Comic Writing Class

Recently I was asked to compose a short comic book writing tutorial for a group of writers up in Toronto. I thought I'd share it here with you as well.

Bill’s Letter to you Writers

On Writing Comic Book Scripts

When you’re writing a comic book script you need to be able to do two things simultaneously. On one hand you must write an interesting short play, with (one hopes) compelling dialogue and captions, whose purpose is to tell the spoken part of the story. On the other hand you have to also write a personal letter of instruction to only one person: the artist who will illustrate the comic book, using the information in your letter to him to tell the visual part of the story.

It’s simple: all you have to do is perfect the art of being the ultimate high-functioning schizophrenic. Like Jekyll and Hyde, to do comics well, you need to be two completely different types of writers sharing one body. Unlike Jekyll and Hyde though, you need to be able to switch back and forth at will, to do two completely different types of writing.

One writer has to be the artist, the wordsmith, the poet. His work will be read directly by the readers. The other writer isn’t interested in poetry, or a deft turn of phrase, or in making sure a given character is speaking in his own distinct voice. His prose needs to be dry and undecorated. This second writer is a technical writer whose job is to instruct a customer in how to program a DVD player, or assemble a piece of furniture, or disassemble an engine. Clarity and simplicity are his only concerns. “Can the customer understand what I’m asking him to do?” is the only question guiding him. In this case his customer is the artist who’ll draw the story.

Here’s the technical writer at work in a sample bit of script taken from an actual issue of Fables. All it consists of is what the artist has to draw on each page:

Page One (five panels)

Panel One

We open this issue with an establishing shot panel of the Farm, including the “village” area, town square, main set of buildings. The early morning sun is coming up over the horizon.

Panel Two

Same scene, but now we move down into the main square. Beauty and Beast are walking arm in arm across the square, towards the steps to the main house. They are dressed formally, in dark funeral clothes. They look pretty sad, but a quiet “they’ve already done their crying” sadness.

Panel Three

Same scene, but closer now on Beauty and Beast. She looks up at him, still sad, but not crushingly so.

Panel Four

Same scene, but now they are both caught in a flash of light coming in from the side (from off panel). The light is intense enough to bathe them both in brilliant light.

Panel Five

This isn’t really a panel. It’s the space you need to leave at the bottom of the page for this issue’s titles and credits.

Pages Two and Three (one panel)

Panel One

This is a double-page spread. Suddenly now, as Beauty and Beast look on from the far left hand side of the two pages, the town square area fills up with people and animal Fables. They have all just arrived via teleportation from Fly’s new kingdom of Haven. Flycatcher is in the exact center of the arriving mob of Fables. There are the sparkly special light effects around Fly that we’ve seen in the last few issues, just like what used to surround Boy Blue in his witching cloak, when he was in the process of teleporting (as seen in the War and Pieces collection). In this newly arrived mob of Fables we see: Bigby and Snow and their cubs (all in human form); Rose Red and Sinbad; Totenkinder and the other 13th floor sorcerers (including Mr. Grandoirs, the big Russian bear-like fellow, whom we’ve seen a lot of in recent issues, and little Ozma, the little blond girl, who is going to become an important character soon); King Cole and Grimble and Hobbes; and a big group of the Farm animal Fables, including Stinky the Badger. Pinocchio is here, but basically alone – not part of one of the groups of Fables. He’s carrying blue’s trumpet with him. Clara the Raven flies more or less near Rose Red. All of these newly arrived Fables walk away from Fly in the middle, off to their various homes and forests and such. Sinbad is practically holding Rose Red on her feet. She seems overcome with grief. Stinky the Badger is trailing behind Totenkinder and her bunch. All of the characters who wear clothes are dressed for a funeral. David: If you want to include other known Fables here, like Doctor Swineheart, the fat nurse, the Three Crow Brothers and such (or other favorites of yours), feel free to. But I’ve listed the ones who have to be in this scene. Note that Mowgli, Bagheera, or anyone appearing in the recent back-up stories, can’t be here. Note also the order in which the dialogue takes place on these two pages, to help in deciding where on the pages to place the various characters. Okay, one final note: Recently all of the Fabletown Fables have moved back up to the Farm when Fabletown was destroyed (another big secret you have to keep), so, depending on how much room you have in this spread and in the pages to follow, we need to see lots of cars and trucks parked wherever there’s room, and lots of tents and temporary shelters pitched wherever there’s room. Thanks.

Page Four (four panels)

Panel One

Same scene, but now we concentrate on Bigby, Snow and their cubs. They are all subdued. Bigby and Snow walk arm in arm and the cubs trail behind them. They are headed towards the main house, where Beast and Beauty are still sitting.

Panel Two

Same scene, but now we concentrate on the kids, trailing behind Bigby and Snow.

Panel Three

Same scene. We are at the main house, where Sinbad is leading Rose Red through the front doors at the top of the steps. Beast and Beauty are still sitting on the steps, so that Sinbad and Rose Red have to walk around them. Rose Red still looks like she might collapse if Sinbad lets go of her.

Panel Four

Same scene, but now Rose Red and Sinbad are inside the doors, while now Bigby and Snow head up the same front porch steps into the same doors. They also have to walk around Beauty and Beast on the steps. This time Beast shoots Bigby a suspicious stare, which Bigby doesn’t see as they pass by. The kids are still following their parents.

And now here’s the same section of script with the dialogue and other matter added that the first writer is responsible for. Note that the artist needs this information too, because the dialogue gives him important clues to every character’s expression and body language. The artist also needs to see the order in which the dialogue occurs in every panel, so that he can position the characters in those panels accordingly, and leave enough space in the panels to fit the amount of dialogue the first writer has written:

Page One (five panels)

Panel One

We open this issue with an establishing shot panel of the Farm, including the “village” area, town square, main set of buildings. The early morning sun is coming up over the horizon.

Non Narration Cap: The Farm

Voice (from Farm): That was a lovely service.

Panel Two

Same scene, but now we move down into the main square. Beauty and Beast are walking arm in arm across the square, towards the steps to the main house. They are dressed formally, in dark funeral clothes. They look pretty sad, but a quiet “they’ve already done their crying” sadness.

