In late April 2000, a small group of comics professionals and affluent fans set sail on a cruise to raise money for the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. Four generations of comics were represented, from Golden Age icons Will Eisner and Marty Nodell, to contemporary mainstream luminaries Frank Miller, Jill Thompson, Neil Gaiman and Kurt Busiek, and literary or alternative cartoonists such as Chris Ware, Dan Clowes, Adrian Tomine and the Hernandez brothers. A smaller group of "behind-the-scenes" professionals were also on board -- a handful of editors, publishers and marketing types. I found myself climbing aboard as a last-minute stowaway, a cub journalist amongst a distinguished and diverse crowd.

The cruise was one of the most surreal comics gatherings ever held, no mean feat for a business whose main annual functions host crowds of Klingons, maladjusted adolescents and Hollywood bottom-feeders. The most lucid description of the trip that I saw came from Eric Reynolds, Fantagraphics' marketing director, in an e-mail exchange we had afterward: "Imagine if all the people at any given time in all the Sizzlers in the U.S. were suddenly transported to Graceland, and 100 comics fans tried to have a small convention in the middle of it for an entire week, with absolutely nowhere to escape to."

Stepping aboard the good ship Elation, our senses were assaulted by every imaginable trapping of cruise-line tackiness -- fake mahogany paneling, gaudy pillars of neon lights and an assortment of discos, bars, sundecks and restaurants.

Each night our crew would gather in the Cole Porter lounge, the quietest and least tacky of the ship's watering holes, for schmoozing and boozing. Here I participated in a number of conversations straight from fanboy heaven: enthusing with Chris Ware about the work of Cliff Sterrett; listening to Neal Adams malign Jack Kirby to get Gary Groth's goat; watching Will Eisner hold court about the early days of comics. As fascinating as those conversations were, my most compelling exchanges were with some members of the party not so well-known to the public: the significant others who helped to shape the daily world beyond the drawing boards of four respected literary cartoonists. I found each of these women to be engaging, witty and forthcoming, though I puzzled to find a common thread that bound them together. What was it like to be in a relationship with a cartoonist, whose days and nights are spent slaving devotedly to create a work of art that promises few tangible rewards beyond personal satisfaction and the enthusiasm of a small but loyal readership?

My curiosity grew as we neared our home port and, to satisfy it, I asked all four women to join me for a conversation about their lives with comics creators. There are, of course, other permutations of cartoonist relationships than those represented by the individuals with whom I spoke: Marnie Ware, Erika Clowes, Carol Kovinick-Hernandez and Wendy Jung, girlfriend of Adrian Tomine, but I found that their generous and animated interaction with one another sparked considerable insight into the private lives of this particular group of cartoonists. On the last evening of the cruise we met in a quiet corner of Tiffany's, the ship's 24-hour buffet, as the rest of the crew was drinking in the lounge. This is our discussion from that night.

For the full story, please see Comics Journal #234