Pat Race looks back fondly on the comic convention experiences from his life. The co-owner of Juneau, Alaska’s Alaska Robotics Gallery — a combination comic shop, art gallery, and purveyor of varying nerd-related items — has attended or tabled at events of all shapes and sizes, including extravaganzas like San Diego Comic Con, smaller ones like Alternative Press Expo, or even non-comic festivals like Bumbershoot in Seattle. And while there was always an element of trying to sell his comics or shirts or whatever, what he really treasured were the off times when creators gathered.

Maybe that was everyone taking a trip to a comic shop to read mini comics from local cartoonists, or it could have been convening at a nearby hotel’s fire pit during San Diego Comic Con so they could have drinks and play cards. Whatever it was, the point was they were there together, enjoying each other’s company and learning from one another. While each event was valuable from a sales and relationship building standpoint, the parts Race and his co-owner Aaron Suring appreciated the most were the ones where everyone could just be people, and in all the best ways.

Those moments were few and far between, as anyone who has attended a convention knows. For all the joy these events can inspire, there’s a whole lot of hustle as well. You fit those moments in, but only just. Those experiences led Race and Suring to an important question, though, and one that set them on a new path. That question?

Why couldn’t they create a comics event built around their favorite parts?

That, in the simplest of explanations, is how the idea of Alaska Robotics Mini-Con — an event that is arguably the best kept secret in American comic conventions, one that’s filled with the industry’s biggest names and a whole lot of surprises — was born.

So, what exactly is Alaska Robotics Mini-Con? One of its recurring guests in writer Ryan North has an answer for you.

“You can really split it into two parts. The first is on Saturday, and that’s the comics convention for the entire community of Juneau, Alaska,” North said. “Once that wraps up, we all get on a bus and travel to Camp itself, where we stay for the next few days discussing the art and craft of comics together in the woods.”

It’s even more than that, really. Ever since this event started in 2016, its footprint has touched on the entire area surrounding Juneau. Attending creators — which included starry names like Raina Telgemeier, Scott McCloud, Kazu Kibuishi, and Lucy Knisley this year, with previous iterations featuring folks like Kate Beaton, C. Spike Trotman, Gale Galligan, and a whole lot more — don’t just go to the con and its “Comics Camp.” 1 They’ll spread throughout the city, with cartoonists taking Friday to speak to schools, art classes, and a whole lot more about stories, their work, and everything else, before closing the day with a variety show at a local library. 2 It’s much more than a convention; it’s a community takeover.

You can feel that when you visit for the Mini-Con. Even though it happens during a stretch that finds the city overwhelmed by tourists 3 and lawmakers alike, 4 it’s enlivened by attending creators. Everywhere I went during this year’s event, I found creators existing as part of the community. Whether it’s getting seated after Scott McCloud and his family at renowned Italian eatery In Bocca al Lupo or playing the very easy game of “Cartoonist or Tourist?” as you walk around, their presence is felt.

That idea was most delightfully realized one morning at a Juneau restaurant called Sandpiper Café. As I ate breakfast, I had a feeling that the duo next to me was there for the con. So, towards the end of the meal, I asked. They were. It was cartoonists Kaylee Rowena and Maggie Vicknair, who excitedly admitted that they thought I was visiting for it as well. We quickly fell into conversation about the Mini-Con and where they’re from and everything else, and it was a delight. But that kind of thing happened regularly throughout my stay. There’s a joyousness that permeates throughout the city because of it, and that’s true even for someone like me, a visitor who only was getting a small taste of the full event.

For those who attend, it’s so much more than a small convention. Different people described it to me as “a life-changing experience” and “one of the most unique events I’ve had the pleasure to be a part of in my art career.” Cartoonist Dave Kellett added to that. He’s a frequent attendee, and someone who only goes to what he calls “social cartooning events.” For him, Alaska Robotics Mini-Con is a class unto itself.

“I find this (event) so heartfelt and joy filled and friendship based,” Kellett said. “It’s much more of a, ‘We can put the show on right here’ kind of an attitude. It’s just delightful.

“You don’t find it often in any of the arts, you know?”

When asked about its roots, Race emphasized that it wasn’t a purely original idea. Other events inspired Alaska Robotics Mini-Con. One was a science fiction writer’s retreat called the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop. A book about it “outlined a lot of ideas” that helped the team build the Mini-Con and its surrounding experiences out. Another came from cartoonist Meredith Gran, someone who used to “host a gathering of indie webcomics artists.” But those were just its foundation. They developed it from there, and one crucial distinction to the Mini-Con is how it’s “a big community event,” one that “everyone’s part of.”

“That’s why it’s different. We’re all getting on the bus and going to the thing. We’re all piling in the van, and Aaron and I are doing the airport pickups half the time,” Race said. “It’s really personal, and then everyone’s hanging out downtown together.”