Beast: It was. Flycatcher spoke well. And Pinocchio was on his best behavior. Good service indeed, but a dreary way to spend our anniversary.

Beauty: Oh, is it – ?

Beauty: I guess it is.

Beauty: I forgot.

Panel Three

Same scene, but closer now on Beauty and Beast. She looks up at him, still sad, but not crushingly so.

Beast: Don’t worry. Today of all days you have a good excuse for forgetting. And any sort of celebration would be inappropriate.

Beast: So instead, I guess I should just ask you the traditional, annual question. How about it?

Panel Four

Same scene, but now they are both caught in a flash of light coming in from the side (from off panel). The light is intense enough to bathe them both in brilliant light.

Beast: Care to take one more circle around the sun together?

Beauty: Without question. And I think –

Beauty: – huh? –

Panel Five

This isn’t really a panel. It’s the space you need to leave at the bottom of the page for this issue’s titles and credits.

Title (display lettering): Waiting for the Blues

Subtitle (display lettering): (An Epilogue of Sorts for The Dark Ages)

Credits

Pages Two and Three (one panel)

Panel One

This is a double-page spread. Suddenly now, as Beauty and Beast look on from the far left hand side of the two pages, the town square area fills up with people and animal Fables. They have all just arrived via teleportation from Fly’s new kingdom of Haven. Flycatcher is in the exact center of the arriving mob of Fables. There are the sparkly special light effects around Fly that we’ve seen in the last few issues, just like what used to surround Boy Blue in his witching cloak, when he was in the process of teleporting (as seen in the War and Pieces collection). In this newly arrived mob of Fables we see: Bigby and Snow and their cubs (all in human form); Rose Red and Sinbad; Totenkinder and the other 13th floor sorcerers (including Mr. Grandoirs, the big Russian bear-like fellow, whom we’ve seen a lot of in recent issues, and little Ozma, the little blond girl, who is going to become an important character soon); King Cole and Grimble and Hobbes; and a big group of the Farm animal Fables, including Stinky the Badger. Pinocchio is here, but basically alone – not part of one of the groups of Fables. He’s carrying blue’s trumpet with him. Clara the Raven flies more or less near Rose Red. All of these newly arrived Fables walk away from Fly in the middle, off to their various homes and forests and such. Sinbad is practically holding Rose Red on her feet. She seems overcome with grief. Stinky the Badger is trailing behind Totenkinder and her bunch. All of the characters who wear clothes are dressed for a funeral. David: If you want to include other known Fables here, like Doctor Swineheart, the fat nurse, the Three Crow Brothers and such (or other favorites of yours), feel free to. But I’ve listed the ones who have to be in this scene. Note that Mowgli, Bagheera, or anyone appearing in the recent back-up stories, can’t be here. Note also the order in which the dialogue takes place on these two pages, to help in deciding where on the pages to place the various characters. Okay, one final note: Recently all of the Fabletown Fables have moved back up to the Farm when Fabletown was destroyed (another big secret you have to keep), so, depending on how much room you have in this spread and in the pages to follow, we need to see lots of cars and trucks parked wherever there’s room, and lots of tents and temporary shelters pitched wherever there’s room. Thanks.

Beauty: Oh, it’s Flycatcher again. These should be the last Fables from Haven.

Beast: Quick turnaround this time.

Rose Red: No, Sinbad, I don’t want to talk about us, or about anything. I just want to get back into bed.

Rose Red: And Clara? This time I expect no interruptions. Understand?

Clara: You get your rest, boss. Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep everyone in line.

Stinky (the Badger): So how soon before Boy Blue comes back, Frau Totenkinder?

Stinky: The important ones always come back, right? Isn’t that how it works?

Totenkinder: No, that hasn’t been demonstrated in a conclusive way.

Totenkinder: Certainly not to my satisfaction.

Totenkinder: We haven’t established any measurable pattern.

Page Four (four panels)

Panel One

Same scene, but now we concentrate on Bigby, Snow and their cubs. They are all subdued. Bigby and Snow walk arm in arm and the cubs trail behind them. They are headed towards the main house, where Beast and Beauty are still sitting.

Bigby: We should think about parking the cubs with their grandfather, until we know just how much danger we might be in at the Farm.

Darien: What danger, papa?

Winter: More dangerous than grampa’s castle?

Panel Two

Same scene, but now we concentrate on the kids, trailing behind Bigby and Snow.
Conner: Gram Paw’s castle isn’t dangerous no more, stupid. Not now that our Uncle Monsters are gone.

Ambrose: But is anywhere safe? Uncle Blue got killed dead right here.

Panel Three

Same scene. We are at the main house, where Sinbad is leading Rose Red through the front doors at the top of the steps. Beast and Beauty are still sitting on the steps, so that Sinbad and Rose Red have to walk around them. Rose Red still looks like she might collapse if Sinbad lets go of her.

Rose Red: No, I want to be left alone.

Rose Red: Completely alone.

Panel Four

Same scene, but now Rose Red and Sinbad are inside the doors, while now Bigby and Snow head up the same front porch steps into the same doors. They also have to walk around Beauty and Beast on the steps. This time Beast shoots Bigby a suspicious stare, which Bigby doesn’t see as they pass by. The kids are still following their parents.

Snow: Either your father’s keep, or Haven.

Snow: Somewhere safe.

And that shows the two different writers you need to be in a nutshell. No, you don’t have to write the panel descriptions in italics. I just did that to better show off the two different sides to the work ahead of you. The hardest part of this particular type of storytelling, at least in my humble but long experienced opinion, is being able to switch back and forth between the two writing styles at will. If you can’t do that, you can’t do comic books very well. One technique I have found that helps, is that I will first write out long stretches of dialogue at a time – the entire scene’s worth – before I go back and plug in the page and panel descriptions. I write the story like a play, with dialogue only. That way I am able to live in the artistic writer for as long as possible, before switching over to the technical writer. One problem with doing it that way though is remembering what you wanted to happen in any given panel by the time you get back to describe it.

