As a geeky kid growing up in West Virginia, I consumed comics and horror films and Mad magazines like they were meals. It was as if they were the only things keeping me alive; and in a way they were. You see, I wasn’t just a fan. I was addicted. And these books and stories gave my brain and my soul everything they were craving—a look at the world that I couldn’t get anywhere else, and the knowledge that there were other people out there who were just as off and confused and as twisted as I was.
It was the summer of 2009 when I finally made it to my first-ever San Diego Comic-Con. For years I had wanted to take this trip, my own personal Haj to the Mecca of Geekdom, but it always seemed as though I was doing something that prohibited me from being there.
As a geeky kid growing up in West Virginia, I consumed comics and horror films and Mad magazines like they were meals.
But now, finally, I was here! It was a dream come true for me. For my first hour on the Comic-Con floor, I was in awe. I was transported back into the body of that wide-eyed twelve-year-old boy, staring in disbelief at my idols and inspirations—Sergio Aragones, Frank Miller, and the man himself, Stan Lee.
When I shook Stan’s hand, I thanked him for giving that young boy the confidence and the desire to want to tell stories, and I thanked him for helping me become who I am today. He looked at me, smiled that Stan Lee smile, and said, “You know what, Morgan? We should make a movie together. We should make a documentary! We should make a documentary about Comic-Con!”
So when people ask me to explain to them exactly what Comic-Con is, I smile and tell them, “That’s easy. It’s a place where heroes still save the day.”Add To Cart