I like Ms. Marvel a lot. The story from its premiere issue is good, but the art for me is better. It's a wash of dreamy colors and lines I can ogle over and over, with beautifully-drawn characters that feel like something between manga and American comic style. As someone who started out selling oil paintings before illustrating a graphic novel, the work resonates with me the same way James Jean's covers did with Fables.



When did I first get into comics? It was actually back when Michael Turner (may he rest in peace) was just publishing the first issue of Fathom. I was in high school then, trying to fit in with a group of art department kids whose leader I had a major crush on. I knew I loved art, but painting courses seemed boring to me. One day said crush lent me his copy of Wizard magazine. Inside was a feature story of Turner, smiling from his house in California, talking about his success and showing off his sparkling blue pool. Comics got him that pool, that house, that picturesque Californian sky. That was it for me. I decided I was going to be that person, and that life was going to be mine.



As fate would have it, I did end up becoming a fine artist first, at a gallery in Detroit, where I had moved to be close to my mother's side of the family. My work did so well that some paintings sold before they were even hung on the wall. The problem? The owner started telling me what to paint. I will always be grateful to her because she was incredibly encouraging to me and gave me the first chance I needed to appear on the scene. But once you call me a "nice young lady" as a reason for not painting nudes? I'm gone.



So I started exploring other subjects and styles on my own. At the same time, my best friend, Jaime, and I began writing pulp fiction and fantasy stories for fun. We wrote the kind of things the gallery owner would never read, and probably ask me if there's something wrong with me if she ever saw them.



For people too mired in tradition of The Way Things Work, girls don't write pulp. Girls don't write racy scenes and sex-laced conversation, with dialogue that's dirtier than simply drawing a woman skimpily clad in spandex and bikinis. Girls don't draw a man licking a woman's neck sensually, even if you never see the sex scene itself. Girls don't write female characters who are so sexually liberated that half of the things they say would shock the reader, yet they still manage to remain fully clothed for almost the entire duration of a book. That's not what nice young ladies do, right? I was a female painter, and I painted female painter things and nothing else. I symbolized the ideal who never erred or sinned, because the image of the artist is often sold right along with their work.



Despite that, Jaime and I wrote so much we had enough manuscripts to consider publishing—six books' worth. Our first foray into any kind of publishing was funded by my college, Wayne State University, and its business incubation program, Blackstone LaunchPad. They provided us with little over four thousand dollars through a business panel that normally allocates funds to tech and medical startups. We began illustration in January of last year, got funding in July, and held our premiere party in October. Clothing label Creep Street backed us up with attendance and promotion. Jaime's family printed the books with their own shop, and we kept it local and supported in both New Jersey and Michigan.



The graphic novel, "Blood Money: The Road To Detroit", features real landscapes in the Motor City, commentary on the government, uneven police coverage on the streets, and the changing face of the city. It also talks about mental illness and how to deal with someone you suspect might be bipolar. All that, and sexual content—stuffed into 123 pages.



Also, there's vampires and cocaine.



After we published, the hype mounted from there. As of next week, we'll be fully sold out of our first edition. The manuscript from Blood Money is being novelized and published on Amazon in March. We'll get to include the chapters we were initially forced to cut due to printing costs, and redesign the novel to look like a medieval tome. Tarot-style engravings and illustrated secrets? Watch out, Aristide Torchia. We're coming for you.



***



I've had this argument with both mentors who groomed me for applying for the business grant we received, and with friends I've kept even after graduating from high school: The notion that women don't read comics is ridiculous. If I look at the past sales for just "Blood Money" alone, I can tell you the gender distribution for our customers have been pretty damn even, both online and offline. We hit the sweet spot in ages 20-35, with interest as high as a little over 50 years old. After that, it tapers off. There's been an especially high interest with physical sales from young men in their twenties and women in their late thirties. The women respond well to the amount of sexual overtones in our book. It's raunchy and violent. I've seen their smiles as they flip through the book's pages before they make a purchase, and it's delightful. The men love what violence is there and the dialogue too. We even have a range of characters with different sexual preferences in this book, and no customer was driven away by that.



What's even more amazing is the fact we're selling out in a city that has zero comic book shops within city limits, and we've still managed to generate sales, make back profits at both the American and anime conventions we attended in the past six months, and get people emailing us to keep in touch with us after they've read our books. If we can do this, I believe there's plenty of room for all sorts of comics out there, Ms. Marvel included. You don't think women will buy it? Try marketing to them. Look at how Ms. Marvel is sold out now. I bet you anything the gender breakdown of the customer base will reveal that droves of women picked up the book because it looked like a good story to them, period.


There are so many great comics and creators out there who sell to women. Let's not even begin to mention the erotic titles you can find online, the ones with so much fame on Tumblr that there's an overwhelming amount of reblogs when a new page or book is posted or released. Jaime and I haven't even gotten to that level. This essay was just to prove a specific point—the seemingly impossible is possible, because my co-writer and I did it under circumstances that otherwise seemed it wouldn't work.



If someone tells you women don't read comics, you tell them our story. We sold in a city where no comic shop exists. We sold to a diverse customer base. We sold to people who just wanted to be included. You tell them it's possible. The excuses need to stop.