Many comic book writers do the opposite of my process. Since comic books are considered primarily a visual storytelling medium, they write out all of the “action” – the page and panel descriptions – first, and then, only when the issue is entirely done in the technical writing side, do they switch to the artistic writer, going back to plug in the dialogue. This is a perfectly fair and legitimate way to do it, but since my scripts tend to depend more on what characters say to each other, I prefer dialogue first, action second.

Of course you’ll find your own preferred way to do it and your own best pace on how often to switch back and forth between your two writers.

One last thing. Remember that your two different writers, the artist and the technical writer, are partners. They need to work together to produce the best of all possible stories. The artist better not try to cram in so many lines of dialogue and captions into a single panel, that the technical writer can’t possibly fit them in. Since the technical writer is just a stand-in, at this stage, for whoever will actually be drawing this story, you need to treat him kindly, or some comics illustrator (who’s an actually separate person) will grow to hate you. In the same vein, the technical writer can’t try to have more than one action occurring in a single panel, or too many people in a single panel, or too many panels per page, or that same very real comics illustrator is going to hate him too.

So that’s the lesson. You need to be two different writers in one body. You need to be able to switch back and forth between them at will. And, unlike the original Jekyll and Hyde, both personalities have to be partners – the best of friends in fact – each working to bring out the best in the other.

Thank you.

Bill Willingham

Somewhere in Minnesota

It seems this has somehow become my New Year's post.

So there's Coleridge who saddled us with the notion that the ideal reader-writer relationship is achieved by a "willing suspension of disbelief," which idea caught on and we've been stuck with it ever since.

As you can no doubt tell, I don't like the idea and never have. Long before I had any real notion of becoming a storyteller myself I was a dedicated participant on the reader side of the equation, and could never warm up to the concept that a reader will (or even could) temporarily cancel his disbelief mechanisms in order to be drawn into a story to the extent that he could care about characters and events that never happened and never will. It always seemed to miss the mark. But I couldn't pin down what was wrong with it until I stumbled across an essay from JRR Tolkien who posited the more apt idea that readers "create a secondary belief." And I knew instantly, in that unmistakable ping of epiphany, that this was right. This was the essential formula in a successful story, and the proof at last that Coleridge had gotten it wrong.

Why does this matter? Why is it more than just a semantic exercise?

Well, for one thing, the most important thing in fact, a suspension of disbelief, willing or otherwise, is a negation. It's passive. Not an act, but a lack of one. However the creation of secondary belief is active by definition. The partnership between writer and reader is a collaboration in which the reader participates actively and bears much, if not most, of the responsibility of creating the fictional world in which the stories take place. There's nothing passive about it. As one tiny example of the million things a reader will bring to any story: the writer may mention a city in which part of the action will take place, and maybe even describe some of the details, but it is up to the reader to create the fullness of that city in his imagination. Not being able to abide a blank canvas, he fills the streets with people and architecture and a nearly infinite number of details the writer can't fully describe for fear of bogging down the story beyond endurance.

Your readers don't sit at a remove and let the story happen to them. They don't suspend application of consistency, logic and accountability. They participate. They get to work on each page, paragraph, sentence, teaming up with you to create.

Create.

Active.

Any story in which the reader hasn't actively and enthusiastically participated in the creative process, every step of the way, is an unread story. There's no other option.

In part I mention this in order to get it on the record, to let my colleagues know, in our ongoing discussion about the craft, that anytime they mention the "willing suspension of disbelief," the conversation (whatever the specifics of the conversation might have been) will grind to a halt while we argue the point of suspension versus creation. And I'll win that debate, so why even try? Can we just agree now to suspend the idea of suspension?

Okay, I've been meaning to get to this rant for some time, but deadlines, holiday guests, and other things intervened, as things often will, until now it's become a New Year's Eve post. I suppose that obligates me to tie it in somehow with the new year. Easy enough: In the coming year I plan to write about thirty (or so) comic stories, a couple of short prose stories, and at least one new novel. And each of these stories will fly or fall depending on the willingness of many readers, most of whom I will never meet, to do most of the work, to help create the worlds, the characters, the histories and the events, and every other detail in each and every tale. I'll do what I can to make all that work enjoyable.

Also in the coming year I plan to read a lot of books, including just about everything written by the nine other writers sharing this space with me. In that role I will be a willing and active participant, rolling up my metaphorical sleeves, doing my part in our collaboration to get those stories told. I will not be at a safe remove, negating. Sorry, Mr. Coleridge, but you got it wrong.

What Readers Are Owed

A while back, Bill asked "What do we owe our readers?" I've been mulling that over in the days and weeks since, in and amongst going to conventions, playing video games (for work, honest!), and reading big stacks of comics.

I tried to think of the question from both sides, taking into account not only my expectations as a writer sitting down at the keyboard, but as a reader when picking up the work of another. And I think my answer can be summed up in one simple phrase. What do we owe our readers? "A good story."

That deserves a little unpacking. A good story, I think, is one that has an ending. And so writers owe their readers an ending. If you begin a story that can't be comfortably fit into one volume, fair enough, but writers should ask their readers to begin reading a story if they aren't ever going to provide the ending. Obviously, there are real-world complications that can get in the way, and some writers have the poor foresight to die before finishing their tales, but all things being equal I think that writers should finish what they start.

What else does "a good story" mean? Well, I think that varies a bit from reader to reader, but in general it means that there should be some point to what's going on, that stuff should go on, that there should be characters (hopefully interesting ones) in a setting doing stuff (or at least talking ab0ut doing stuff, or maybe just thinking about doing stuff). There should be some entertaining element to the story, on some level, and if the writer can manage to squeeze a little enlightenment in there, so much the better.

This "entertainment" and/or "enlightenment" business is something I've thought about a lot over the years, and which I may talk about again at some point. To cut to the chase, though, I've come to look at myself as an entertainer, primarily. Not every writer is the same, obviously, and there are those who put more value on enlightening their audience--teaching them something, or portraying some truth, however painful or difficult to hear--but as for me, I'm Sammy Davis, Jr. I'm a song-and-dance-man, and while I harbor ambitions of working in a bit of Truth in my fiction whenever possible, I know that if I have to choose only one or the other, I'm going with entertainment.