Suring said the event is “less about going and being on in front of a number of people (for creators), it’s more about hanging out and having fun.” That makes a difference. I heard tales of early career cartoonists playing pool against legends like McCloud before this year’s edition, or friendships being formed at previous ones, including connections that eventually led to creative collaborations. 5 While many events like this are oriented on commerce, Alaska Robotics Mini-Con is built on connection. And it shows.

It isn’t a big event by any means. This year’s Mini-Con had 50 or so exhibitors and 77 people who attended the Comics Camp itself, the majority of whom were visitors from outside the state. The convention itself only generates between 1,000 to 1,500 attendees each year. Its formula hasn’t really changed since it first launched, with its structure of school visits and the variety show on Friday, the Mini-Con on Saturday, and Comics Camp following over the next few days staying consistent throughout. Suring said they look for places to improve, but there’s beauty in its simplicity and stability.

“It was just so great, I didn’t want to wholesale change anything,” he said.

Now, it’s only natural for the people who put on an event to talk it up. You wouldn’t expect anything else. You might predict some level of variance amongst creators about its appeal. That wasn’t the case. Everyone raved about it. The truth is, the best advertising Alaska Robotics Mini-Con has going for it — at least amongst potential guests — are the creators who have already attended. Word of mouth is its greatest ally. As Vicknair told me, its reputation is sterling, and the fact that she had pals going made it that much easier to attend herself.

“I heard all about how nice it was and how beautiful it was here and how much fun people have,” Vicknair said. “It seemed like a good opportunity to go forth on a comics adventure.”

Word of mouth spreads fast, 6 and it elicits an immediate reaction amongst creators who learn of it. Grace Desmarais told me her first visit inspired her to return home and tell fellow creators that they “have got to do this.” That’s a common tale, so now buzz is spreading even further. 7 Almost every first-time guest I talked to mentioned word of mouth as a reason they were interested in attending, and it was always because they had heard about what a joy it was to go. Ryan Dunlavey even told me other creative friends — ones who weren’t even currently active in comics — would say they wanted to go after learning about it, just because of how fun it sounded. But as Kibuishi noted, there’s value beyond the fun.

“It’s one of the very rare events in our field where even the best will attend to learn something new instead of just exhibiting and selling their work,” the cartoonist said.

There were plenty of other appealing factors. Audrey Meeker admitted that seeing the big names on the guest list was a hook for her, as she couldn’t resist the chance to “just learn from others in addition to being able to meet the titans of middle grade graphic novels.” Richard Mercado had his curiosity piqued by the Camp, if only because it sounded so unique. Alex Barsky emphasized the outdoors element and how it all takes place in a rainforest. She’s “always looking for an excuse to go out and have an adventure, and if I could do that at the same time as I meet other comics creators, I’m sold right away.”

That last bit was essential. Many underlined how its unique setting made it that much more appealing. Almost no one had been to Alaska before, and none had been to a comic event there. Rowena, a Brooklyn resident, told me she’d never even visited the West Coast. 8 For many, this was a chance to go on a grand adventure, and to experience something quite unlike their regular lives. That’s a big part of the reason Desmarais returned, as she recounted her first experience flying into the state, even if it’s much more than that.

“I remember flying into Ketchikan. 9 My face was glued to the window like a small child. Every time you look out the window, the views are insane,” she shared. “And then when we got to Camp, you’re able to build a comics community that isn’t just based on career connections. You’re becoming friends.

“I’ve done school visits both times and I’ve never had classrooms be so eager and excited for me to just talk about what I’m doing,” said the Brooklyn-based Desmarais. “It is such a privilege.”

That so many guests come nearly every year was a hook for attendees as well. Kaycie Dunlap said that folks like Telgemeier, Kibuishi, North, and beyond returning “over and over again” was “a good indicator that it’s a great time.” And the fact that it’s more than just the convention makes it easier for everyone. As Rowena said, “If it was just the convention, then the amount of travel it takes to get here probably wouldn’t feel as worth it.”

“But the fact that the Camp is also part of it makes the trip not just a one-day thing, but a whole excursion…that really was the draw.”

While several attending creators viewed the Mini-Con itself similarly to Meeker when she called it “a nice bonus,” folks were delighted by the convention — even if it wasn’t a massive money earner for them. That’s because of the excitement and unique nature of many of those who attended the event, as Kellett said.

“Over the course of my career, I’ve done all the big conventions. And when you go to a big one, you get the fan of fans. They’ve been planning all year,” the cartoonist said. “But when you come to Juneau, there’s this wonderful community spirit because they’re so happy that you’re here. Even if they’re not a comic fan, they’re so happy that you’re here that they’re going to come out.”

“You’ll get grandparents that took their grandkids to this Mini-Con. They’re happy you’re here because it’s Juneau, and Juneau doesn’t have the resources of a larger metropolis that can have the more nuanced cultural life.”

