As the comic book industry prepares for Comic-Con International in San Diego, I find myself in a strange situation: I won’t be in the SLG booth this year. Instead, I’ll be one of the people I would watch from the other side of the table—a woman with her husband and baby, pressed in with the rest of the crowd.

It’s been nearly ten years since I last attended Comic-Con as a civilian. The convention was smaller then, and Hollywood was a definite but not-yet dominating presence. Back then, I’d get to the hall at opening and not leave until closing, except maybe to grab lunch at the CineCafe or Ralph’s. I roved artists’ alley, attended panels, and got a few sketches and signatures. At the end of the day, I had sore feet and an aching back, but I still stayed up late and returned the next day, seemingly indefatigable.

I don’t think I’ll be doing that this year. The most obvious reason is the kid, whose feeding schedule and naps are going to mandate frequent rest for me—which is not at all unwelcome. I’m not twenty years old anymore. The other reason is that my relationship with the comic book industry has changed now that I have worked in it for almost a decade.

When I first started going to Comic-Con, there was a definite sense of wonder. I was relatively new to reading comics, and Comic-Con was an amazing, huge space where I could explore my hobby. I met established artists—some more gracious and engaging than I could have hoped, a few not so much—and aspiring ones, who looked at me hopefully from their tables covered in ‘zines and self-published comics. I wanted to find new comics and artists to love -- and I did. Among my Comic-Con discoveries were GloomCookie by Serena Valentino and Ted Naifeh (a title I would later edit) and Channel Zero by Brian Wood.

I’ll still be on the look out for new comics to love, but now I also have a most welcome new reason for looking forward to Comic-Con: friends! Comic-Con is where I get to meet up with some of my industry colleagues, some of whom I haven’t seen since last Comic-Con. We talk shop, non-shop, and everything in between, commiserating with each other about the trials and triumphs of working in comics.

And this is something that hasn’t really changed—that connection with other people. Before I worked in comics, it was with my fellow comics readers. It was at Comic-Con that I first realized there were other black-clad, Sandman-reading girls out there. Now it’s with artists, writers, and fellow editors. As I wrote in my last column, comics isn’t just a medium—it’s also a community. The counter of the negative aspects of community that I wrote about last month—insular attitudes, unwillingness to embrace new perspectives—is that sense of camaraderie. People who work in comics are united by them.