But my thoughts on the entertainment/enlightenment question aside, the fact is that I think that readers deserve a story that exists for a reason. That reason may be to entertain them for a short while, to thrill or amuse them. That reason may be to bring home some underlying truth about the human condition, or a glimpse into the lives of others that we wouldn't otherwise have gotten. But whether the story is pure entertainment or some kind of enlightenment tract, the important thing is that the story has to be for something. If a piece of writing neither entertains nor enlightens, then it might be stylistically accomplished, it might have all sorts of pretty bells and whistles, it might be a dandy-fine writing exercise, but it isn't a story. And readers are owed more than that.

It's true that cockroaches have eaten an awful lot of my best work.

When Kurt Vonnegut died recently -- yes, 2007 is recent, because I'm getting old and the years are passing much quicker now -- many who loved him and his works passed around his list of eight writing rules. That's when I first became aware of them. They're pretty good rules. At least one of them surprised me -- I mean really surprised me. I thought I'd share them with you, with my own notes and commentary appended.

1) Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

I agree. Part of the unbreakable contract with the reader is that you won't waste his time. I would add that this includes an imperative to do away with all artsy fartsy writing, designed primarily to show off your amazing skills and talents. Quit trying to impress your reader and tell him a story instead. I suspect this is also a call to get to the point. Quit beating around the bush.

2) Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

I mostly agree, but the challenge of this statement does tempt me to one day see if I can write a compelling story wherein every single character is a despicable fiend with hellish goals. I'm trying to think if there are any good examples of that -- not just the antihero, but one with no redeeming qualities at all.

3) Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

I think this pretty much speaks for itself. Some variation of this rule shows up in every writer's advice on how to create "real" believable characters.

4) Every sentence should do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.

I think I mostly agree. But what about describing the setting? Can that be done totally within the context of revealing character or advancing the plot? Aren't you in danger of unduly burdening otherwise tight and concise sentences if the character and action parts also have to get bits of setting and physical description injected into them from time to time?

5) Start as close to the end as possible.

I agree and this is one of those bits of advice, obvious in hindsight, that freed up my own writing considerably. A lot of dead weight got lifted with this rule.

6) Be as sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they're made of.

I agree wholeheartedly. This is the rule that frustrates me most, because it is so self evident, and yet it causes the most problems with a modern readership that is more and more composed of angry "we're constantly looking for ways to take offense" indignation groups. If your characters are black, or gay, or female, or any other sort that can be shoehorned into some category for which there is a vocal, self-elected and angry group of protectors, you're going to take some flak for what you do with them. Do mean things to someone of theirs and they will howl bloody murder. The thing you must constantly remind yourself is that these folks are few, no matter how loud they may be, they do not speak for the majority of whatever group they pretend to represent, and you must ignore them and soldier on, continuing to do nasty things to those characters, because doing otherwise is boring, which is among the worst offenses a writer can commit. You need to remind yourself that you will never hear from the thoughtful, reasonable reader, the way you always will hear from the indignation groups. But they are out there, and they are your true audience.

7) Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

This rule is most often expressed as "write for yourself" or "write to please yourself." I mostly agree with this. I tend to write for a very small, very select group, but not just a single person. I write to please and make sense to the other folks in the Clockwork group. But the entire purpose of forming the group was to be surrounded by those of like minds and similar tastes. Writing simply to please myself smacks just a bit too much of narcissism, and I know I'll never hold my own feet to the fire for my self-indulgences the way the other Clockworkers will. They will not let me get away with any self-indulgent crap.

8) Give your readers as much information as possible, as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

This was the one rule that really opened my eyes. Before this I was all about keeping the suspense, which usually translated into keeping the readers in the dark, until The Big Reveal! Now I see that the big reveal was much overrated. I now think of my relationship to the reader(s) as leading a group of trusted comrades on a commando mission. If I die en route, they should be able to carry on and blow up the Bridge without me (and, guys, please make sure you shoot Alec Guinness, if for no other reason than to see if he comes back all ghostly and reveals you've been hot for your own sister for the last two movies).

Gordon Gekko Was Right

The first issue of Chris Roberson's Cinderella: From Fabletown With Love came out two days ago and has been garnering some well-earned critical attention since then. So just an hour or so ago Chris was gracious enough to publicly thank me, via the (possibly insidious -- we'll see) vehicle of Twitter for "handing (him) a comics career." His words, not mine.

But of course, as generous a notion as it was, Chris was dead wrong. No one gets handed a comics career. As tiny as the comic book business is, compared to the TV or movie business for example, it's a popular one, so much so in fact that, for every available job in comics, there are literally hundreds of people who would love to have it, and a large percentage of those who'd trample their dear old granny to get it. Our racket is tough and competitive. If you can't cut it, there's someone ready to step into your shoes right now. As a result there's zero room in it to hand out a single career as an act of charity. (We won't even get to the fallacious notion that I'd somehow have some ability to give them out, if such gifts were possible.)

Chris got his comics career because he can do the job. Period. In fact, I've known for years what a rare few knew: that he was one of the most qualified persons for a career writing comic books that wasn't currently doing so -- an oversight recently corrected. The truth is, Chris came into this business years later than he deserved. Anyone familiar with his far too numerous prose novels and short stories could see that he was built for writing funnybooks.

So then, what did I do? Not much. When some work became available and I was asked for my opinion on who we should get to do it, Chris was first on a list of a very few names that I rattled off.

When I pointed this out, Chris, ever the gentleman, thanked me again, for at least "holding the door open" at the opportune time, and that's a pretty fair assessment. I'll cop to that.

Now why bring this up at all? Is the purpose of this post to demonstrate what a fine fellow I am?

Not at all. Since the oft-stated purpose of this blog is to discuss the art and craft and business of our profession, I think there's a larger observation to be made here, one worth pointing out.

Basically, I told you all of that to tell you this:

Helping a fellow storyteller get work in the same field, provided he's a gifted one (and he is), isn't an act of charity, or generosity, or selflessness, or largess of any kind. It's a quite premeditated and entirely selfish act of self-preservation -- it's long range career planning.

