Just one.