Level 26 Panel (The debut of a nervous creator)
Posted by Anthony E. Zuiker on
Jul 28, 2009
Last Wednesday, my wife and I hopped in her jet black Mini-Cooper and blazed down to San Diego for Comic-Con. We put the top down and hit the road. You know, after being married to the same woman for ten years, I sometimes catch myself looking at her driving (while she’s fucking around with the female GPS system) and it makes me smile. It reminded me of the “old us” before CSI. She and I taking a road trip with a full tank of gas. No kids. No stress. No fuss. Your eyes gaze on her and for an instant, you realize why you married her. It was pretty cool. At this point, I’m flying high because I’m going to make my first debut at Comic-Con and I have my wife by my side. After two tough years of writing an insane book, haggling with the publisher, courting major players, and endless nights of thinking and selling, the time has come to share with my new community the “next big thing.” The Digi-Novel. What no one knew was, I was scared.
The next morning, Thursday, I walked the floor of Comic-Con and made a surprise visit to the Dutton booth. It was the size of a phone booth – peppered with a million different books on tiny metal stands. So, without warning, I sat down to give away some Marc Ecko custom-made Level 26 themed t-shirts. I sat there for five minutes and nobody came by. Not a one. I started to slowly die inside. As I looked across the way, I saw the Twilight booth was packed with fans snapping up fan buttons. Here I was, the creator of the CSI franchise giving away $80 t-shirts and I had no takers – while Twilight was hemorrhaging buttons to happy rabid fans. This is when I realized: it doesn’t matter what I’ve done in television. You, Anthony E. Zuiker, are unproven with the Comic-Con crowd. If you want their respect, you are going to have to earn it.
As you’ve probably read by now, I sat in line for six hours waiting to be one of 6000 to experience the New Moon panel. Before Summit showed off their new projects, I watched scenes in 3-D from Robert Zemeckis’ A Christmas Carol, and trailers for Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland and Tron Legacy. Fans were screaming their lungs out in Hall H with satisfaction and I was nearly reduced to tears at the sheer ingenuity of it all. My immediate thought was “I’ve created something really cool, too” but not on the same budgetary level as these projects. I’ve sunk $1,000,000 dollars of my own money into the Digi-Novel, but not $200,000,000 of a studio’s money. The question that kept running through my mind was “will anybody care what I’m doing outside of CSI?” Nervousness transformed into deep stress. In other words, I was panicking.
The confidence swings of an artist are funny. I remember shooting the cyberbridges for Level 26 and saying to myself, “the fans are going to freak out when they see how cool this is.” After the New Moon panel, I was certain nobody would show up to my panel. How could I compete? After all, I didn’t have CSI to hide behind this time around. Level 26 was 100% me. No CBS media machine. No Jerry Bruckheimer. No powerful Executive Producers. I was just a kid with an idea hoping to change the face of publishing. The next day, Friday, I took the day off and went deep-sea fishing. I needed to let off a little steam. It didn’t work. I was dying a slow death inside.
When I woke up on Saturday morning, I looked outside my window at the Omni and watched thousands of people line up for the Iron Man 2 panel. My mind, in full panic mode now, was playing dirty tricks on me. That little voice was snickering, “this is what people want to see, not your lame shit.” Or “you should prepare for failure, Zuiker.” I started sweating. Everything was on the line. My peers, employers, agents, publisher, friends, and family were all there to watch me succeed or fail. If I were to fail, they would see it first hand. Failure is a horrible option when you’re the creator of CSI because everyone lies to you – for the most part. I had visions of people trying to spin the panel if it failed. I feared people would say, “Hey, for those six people that were there, they loved it.” Or “it’s so new, when the book comes out you’ll have a better turnout next year.” Not only would this have haunted me on the day, but would’ve demolished my confidence for the next year.
When I arrived on Saturday, I had another impromptu signing. I handed out shirt after shirt. I pitched my heart out to those who were curious. I gathered website addresses and begged people to show up at the panel. Next thing I knew, we were out of shirts and out of flyers. We did everything we could to get fans to show up and hear us out. Only question now was, would anyone show?
The time: 4:25pm. I stood in the back of the Room 5AB before my panel. Lost was wrapping up. I was praying that when they finished, fans would stay for my panel and any overflow would fill the seats. Only six people from the Lost panel stayed, the rest bailed. Oh, shit! For the next fifteen minutes, people trickled in. The room was a quarter full. Minutes later, half full. By the time we started, it was at full capacity. I was starting to feel a little better. Fact is, the t-shirts, pitching, and networking actually made a difference. People genuinely wanted to know what the “Digi-Novel” was. I was relieved. Next thing I knew, I was introduced and my esteemed panel of Marc Ecko, Greg Goodfried, Miles Beckett, and Daniel Buran took the stage with me. I nervously introduced the concept for the “Digi-Novel” and showed the promo clip. When it was over, the crowd burst into a loud ovation. They loved it! It was all I could do not to bust a tear right there. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Long story short, the panel was a success. The fans asked really smart questions. Those who attended were really inspired and “got it.” When we concluded, we handed out 100 books and 250 more shirts. They went in about six minutes. I signed autographs for an hour afterwards in the hallway. People shook my hand, patted me on the back, and were excited to read the book. I thanked my team who worked day and night to make the Level 26 panel a success. And I realized a very valuable lesson in that moment – if you are going to earn the respect of the Comic-Con community, you don’t have to spend money or dazzle them with free shit. They just want to be surprised. They want to get behind someone who’s honest. And they want to be entertained. Yesterday, we did that. The panel was a “home run.” And when I spoke to my wife afterwards, she said the words every man needs to hear at his most vulnerable moment. “I’m proud of you.” Indeed, the toughest-won validation always comes from the ones you love.