Follow me on this: In order to make a career telling stories (and after a quarter century in the business that's all I'm qualified for anymore) one has to have (meaning cultivate) a large and dedicated readership. Now here's the thing. Readers read. They read a lot. They read much more and much faster than any one writer (even Geoff Johns -- hi, Geoff) could ever produce material to sate their hunger. Therefore it's in my interest to do everything I can to keep the field stuffed with good writers, who want to write the same or similar sorts of stories I produce, so that my readers are kept happy, so that they'll still be around to read what I produce, when I am able to produce it. Like any species of critter, readers who aren't kept fed will wander off to other fields.

Those who know me well know that I am a dedicated capitalist, with all that implies. I could have rewritten Gordon Gekko's famous "Greed is good" speech so that it made sense -- so that anyone could see that capitalism, done right (meaning hands off, you pinko do-gooders) is not only a compassionate system, it's the only compassionate system. So believe me when I say that I wouldn't go out of my way to create competition for myself. But giving other writers a chance to create stories in the same genres and mediums I do isn't creating competition, it's growing the overall readership, which redounds to the benefit of all. Ever hear the economics proverb, "A rising tide lifts all boats?" It's true. It does. And it applies in this case.

So, finally, here's the lesson:

If you want to make it long term as a writer in the funnybook business (and I suspect this applies to other mediums, but I won't pretend to be an expert in other mediums), you need to write terrific stories, you need to have a herculean work ethic so that you can actually produce said terrific stories on time, and then do it again and again, you will need to be able to resign yourself to the fact that you will never ever again be "off duty" (which I understand actually occurs in other careers, but it's too glorious a dream for me to quite believe it), and when the chance occurs, you need to be ready to give the next guy a hand through the door, for your own sake -- because he may just be the guy that keeps enough dedicated readers hanging around that you can have occasional access to them.

So there. Greed really is good.

The Excitement of Comics

Tomorrow I've got a new comic coming out. Black Widow: Deadly Origin is its name, and you can listen to me going on about it here. I'm very proud of it, and I'm tremendously excited for Wednesday (Thursday in the UK), when the title shows up in comic shops. This is hardly an unknown condition for my fellow Clockworkers, all of whom are, as we speak, I'm sure, groggily trying to piece together some fragmentary memories of the World Fantasy Convention in order to frame a report or two. (Seriously, communication from the floor was limited this weekend. I waited in vain for a photo or two from the bar, with glasses being chinked and people falling out of windows, but... nothing! Did an EMP bomb of some kind go off? Or would said reports just read 'bar, bar, awards, bar?') Many of them are comic book writers, and Chris Roberson has the first issue of his own Cinderella title out tomorrow too. Indeed, that's his first issue of any series, so he must feel extra excited.

That Wednesday feeling, where one hangs around I Fanboy (I hope they note I've dropped the comma I kept putting in their name, like they were the fan equivalent of I, Claudius), Millarworld and other forums, waiting for the first reviews to wander in, when one can pop into a comic shop, and actually see it sitting there on the shelf (right next to the Avengers titles, hmm, that's good) is just one of the many lovely things about writing comics. There's that ability one has to edit dialogue right up until the last moment, to make speech suit expression, or add a joke (like some of John the Skrull's lines) that I only thought of very late. There's the joy of getting new pages of artwork in one's inbox. And the realisation that, if you're vocal in your praise at that point, gradually inkers and colourists will join in sending you their work, because they all love what they're doing too. There's that feeling, a little like playing Test Cricket, that one is joining in with an enterprise (the Marvel Universe or the records of the MCC) that stretches back a long way, that you're comparing your efforts to those of the greats. (And being found wanting, obviously, but maybe one day...) There's working with a really small team, really fast, to create serial fiction under pressure, sometimes working from a whole plot, sometimes leaping hopefully from cliffhanger to cliffhanger, with none of the many layers of approval required of the broadcast media. And there's the audience: immediate, terrifying, roaring, non-impartial pop music reaction.

I think the feeling is quite an ancient one, akin to what Conan Doyle and Dickens and all the other writers of serials for magazines must have felt. I think if Apple do make comics available on ITunes for their Tablet (if such a thing is forthcoming) then that feeling may become a genuinely populist movement again. At any rate, I really love it, and I hope some of that comes over in the comics. Dears, do any of the rest of you want to talk about your special feelings towards this medium? Cheers.

It turns out I did know the way to...

I'm in mostly sunny San Jose at the World Fantasy Convention, along with fellow Clockworkers Daryl Gregory, Chris Roberson and Matthew Sturges. About two to three hundred other writers, publishers and editors of genre fiction are here as well, making for days of interesting conversation and inspirational idea generation (including more than a healthy dose of "I wish I'd thought of that").

I notice the other five Clockwork men and women are disturbingly quiet in our absence, owing I'm quite certain to a knuckling down on various deadlines, due to a profound work ethic (which is a hallmark of your average Ticky Tocker), and having nothing whatsoever to do with a secret coup in the making.

When I return, festooned with a vasty supply of new books and enough Beowulf brand mead (guaranteed to unleash your inner viking) to see me through my year of not traveling, I intend to talk about a few things here, including why perhaps you should be able to tell a book from its cover, even though the old adage promises you can't, the myth of cultural appropriation, the imaginary credentialed, the lure of multi volume epic fantasy, and other things of interest (to me at least).

And, as Marc Andreyko and I embark on our super secret funnybook project, maybe it would be fun to keep a journal on the process and base mechanics of co-writing the thing, as it's done, all the while revealing next to nothing about the story's actual content.

See you in a few days.

Stuff I Said

Recently I was a Guest of Honor at Tel Aviv's Icon (as in Israel Convention, natch') where, among other things, I was interviewed by some nice and thoughtful people. The results of that interview, excised of all of my "uhs" and other verbal tics, making me seem much more cogent than I really am, is now posted and available.

You can find it here.

Also, in the spirit of properly welcoming our new members, I'll throw out a general question which each of them (of us, new and old) can tackle in a post of their very own. This is something I'd been meaning to address for some time, and now seems just the right time. So, what is it you owe your readers? What, if anything, do you absolutely not owe your readers?

