From the Journal: Issue #1

I launched my first website about comics and manga in the early 2000s, though I can’t pinpoint the exact date. It was similar to what I do now, except without a weekly email. Back then, I posted daily about the manga or comics I’d read, occasionally linking to online sources where others could read them too.

Was that legal? Definitely not. But did I think it was the only way for people to access those stories? Absolutely. Where I grew up, comic shops didn’t exist—and still don’t. There were no theatres showing superhero movies, and no TV channels airing big-budget franchises. Aside from a few translated European comics, we had almost nothing. I remember the son of a small shop owner, who’d studied abroad, sometimes brought back Marvel comics to sell. They were in English, but I craved them anyway.

My obsession with collecting probably started in primary school.

When I left Greece, still in the early 2000s, everything shifted. The internet opened up a world of access. I abandoned my shady habits and began writing comic reviews, joining communities, and buying comics regularly from my local comic shop. Sometimes it was about the story, but it was always about the history.

There’s a real difference between buying a comic digitally and holding a physical copy. Don’t get me wrong, digital is fantastic. Instant access, affordable, accessible; I read digitally every day. But it can’t replace the physical experience for me. Knowing the whole chain, from the author creating it to me holding it, makes it feel like I’m grasping a piece of history, someone’s blood and tears.

It used to be all about the characters and their adventures—and that’s still part of it—but now it’s just as much about the creators: the writer, the artist, the letterer. Who are they? What were they thinking when they crafted this?

It might sound strange, but my connection to comics feels more romantic than many of my past relationships.

They don’t need to be rare “key” issues (though I enjoy those), and I don’t care much about signatures (though I’d love a few). What fascinates me is the process: When did they dream up this story? How did they pitch it to publishers? Were they rejected? Did they believe in it enough to make it real?

Over the past 20 years, I’ve worked with startups and seen people pour everything into their dreams—losing savings, homes, cars, their sanity, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not. When I hold a comic, I wonder: Did this help someone feed their family? Did it keep their dream alive a little longer?

Picture this: You’re at your breaking point, stuck in a soul-crushing, micromanaged 9-to-5 you despise, writing your story at night when you’re exhausted. Remember how Collapser played music to silence the noise? Maybe writing is their version of that. Then they need an artist to collaborate with, and a way to sell their work (printing it or offering a PDF) because when they pitched it to a publisher, they were told, “You need at least 15k TikTok followers.” (I’m not kidding; that’s real.)

That’s why I admire sites like comix.one and people like Saurabh (with whom I had one of the most amazing catchups earlier today) who love comics or create them and build tools to help others. They understand the struggle.