That was an oft repeated note about the convention itself. As North emphasized when he told me “The only way to get in or out is by plane or by boat!” Juneau is a unique place, geographically speaking. And because the city is not used to having big events, residents will go even if they weren’t fans of the medium before.

“One of the advantages is it (draws) a lot of people to it that might not otherwise check it out in a larger city,” North said. “I’ve met people there who haven’t read a comic in their life, but are curious, and so (they) come out to see what the medium is all about. It’s such an honor to be someone’s first comic book, and such a joy to introduce the medium to someone new.”

It becomes something residents anticipate, even though they have no idea what to expect. Desmarais shared that families have told her how they budgeted strictly for the event. They all wanted to buy comics from the varying creators even if they weren’t readers before. And why not? It’s a free con in a small city, one filled with everyone from up-and-coming names from the comics space to New York Times best sellers and award winners. You can find a little bit of everyone and everything there.

I know that firsthand. Even though the convention is mini both in name and in size — it takes up three tightly spaced stories in the beautiful APK Alaska State Libraries, Archives, and Museum — you’re rarely lacking in things to do. Looking to watch Kibuishi talk about his journey as a cartoonist through the lens of Amulet? You can. Want drawing tips from folks like Cara Bean, Cassidy Wasserman, and Elliott? They can help. Hoping to learn about new books from established creators like Knisley, Jarad Greene, Jessixa Bagley, and Wasserman? There’s a classroom for that.

And despite the fact that it was a one-day affair with a smaller footprint than your average convention, I somehow walked out with more graphic novels, mini-comics, art, and beyond than I’d typically get in a three- or four-day event with 100 times the attendance. While it can be difficult to turn the Mini-Con into a profitable endeavor for creators, it’s a feast for comic fans, as I picked up a bevy of books from massive names 10 and rising talents alike.

While the convention is a good time, for many guests, the three-day Comics Camp that follows is the main event. That’s according to both Race and the bulk of the creators I talked to. That’s understandable. It is undeniably the most unique aspect of Alaska Robotics Mini-Con, and really the foundation of what Race and Suring were trying to accomplish. This Comics Camp finds dozens of creators being bussed out to a camp in the Tongass National Forest — so far out that there isn’t actually cell phone service, which North said is a “rare and pleasant thing” 11 — for what Race described as “a peer-to-peer artist retreat.”

“It’s a chance for working professional artists to get away into the woods and spend time with each other,” Race said. “Some of that is decompression and playing board games and complaining about publishers, and some of that is learning and connecting.”

Lucas Elliott said each iteration “is a little different because of the people that attend and how we all connect,” with campers shaping it through their own interests. The Alaska-based cartoonist is a great example of the subtle ways the event has evolved. He’s been to every Mini-Con since it started in 2016, and originally, he treated “it like work development.” But that changed once everyone figured out what this could be — and did so together.

“Very quickly, I realized that we were all just looking for a chance to run away into the woods, make s’mores, go on hikes and just…be,” Elliott said. “Sure, we have workshops that are serious such as storytelling, page design and even a few years ago I taught a workshop on how to use Procreate. But the great thing about this is minus the meal schedule, it’s very organic. You hang out with who you want to, you can join in on events, or if you prefer some alone time, that time is respected.”

“There’s something special about going into the woods with people that lets you be more honest than you otherwise would,” North added. “The barriers all break down, and we’re all just a bunch of peers in the woods trying to figure out how to make comics and make a living making comics. It’s part retreat, part workshop, all fun.”

Because so much of the Camp is about people sharing passions and skills, you’ll get a little bit of everything there. As Race said, “Sometimes that’s friendship bracelets, sometimes that’s inking, sometimes that’s how to get an agent, and sometimes that’s fire breathing with (cartoonist) Ben (Hatke).” 12 You never know what to expect from each year’s edition of Comics Camp, like when 2024’s featured a stunt man who taught stunt fighting to help these artists improve at drawing action poses.

“That was really fun,” Suring said.

It’s all fun, though. Rowena described it as one of the rare opportunities that creators get to hang out “without it feeling like networking,” an opinion many shared. Kellett said the Camp was why he was even there. It’s an essential part of each year he attends.

“It’s among one of the most valued things I do every year in terms of refilling your creative bank account,” the cartoonist said. “I come away energized. I come away feeling more grounded. I come away having shared and sharing the difficulties of being an artist, but also best practices and learning new things at Camp in a super low stakes, low pressure way.

“I can’t say enough good things about it.”

You might think that an event filled with newcomers and best-sellers alike could lead to clique-like behavior, but Elliott emphasized that one of the most standout aspects of Comics Camp is how untrue that proves to be.