Update: Okay, so I'm looking over the posted interview and I see that the language barrier was in fine form over there. Some things got spelled oddly, due to imperfect pronunciation on my part, and some things seemed to just get lost in the kerfuffle. I do know that Laura is Rob's wife's name in The Dick Van Dyke Show. I have no idea how they heard that as Barbara. Reforger, the yearly war games during the Cold War, should be capitalized. Civic Comics was actually Pacific Comics. And so on. Most folks in Israel speak English. In fact I didn't meet a one who didn't have some English, but it wasn't always their first tongue. And sometimes I do tend to talk faster than my mouth can keep up. And some things are clearly just transcription typos.

It was pretty cool though being sponsored in part by the US Embassy in Tel Aviv. They wouldn't provide me Marine Guards though -- cheapskates.

Yet another update: I have an open letter to fellow Clockworkian Chris Roberson posted on the wonderfully cranky right wing Big Hollywood site, which you can find here. You may need to scroll down a bit, depending on when you read this. It's about the future, but not the one we think we were promised.

Day One- Happy Fiscal New Year!!!

Got caught up running errands and paying bills today. Watched a little TV. Then did a longish podcast in support of the new run on the ANGEL comic series. Almost no output. Stretched a scene where Gulliver escapes from a dungeon cell. General clean-up on the existing text. Had to look up correct spelling for 'eunuch'.

Got bounced from a screenwriting contest. My scene scored 85. People scoring 93 or higher moved on. Pretty happy with the 85.

Finally have a decent idea for some new comic book work. Inspired by the tone of the recent HELLCAT mini-series by K Immonen. Might play with this tomorrow. Waiting for notes on the completed four issues of the new comic mini-series for IDW. Pretty sure that rewrites don't count toward the daily totals.

Typing this like Rorschach.

Hurm. 635 words.

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My three days of hell (well... heck at least)

Like Matt though, I have some tough days of writing ahead of me -- three of them. In order to get on the plane to Israel on Wednesday morning with a minimum of guilt, I have to complete the following:

Today, Sunday the 27th of September, I have to finish the script for the first issue of Backroads. As of this moment I have written 12 pages of it today. 10 pages to go. I also have to finish the script to Fables # 90. Yes, I am that far behind on Fables. I should be up to Fables # 93 or 94 by now. About 8 pages of the script are done (and already being drawn), with 14 more to go.

Also today I have written the foreword to the first collection of the marvelous The Unwritten comic book series, by Mike Carey and Peter Gross. Why aren't you reading it yet? Don't let The Unwritten go unread a moment longer.

Tomorrow I have to write the complete script to Jack of Fables # 40, with help from Matt of course. And half the script to Angel # 3. It's actually not issue # 3, it's whatever the real issue number is, but I can't recall that just now, and it's my third issue of the run, so there.

And then, Tuesday I have to write the rest of Angel # 3, and the complete script to JSA # 36. Plus I also have to find time in the day to pack and pick up my dry cleaning, and generally get ready to leave far too early the next day.

So there you go, Matt. I have no compassion for you. This is the life we've chosen.

Put that wooden stake down. We're not (un)dead!

Okay, we've let this place lie fallow long enough. I've been traveling, and got the flu, so got behind on deadlines, and every other sort of blah, blah, blah. But we started this silly blog to talk about writing in general, and our writing in particular, and to keep the communication going between the widely dispersed Clockwork Storybook group.

So let's kick this thing back to life, starting now.

Matt Sturges has a novel due in just about a month, and he has to complete it without letting all of his comic book work go undone, so he's decided to start another one of those "How much work can I get done in one month?" marathons, just like our Great February Writing Duel last year. This time Matt is starting October 1st and running through the month. I can't participate this go round, since I'll be in Israel for most of that time, but I will snipe and comment, when I can, from the sidelines.

At this point I have no idea if the other Clockwork boys will be joining Matt, but since Matt has to do it, even if he does it all alone, and since posting his daily progress here publicly will help keep him on track, away we go. Well, away he goes anyway. So visit and comment when you can, and help keep Matt's feet to the fire.

360 Degree Character Reviews

Over on his blog Kung Fu Monkey, comics scripter and screenwriter John Rogers shares some terrific advice for developing well-rounded characters.

Occasionally, LEVERAGE writer Albert Kim will regale us with stories of the horrible traditions and kabuki of his previous corporate life. He recently explained the idea of the 360 degree job review. You are reviewed by:

1.) Your bosses
2.) Your peers
3.) Your underlings.

I started doing this as a way to develop characters, and I have to admit I kind of dig it. How does Indiana Jones's boss at the university feel about him? Other archeologists? His students? How about the bad guys? "Major Arnold Toht is the best commandant I've ever had. He never sends us into dangerous situations without also taking the same risk. He is very organized and makes sure we have the tools and resources necessary to serve the Fuhrer. We always go to interesting places, and he really encourages individual initiative. His determination is an inspiration to us all ..."

More fun is a recent bit of development I've been doing for villains and heroes -- flip them. Take a page and write about the villain as if he's the protagonist. I don't mean the anti-hero protagonist, I mean the "I admire this character and want to see him succeed"protagonist. Doing this with even minor characters can open up new interactions. What this does is force you to come up with virtues for your bad guy, even invent some -- otherwise, he's not a hero, is he? (I recently psyched myself out of using a character as a villain, because I wound up becoming too invested in his non-villainous personal life.).

Years ago another writer taught me a simple exercise -- describe a character, hero or villain, as his best friend would describe him while setting up a blind date. Then do it from the point of view of the co-worker who hates his guts and is unloading to his wife after work, or finally has a chance to sink him with a job recommendation.

I've used similar approaches in the past, but nothing as comprehensive as what Rogers is describing here. I may have to incorporate this into my outlining process...
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A Pitch Question

Guys,

Okay, with a little arm-twisting I have someone at a publisher willing to read my Merry Widow pitch. I have a one page pitch document that outlines the lead characters and the basic conflict and the setting. But I am wondering, is that too short?

