Comics fandom is full of people who want to be comic pros - a state of affairs that is regularly bemoaned in many quarters.

It seems like rather a silly thing to complain about, because doesn't everyone also want to be a rock star, a movie star, a novelist, an Olympic athlete and the president of the world? Why shouldn't they all want to be comic creators too? And didn't 99.9% of all comic creators start out as fans? They have to come from somewhere.

(The 0.1% who didn't start out as fans, if you're wondering, are Jamie Delano, hornswaggled into the industry by a big beardy magic man from Northamptonshire and forced to write CAPTAIN BRITAIN by a cruel and uncaring God, and Bill Jemas, who I believe is still looking forward to reading his first comic as soon as his schedule opens up.)

The difference between jobs like 'rock star' and 'Olympic athlete' and 'something in comics' is that, while it's true that everyone at some point idly dreams of being the next Elvis or Babe Ruth, most people give up on those dreams as they emerge from adolescence (which is often at some point in their early thirties).

'I'm not sure how many people are in comics for the right reasons.' The only people who give up on wanting to create comics in their adolescence are the people who actually gave up reading comics in their adolescence. If it weren't for wannabes, the industry would probably be sunk. Indeed, if all the people who have ever sent Marvel a pitch for DR STRANGE had actually read DR STRANGE, the book would probably still be in print.

Being a rock star? That takes serious ambition. Being a comic creator? Well, hell, that must be easy. I mean, look at the people doing the job now! The bar is set low for comic creators. No wonder it's a tough dream to shake off.

Now, on my travels and in my time I've met and spoken to a lot of creators and a lot of hopefuls, and I'm not sure how many of these people are 'in' comics (or getting in) for the right reasons. I think too many of them see it as a low road to minor fame; a way to become little local celebrities and garner the lavish adorations of a tiny pocket of fans while playing at not having a proper job; a way to be a rock star without having either true artistry or a speck of charisma.

And put quite simply, most comic creators just aren't very good. Many seemingly drank their way in to the job, most seem to have less than a rudimentary understanding of the craft, and very few of them could fairly be accused of suffering under the weight of a surfeit of original ideas. I don't think they aim high enough or try hard enough, and it seems that while the young ones don't dare take risks, the old ones don't think they need to. New talents just emulate the middle-ground roaming of their heroes, and the industry perpetuates the supremacy of the hack.

Now, the big story in comics this year remains Marvel's Epic imprint. It's the single event with the most potential to reshape the face of comics, because it's the first time in years that a major publisher has made a serious effort to open its doors to new talent.

'Being a rock star takes ambition. Being a comic creator? Easy!' As I understand it, Marvel has been taken by surprise by the response. I'm not sure how, because as soon as Epic was announced, I'm pretty sure everyone else knew it was going to be a deluge. Rather than sandbagging its offices, it seems Marvel picked four hapless souls from the queue at the local Starbucks, locked them in a shack and started feeding them paper. (That may just be an artist's impression.)

Some applicants have suggested that the submissions team is so out of its depth, Marvel is unlikely to 'discover' any new talents outside of the ones handpicked by scouts like writer Mark Millar and marketing communications manager Michael Doran, plus those few lucky souls who already had editorial contacts of their own. That may just be sour grapes, of course, but it does sound quite plausible. The 'open floodgates' of Epic could just be a PR illusion. The submissions team may just consist of a monkey and a paper shredder.

Assuming that's not the case, of course, then the hope must surely be that Epic will bring in a new wave of exciting, talented creators who will bring about a comics renaissance. Cutting edge risk-takers, and other stuff that sounds snappy in otherwise dull boardroom meetings.

As Paul O'Brien recently noted, the Epic brief allows for very little editorial intervention in the new books. Epic will be driven by the standards of its talents, not the standards of its editorial vision, which isn't hugely encouraging. If the people applying are fanfic writers, online journalists and message board hacks, what we may see is an industry sliding ever further into a persistent fanboy mentality that only services an ever-dwindling audience of continuity-obsessed completionists.

(Those of you now observing that I'm hardly in any position to belittle fanfic writers, online journalists or message board hacks should also note that I'm very much in a position to know exactly what I'm talking about.)

'The hope must be that Epic will bring in a new wave of exciting creators.' Comics' most lauded mainstream names, Morrison, Miller and Moore, are all on the far side of 40. Just about all of the industry's biggest chancers and best storytellers are paying down mortgages and raising children somewhere in the suburbs. These days, an edgy young creator is a thirtysomething who writes middle-of-the-road superheroics and sometimes plays guitar in a band, and the much sought after exclusivity contract has become a badge not just of a creator's stature, but of his need for health insurance.

The industry desperately needs new blood, rather than young people feeding off old blood. It needs people who can look at a comic and see the potential of the page, rather than the potential of THE SILVER SURFER. I say this as someone who loves superheroes and has no crackerjack idealistic objections to work for hire or 'servicing trademarks'. It's not these tools of the story that are to blame; it's the craftsmen, and their failure to learn their craft.

Comics needs people who want to make comics. It doesn't need any more people who just want to be comic creators.

Comics needs people who know what that combination of words and pictures and that collaboration between teller and audience can really achieve.

A CAT'S THE ONLY CAT WHO KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT

Before I go, a plug: Today sees the launch of Comica at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London. It's a weeklong festival of comics, and if you're in the area or if there's any way you can be, I'd encourage you to go along. The highlights of the week include a talk by Charles Burns on Monday, a conversation with Chris Ware on Tuesday, and a conversation with Joe Sacco on Wednesday. Yeah, it's a pretty good line-up.

The festival also sees the launch of the UK edition of OuBaPo, a crack at an experimental comic in a boundaries-breaking format that's already been attempted in France and the US. Check out the ICA website for more details, or just to find out what the hell 'OuBaPo' means.

Andrew Wheeler is a London-based entertainment journalist.

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