(Originally published at RevolutionSF.com, Summer, 2001)

Another big week has come and gone – another convention under the belt, another page recorded in the history books. Was it fun? Sure. Was it a lot of work? You’re damn right – I dream one day of going to a convention with nothing but play on my mind. Was it a learning experience? Of course. Why else would I bring it all up?

There’s a fine line between being a famous name and another Joe. I was really surprised to run into a few people who were familiar with my name, most notably from my days as an HZG (if you need that explained – tough. I’m trying my best to forget that I ever labored for that particular batch of folks). It was really odd to find myself in conversation with a group of – I had assumed – regular folk, and for someone to suddenly say, “Hey – now I know where you’re from – I used to read your reviews every week!”

It turned weird here, every time. We stopped talking about things that we had in common, and started talking about my work. There were plenty of compliments, which, admittedly, were nice, but I quickly found myself getting uncomfortable. Maybe I don’t handle compliments well; I think, though, that I just didn’t want the focus of the conversation to shift to me as suddenly as it did.

It made me feel a little bad for the guys I had been approaching all weekend – the Judd Winicks, the Carmine Infantinos, the Christian Gossetts. I had done my best to let these guys know what sort of an impact their work has had on me, but when it came time to make normal conversation, I was at a loss.

Now, I’m not a star-struck kind of guy. I’ve met a billion “famous” people, and I learned a long time ago that they are just like you and me – the only difference is that they have jobs as creators that puts them in the public spotlight. But I discovered that, beyond the compliments and comments on their work, I have very little to say to them, no common ground.

That said (and its really no big deal, as once I’ve said what I have to say, I walk away), it was really embarrassing to watch what some of these guys had to put up with. There were some amazing moments that bordered on traumatic car wrecks; watching a thirteen-year-old (or worse, a thirty year old) fanboy grill a creator on his or her work is positively frightening. The details that these people know and ask about are so tiny, so ridiculous, that it hurts. It’s even worse to watch a writer or artist try desperately to move along politely – of course they don’t want to shut anyone out. Of course they are grateful for the attention – after all, these people have helped put them where they are. Still, it’s painful to witness.

It made me start to reconsider my dreams of fame. I don’t know that I can completely give them up; I have a deep-seated desire to be recognized and adored. Most of us do. However, I wonder if we have the patience and sympathy to put up with the results of fame, to pay the price, as it were.

Don’t get me wrong. I still resent Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain, the way that they incessantly bitched and moaned about the price of fame. It’s much the same as listening to a football player complain about injuries; none of this should be a surprise. It’s part of the job. Perhaps, though, I understand them a little better.

It’s probably not a bad idea to try to understand the same thing next time you’re hitting up your favorite celebrity as they eat dinner in a restaurant, or wait in line at the grocery store. It’s one thing to compliment someone on their work; it’s another to geek out and congratulate them to embarrassment.