Bill

Monday Morning Quarterbacking

To answer Bill’s question about what we owe the audience, I think the song and dance (or in Mark’s case a dancing monkey) arugment makes sense.

My thinking on the matter has changed a bit over the years because the medium of delivery has changed. When I started reading, I worked through the Tarzan paperback books and the Doc Savage books. Currently, I go through a load of mysteries including some of the series fiction like the Parker novels and even those mediocre Monk tie-in novels. Books were always something to be valued in my house when I was a kid growing up and I have a reverence for printed things. There are some things true now that were not true when I started putting words together on paper.

Back in the day, I approached my work to create works of a superb and enduring quality. I was hoping to write things that would be enjoyed today, tomorrow and as long as print exists. That’s a large goal. With the dawning of the age of digital distribution, I have come to realize that you don't have to be any damn good to stick around forever. Any blog post arguing about women in comics will endure.

Now, I am more concerned with originality in my approach to any new project. With Bill’s Fables and Matt’s House of Mystery series, you guys have taken some universal concepts and made something unique and a product of individual talent. I’m looking at my current work with a more critical eye and wondering if it swerves close to the land of fanfic. So, with my comic work, I am trying to be more experimental with the subject matter.

I have a project in the works that I described as the illustrated adventures of ‘Lenny’ from Of Mice and Men. Thom Zahler is putting together the graphics and he will be illustrating the complete 4 page story I wrote just before Christmas. I wrote a short graphic novel about a cat. I think we owe the audience exciting material and the best way to aid that is to excite ourselves about what we are writing. That enthusiasm shows.

And we have to stick the ending.

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Well, this site's been dead for a while...

Oh dear, I've been gone so long and I have no good excuse. I don't even have a bad one. Typically now I'm behind on everything. I need to post the rest of that story I started, before so much time has passed that it's topical again. I will. I will.

     Soon.

     In the meantime I have something on which I want to opine, but I want to get my colleagues to go on record first. As a professional story teller, what is our contract with the readers? What do we owe them with every story we write, whether published for profit or given away? What do we absolutely not owe them?

     Bill, Chris, Matt and Mark, fess up. Give me your best answers. Then I will post mine and maybe by then I can remember why I wanted to know.

SideChick-age

Hah. Look at you asking me a question. Very clever, Mister Bond.

Since SideChicks is an internet- first project, the stories can be of any length. The first thing I wrote was the third story that ran, a detective story called Just Business that was serialized in the 2nd & 3rd SideChicks e-comics. I wanted to examine how a bodyguard firm in a world with spandex characters operating on the clock would deal with the loss of a client. In that story, the reasonable proceedures would be examined including a parallel to police shootings, etc. The reasonable question to be asked was this... How does a corporation deal with a specific failure? The obvious answer... Blame the employee!

In that story, Shawn Collier gets distracted and engages in personal combat and while she is distracted, and the person she is tasked to guard gets killed by an unseen actor. After an initial investigation, she is put on leave until she cleans up her mess. Just Business runs an even 72 comic pages and was serialized from February 07 to July 08.

When I wrote the story, I thought it might be too long to try out an artist, so as a counterpoint, I decided to write a story where the bodyguard does the right thing- protecting the target before handling the obvious threat. That was the first story, The One Punch Wonder, and that was the 'try-out' for Francisco Rodriguez de la Fuente, a Spanish artist who penciled a few issues of ROBIN. It runs 16 pages and was the first SideChicks story serialized from August 06 to November 06.

I lacked confidence that one penciler would continue to resist the siren song of mainstream comics work, so I wrote another try-out short story, A Long Walk to a Short Interview. It runs an even shorter 14 pages and filled the space between the first story and the longer story. A Brazilian artist, Walter Geovani penciled that story and started another before drifting over to become the penciler on the RED SONYA book from Dynamite.

I wrote the SideChicks material in one protracted burst of about about 250 pages of material. The stories run various lengths and hopefully the eventual print version will hang together as a cohesive thing. I have a ton of non-regular-comics readers that try the series and love it. And I have the immediate feedback that the internet provides.

Robb Phipps (MANTRA) is penciling the current story, a straight up murder mystery where one of the SideChicks gets hired for a freelance gig to clear a friend of a fellow pal in Spandex. Walter Geovani is about half way through penciling a longer story about a person trying to kill a corporation. Jose Luis is working on a short WWII flashback story that was kind of recycled from an idea from that VETERAN pitch and I am hoping that he will finish as he is being scheduled to pencil an issue of JLA. And the final long story is the last of that first burst of ideas when I sat down to put fingers to keys when I decided to do a comic for the web. I have some ideas for a Second Season, but the pull of that crime comic is strong.

So, as you might guess, the infinite blank slate of the internet has allowed me the total freedom to create comics of any length where I can cut scenes or let them run long. But I have found that the readers have very little patience for letting an interview scene run long. What looks short on the printed page is pretty dull when stretched out over two weeks of updates. It is very different from writing that issue of JLU which has a very strict formulae for publication regarding page count, content, etc.

So, much like your answer, the story is the thing.

Things I should be working on today...

Contrary to what my editors may believe, I'm almost always working. However, I'm almost never working on what I should be working on. Today for example there are many pressing things that should be done. There are not one but two different issues of Fables (one each for two different artists) I should finish up. There is a sword and sorcery prose story that needs finishing, and there's also a superhero prose story that needs finishing. Both of those stories have homes waiting for them in two different anthologies to be published next year. But I'm not working on any of those things. Today I'm working on a novel that has no specific deadline. And yet it's what I want to do today.

Fellow Men of Clockwork, what are you working on today? And is it the same as what you should be working on today? Why or why not? Or is it even possible that you're taking a day off? Time to fess up. It's confessional day at Clockwork Storybook.

Editor Driven Stories

I wish the editors would take some responsibility for the plot, when they hand down plot points which you have to use and incorporate into your stories. They take the authority for the plot, but don't take the responsibility. What do I mean by that? No matter how often they hand down things that you have to do with any given comics story, it's your name listed in the credits as the writer. You get the blame for everything in the story, including those plot decrees imposed from above. In Robin I took a lot of the blame for killing off Spoiler. In Batman I took the lion's share of the blame for making that doctor whatshername decide to snuff Spoiler. In both of those cases those were decisions made by the editors and other high mucky mucks in the company. In Shadowpact I took the blame for the mess in the very first issue with the impossible (according to events in other contemporaneous books) appearance of Superman, which was actually a screw-up imposed by the editors in trying to fix one of their other screw-ups. But in all of these cases, and too many more to list, the editors have never come forward and said, "Sorry, that was my mistake."