The end!
The next morning, Thursday, I walked the floor of Comic-Con and made a surprise visit to the Dutton booth. It was the size of a phone booth – peppered with a million different books on tiny metal stands. So, without warning, I sat down to give away some Marc Ecko custom-made Level 26 themed t-shirts. I sat there for five minutes and nobody came by. Not a one. I started to slowly die inside. As I looked across the way, I saw the Twilight booth was packed with fans snapping up fan buttons. Here I was, the creator of the CSI franchise giving away $80 t-shirts and I had no takers – while Twilight was hemorrhaging buttons to happy rabid fans. This is when I realized: it doesn’t matter what I’ve done in television. You, Anthony E. Zuiker, are unproven with the Comic-Con crowd. If you want their respect, you are going to have to earn it.
As you’ve probably read by now, I sat in line for six hours waiting to be one of 6000 to experience the New Moon panel. Before Summit showed off their new projects, I watched scenes in 3-D from Robert Zemeckis’ A Christmas Carol, and trailers for Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland and Tron Legacy. Fans were screaming their lungs out in Hall H with satisfaction and I was nearly reduced to tears at the sheer ingenuity of it all. My immediate thought was “I’ve created something really cool, too” but not on the same budgetary level as these projects. I’ve sunk $1,000,000 dollars of my own money into the Digi-Novel, but not $200,000,000 of a studio’s money. The question that kept running through my mind was “will anybody care what I’m doing outside of CSI?” Nervousness transformed into deep stress. In other words, I was panicking.
The confidence swings of an artist are funny. I remember shooting the cyberbridges for Level 26 and saying to myself, “the fans are going to freak out when they see how cool this is.” After the New Moon panel, I was certain nobody would show up to my panel. How could I compete? After all, I didn’t have CSI to hide behind this time around. Level 26 was 100% me. No CBS media machine. No Jerry Bruckheimer. No powerful Executive Producers. I was just a kid with an idea hoping to change the face of publishing. The next day, Friday, I took the day off and went deep-sea fishing. I needed to let off a little steam. It didn’t work. I was dying a slow death inside.
When I woke up on Saturday morning, I looked outside my window at the Omni and watched thousands of people line up for the Iron Man 2 panel. My mind, in full panic mode now, was playing dirty tricks on me. That little voice was snickering, “this is what people want to see, not your lame shit.” Or “you should prepare for failure, Zuiker.” I started sweating. Everything was on the line. My peers, employers, agents, publisher, friends, and family were all there to watch me succeed or fail. If I were to fail, they would see it first hand. Failure is a horrible option when you’re the creator of CSI because everyone lies to you – for the most part. I had visions of people trying to spin the panel if it failed. I feared people would say, “Hey, for those six people that were there, they loved it.” Or “it’s so new, when the book comes out you’ll have a better turnout next year.” Not only would this have haunted me on the day, but would’ve demolished my confidence for the next year.
When I arrived on Saturday, I had another impromptu signing. I handed out shirt after shirt. I pitched my heart out to those who were curious. I gathered website addresses and begged people to show up at the panel. Next thing I knew, we were out of shirts and out of flyers. We did everything we could to get fans to show up and hear us out. Only question now was, would anyone show?
The time: 4:25pm. I stood in the back of the Room 5AB before my panel. Lost was wrapping up. I was praying that when they finished, fans would stay for my panel and any overflow would fill the seats. Only six people from the Lost panel stayed, the rest bailed. Oh, shit! For the next fifteen minutes, people trickled in. The room was a quarter full. Minutes later, half full. By the time we started, it was at full capacity. I was starting to feel a little better. Fact is, the t-shirts, pitching, and networking actually made a difference. People genuinely wanted to know what the “Digi-Novel” was. I was relieved. Next thing I knew, I was introduced and my esteemed panel of Marc Ecko, Greg Goodfried, Miles Beckett, and Daniel Buran took the stage with me. I nervously introduced the concept for the “Digi-Novel” and showed the promo clip. When it was over, the crowd burst into a loud ovation. They loved it! It was all I could do not to bust a tear right there. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Long story short, the panel was a success. The fans asked really smart questions. Those who attended were really inspired and “got it.” When we concluded, we handed out 100 books and 250 more shirts. They went in about six minutes. I signed autographs for an hour afterwards in the hallway. People shook my hand, patted me on the back, and were excited to read the book. I thanked my team who worked day and night to make the Level 26 panel a success. And I realized a very valuable lesson in that moment – if you are going to earn the respect of the Comic-Con community, you don’t have to spend money or dazzle them with free shit. They just want to be surprised. They want to get behind someone who’s honest. And they want to be entertained. Yesterday, we did that. The panel was a “home run.” And when I spoke to my wife afterwards, she said the words every man needs to hear at his most vulnerable moment. “I’m proud of you.” Indeed, the toughest-won validation always comes from the ones you love.
The end!
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Book 2Unlock a Cyber-bridge
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Book 1Unlock a Cyber-bridge
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