Comic Book Media Mail Novels & Stories

He pulled the envelopes out of his back pocket and handed them to me. Most of the mail was junk, but one in particular caught my attention. It was addressed to me in a fancy calligraphy font with a return address label from Tuffin Aerospace. My heart pounded in my chest as I quickly tore into it. I had no idea what it was, but I wasn't waiting to find out.

If he thought about it, he’d wonder how much Rebecca was worrying, which was sure to lead to wanting to go to her. Rather than succumb to temptation, he pulled the mail toward himself. Yet another letter from his aunt got fed straight into the shredder. Sending them to his office was her new tactic, one that wasn’t any likelier to entice him to open them. He set aside a business proposal to read later. The latest issue of Bad Boys was next. He did a double take when he saw the cover. A pair of eerily familiar faces grinned at him from the glossy front. “MEET HOT HARVARD TWINS PETE & CHARLIE EILERT,” urged the

“You’re right. I should have looped you in immediately.” “Should have,” I repeat. “And will?” “Yes.” He looks at me and, for once, doesn’t look away. “I’ll tell you when there’s a threat. As soon as I know.” The promise lands somewhere between us and tilts the floor. I don’t ask if he’s already broken it. I already know the answer. The email from Comms comes in that afternoon. Subject: Tabloid Backed Off (for Now) Language is cautious but clear: the piece is “postponed indefinitely.” They’ve “adjusted editorial priorities.” They “look forward to continued partnership.”

JULIAN It arrived on a Monday. Not digitally, I want to be precise about this because the medium matters, because the specific and particular choice of a physical envelope in the current and digital age of communication is itself a communication, is the deliberate and considered choice of a person who understands that a physical thing lands differently than an email, that it has weight and texture and the specific and undeniable quality of an object that has been handled, that has passed through hands, that exists in the world in a way that a file attachment does not.

OK, I didn't think that I would be THAT lucky, but I decided to search the mail anyway. "Bills, bills, bills, commercials, and more bills…" My irritation grew as I went on. Then I stopped and stared in disbelief. There was one letter addressed to me. There was an official stamp of the Crimson Mountain Pack on it. I didn't recall knowing anyone from that pack, but I shrugged and opened it.

The email came in at eleven forty-seven. I saw it when I opened my laptop to send the corrected files to the medical school. It was in my professional inbox, the one I had set up when I began working for Marco's firm and had kept as my work address since, and the sender was a name I recognized from the publications world, a name attached to one of the large international medical publishing houses, the kind whose logo appeared on the textbooks that sat on the shelves of every medical school I had ever visited. The subject line said: Chief Medical Illustrator, Offer of Position.

“Well?” Mr. Waddlebug asked, impatiently tapping his foot as he stared at the mail shoot. Corey stood beside him, quill pen still in hand, his expression much more subdued. “What is taking so long? Shouldn’t we have heard back from her by now?” “She’ll respond soon enough,” Corey assured him, finally sticking the pen back in the magic ink he had used to write the correspondence to Ms. Fizzlestitch. The mailroom was really something else. This is where all of the letters to Santa--whether through regular post-dispatch or the preferred, up the chimney, method came to be read, considered, and recommended for fulfillment or denial. It is also where Corey came to write his own letters whenever he

There were plenty of roofing nails poking through the wood above me. I made it to the boxes with my skull intact and knelt to examine the magazines. My stomach fluttered when I realized there might be Playboy or Penthouse magazines among the contents. At eleven, I knew what they were, but I wasn’t quite at the point I understood what the big deal was, though that fluttering in my gut told me I was almost there. As it turned out, there were no skin mags in the boxes, but to a kid my age, what was in them was an even greater treasure. Old comic books. Tons of them. Spider-Man, Superman, The Avengers, Planet of the Apes, Archie, Scary Tales, and a bunch of others I’d never heard of. I grabbed a

I turned around and answered, "I did." Julian nodded. "I've also arranged for someone to hire people to promote your work. Your marketing team should be ready in about a week." "Then..." I said as I got up and walked over to Julian. "Can we make some merchandise based on my comics?" Julian had no knowledge of this field, so he asked, confused, "What do you mean by merchandise?" "It's when we use the characters from my comics to make things like stickers, keychains, and so on," I explained.

As they wandered around, Coco suddenly stopped in front of a large display booth, her eyes shining brightly. “What’s wrong?” Lucas asked. “The third prize is a set of out-of-print comics,” Coco said. “I used to really like them. I remember reading them in the library back then, and now, you can’t find them anywhere. I can't believe they have them here. It’s a shame that they’re a prize.” If the comics were for sale, Coco would have bought them for her collection. Although these comics weren’t necessarily valuable, they held sentimental value for her.