If you've been following along, I started this whole bloggy thingy to detail my adventures in selling my comics collection. OK, to recap for new readers so far:
1. I have a lot of comics
2. I no longer want to have a lot of comics
3. I made an effort to sell them through various online and offline channels
4. It was a giant pain in the ass
5. I really haven't detailed my adventures so much as I've just written about stuff I felt like writing about, with a large serving of comic related musings on the side
So after four months of multiple Craigslist posts, I finally sold my comics.
Yes, it is true. I should tell you that I am more excited about the sale than it may appear, and the transaction is almost complete (now, now, don't worry - all I have to do now is ship them - they're paid for, and the buyer is arranging the shipping).
In total, since March, I received about 100 emails and phone calls. I had one aborted sale (after a 2 1/2 hour drive each way). I had far too many questions about the Silver Age and/or Marvel content of the collection, (though the listings were pretty darn clear as to the comics contained therein). I had some hilarious lowball offers. I spoke to some colossal assholes. I was afraid I would never sell them, and concurrently afraid that I would.
After sharing my story with so many of you (a surprising amount, considering my inability to maintain even the most basic writing consistency), I realized I was not alone in my contention that comic collecting, as I knew it growing up, is dead. I'm OK with that, I really am. My kids can read the same great Avengers tales and Love & Rockets comics as I did, albeit probably through a different medium and format.
Oh, what's that? How much did I get for the whole thing? It appears the going rate for 3900 bagged and boarded comics, dating from 1975 to 2013 from publishers as diverse as Marvel, First, Image, DC, Comico and Eclipse, in long runs and all sorted and chronological and neat and tidy (near mint to mint condition - sure I guess), is about a cool grand.
$1000. That's what I got. I didn't haggle. I wasn't insulted. I wasn't surprised. A guy in Michigan said he'll give me a grand, and I said yes, I'll take that.
By the end of this week, there will be a large 15-long-box shaped hole in my life. The $1000 I got for the collection won't fill it, but something will, and I'm sure it'll be something cool.
And, sure, Zombie Cat Bacon will continue. I enjoy the process and the interaction. Plus a Facebook page now exists here. Join me, won't you?