“The biggest thing about Camp though is that we are equal,” he said. “While we have people who have come to Comics Camp who are bigger names and people who are just starting out, none of that matters. We’re just friends, looking for who can roast the best marshmallow and not drop it in the fire.”

That multi-generational aspect is one of the most special parts about it according to those I talked to. Kellett even views the Camp as a chance for veteran creators to pay it forward to newer generations of cartoonists, as they can save those creators “a half year of trouble by giving them five minutes of advice.” While Comics Camp is a good time in the woods with a slew of creative individuals, the way creators can help each other cannot be underrated.

Sometimes that help is about more than just career advice. Knisley is a good example of that. She’s been working in comics for a long time, and she’s made a lot of friends in the industry over the years. The problem was that time passed and a combination of life changes and major world events like the pandemic kept them separated. Outside of the biggest conventions, Knisley said she’d rarely get to see her comic pals, and even then, it’d be for 30 seconds as they flew from one part of their schedule to another.

“There’s no time to reconnect to these people I’ve known my entire professional life,” she said.

Pair that feeling of separation with all the changes in publishing — book bans, AI, theft of intellectual property, etc. — and she found that there “were a lot of ambient points of despair in my career professionally” when she first attended the Mini-Con in 2024. She needed connection, and Comics Camp gave her exactly what she was looking for.

“Coming to Camp, I got to really reconnect with the human side of making comics,” Knisley said. “Doing that and reconnecting with people and hearing their comparable stories of despair about these things was really healing for me.

“They just filled my cup right up.”

If there was one commonality amongst those I talked to about what makes Alaska Robotics Mini-Con special, it was a single word: “Community.” It is at the heart of the entire event, even if it happens on multiple levels.

Part of it is the community of Juneau itself, something that’s important to Race and Suring as residents and business owners within the city. Race said they “try to encourage people to be there for the community,” and creators are typically thrilled to do so. Elliott emphasized that “you feel the joy and love (residents) exude” because of how thankful the city is to have an event like this. 13 Race shared an anecdote from the event’s first year to really underline the close connection between the city and the event.

“One of our volunteers was a kid that wanted to help out, and we were like, ‘We need you to walk Raina over to the library for this presentation,’” he said. “Someone found them walking the wrong way in the rain and was like, ‘Let me give you a ride to the library.’

“Everyone’s taking care of each other.”

Another community aspect is about the bonds formed amongst the creators who attend. Some of it results in actual work and creative partnerships, but that’s just a small part of it. This kind of shared experience is important for comic creators, plenty of whom work in isolation for many hours, days, and weeks of the year. While Vicknair said the internet can be useful for fostering those connections, “talking to people in real life is way better.” And that’s a crucial part of the alchemy of this event, one that other conventions have far less of by design.

“While the Mini-Con is amazing, what really keeps me coming back is the community aspect,” Elliott said. “Not just the community of Juneau who come out in droves to support this event, but the community that we build at Camp.”

“For me it’s a way to recharge creative batteries while also sharing with a bunch of cartoonists all the tips and tricks I know,” North added. “Surrounded by your peers like that, in an environment where you can have these casual conversations over meals or around campfires about anything and everything related to comics or otherwise, really is invaluable. And fun!

“I’ve never experienced that anywhere else.”

If community is at the heart of Alaska Robotics Mini-Con, then its founders in Race and Suring — as well as the bevy of volunteers that help put it together — are its soul. Kibuishi’s known the pair for a long time, and he said “everything (about the event) revolves around the people involved” in Race and Suring. Elliott echoed that sentiment, saying that it all stems from the people who wanted to build a new type of comics event in an unexpected place, and delivered in a major way.

“In a world where we’re just trying to find our community to connect with, Pat and Aaron have done an amazing job of not only opening themselves up but their community to those who are in need of that connection,” Elliott said. “And the fact that they make it a point to invite people back not only for camp but to come back just to visit shows how deeply they want people to feel connected and appreciated and loved.

“Who wouldn’t want to come back and help this special thing grow?”

Juneau, Alaska might seem like an odd place to host one of the most beloved comic events in the entire country. Many of you may have never heard of it. Some of you might even be wondering how it’s pronounced. 14 But it’s been a constant in Race and Suring’s entire lives. The former was born there. The latter grew up in the city. They know how rare major events are. That’s why they wanted to build something for their community, their home of Juneau, with the one they found in comics. That’s what they’ve done, and they hope its importance only grows with the passage of time.

“It means so much for us to have an event like this in a place like this. My family wasn’t super wealthy. We couldn’t go out to comic conventions. We couldn’t go out to concerts,” Race said. “I want kids (who go to Alaska Robotics Mini-Con) to feel like, ‘Oh my God, that was amazing.’ And then 20 years from now, I want them to be like, ‘Did that really happen in Juneau?’

“’Was that a thing that I went to?’”

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