The editors often take authority but never take responsibility.

End of rant.

Now, in order not to make this a gripe session about everything that's wrong with comics, let me change the subject -- or change the subject back to what we started with. Bill, in Sidechicks, which is an online comic, what informs your decisions there on how long or how short to make a given story? Space isn't a problem, since you aren't paying for the printing and shipping. What is of concern in that case?

Decompression Causes the Bends

Yes, you gave two concrete actions that work for you in the creation of the FABLES comics and collections.

1) Try to end an issue on a dramatic point.

2) Don't worry about the length of the trade, meaning the number of issues collected.

Those work for you and seem to work well for that project because you control the direction of the series. I was interested in your thoughts about plot and pacing and their importance to the shape of the final project as it relates to some of the comics projects you have worked on.

FABLES is the result of a bottom up approach to making comics where you wrote the original pitch and as a creator control the kind of stories told between the covers. FABLES is full of stand alone characters existing in their own space. Once upon a time, you and I pitched a mini-series aimed at the DCU about that VETERAN character you created when you were writing ROBIN. Recently, the clockwork guys pitched a HOUSE OF SECRETS mini-series for VERTIGO that was pretty great. Neither of these proposed projects got enough traction to get down the road. These bottom up projects require a lot of time selling to your first audience, the editor.

By comparison, there are top down projects that get assigned to writers as a part of a crossover or from a desire to tinker with fictional universes. From what I remember, the DAY OF VENGEANCE mini-series was proposed to make space for a reboot of the magic characters in the DC Universe. Again my memory may zig when it should zag, but when you get a project like this, you get Point A and have to get to Point B with a few beats getting hit along the six-issue way. Those projects require no selling because the editor is already onboard. It starts in their office.

Does the fact that the editor takes some of the responsibility for the plot make those kind of projects easier or harder to write?

Compression Decompression Depression...

How hard is it to pace the stories in Fables so they work well both in the individual comic books and in the collections? Well, it's both hard and easy. It's easier than one might initially think because I have a lot of leeway in the size of the eventual collection. The smallest size for a Fables collection (so far) has been about the equivalent of five regular issues. The largest size has been in the neighborhood of twelve regular issues. Between those two extremes there's a lot of wiggle room, especially in light of the fact that we often have more than one overarching story per collection. The reason I mention all of this is, because of this leeway, in Fables I don't need to worry about the eventual collections when I'm plotting and pacing the original issues. As much as possible I pay no attention to how any pacing decision will fit into the inevitable collection. I count on the collection people to do all the worrying on how to make it work and fit and so on. And they are, headed up by Scott Nybakken (Hi, Scott), very good at making things work.

Because of this freedom to basically ignore the collections in my planning, I'm able to make each Fables story pretty much run for as long or as short as the story demands. And in Fables we have done complete stories of less than one full comics length -- even as short as one page -- up to stories as long as The Good Prince, which was I think eleven issues long, with another interlude issue shoved into the middle of it.

So, what's my point? Simply this: the only thing influencing the length of a Fables story is: How long or short do I think any given story needs to be to best serve that story? Period. So, except to try to end any given single issue on a bit of a dramatic point -- something to make the reader want to be sure to pick up the next issue and see what happens next -- I don't ever have to stretch a scene (decompression) or shrink a scene (compression) to make things fit.

Truth be told, the entire pointy-headed academics concepts of compression and decompression, as applied to funnybook stories, came along without my noticing them, until everyone seemed to be talking about them and I had to play catch-up to find out what the conversation was about. Back in my day we used to call it padding and cutting -- two concepts that more describe the rude mechanics of story construction, rather than any planned, intended process, as the compression/decompression terms seem to imply.

I don't do compression. I don't do decompression. I simply do, to the best of my reasoning, whatever I think will make the best story for that particular story.

That said, pacing a story is the absolute hardest part of comics (and prose for that matter) writing for me. Don't get me wrong. No part of writing comes easy, but compared to pacing and plot structure, things like dialogue and characterization and such seem like they're easy. Plot and pacing (which I think are inseparable) have always been a giant bitch for me, and I don't think that bitch will ever be tamed. (My apologies for the earthy metaphor.) I work and work at structure and am never totally satisfied with the results. But according to the funnybook freelancer's credo, you do the best you can with any given issue, let it go, and try to do better the next time.

One final thought. I don't think compression and decompression in comic books actually exists, in the sense that there wasn't an original comic story that was too long and so had pages and panels removed to properly compress it. Was there a shorter version of a given story that had pages and panels added to decompress it? Nope. Not at all. What there was, was a writer, or artist, or both, making decisions as they go to do the story at whatever original pace they were doing the story in. Nothing was being compressed. Nothing was being decompressed. The story was simply being told at whatever pace it was being told, and others came along later and affixed those fancy labels to it, entirely after the fact. Now the argument could be made (and often is) that so-and-so is taking too long with a given story, or going too fast, not letting said story have room to "breathe" and such. But that's not the same as ascribing a certain policy or process to the comics making.

Orson Scott Card, in one of his notes of advice to a student fiction writer, once said (and I'm heavily paraphrasing here, so blame me and not him if this makes no sense, or if the tone of the quote seems rude), "Quit worrying about the theme of your story. That's not up to you to decide. You only need to worry about plot and structure and character and such and let others come along later and decide what the theme was. That's what the pointy headed nabobs of academia do. They neither sew, nor do they reap (nor do they know how to do either). They just come along after the fact and tell everyone what the author was really thinking, and what the theme of his work was, and all sorts of other nonsense that has nothing to do with your actual story. Those types will always be around, clucking and tsk-tsking from the sidelines of life, never contributing, but often taking credit and acting as if they were an essential part of the process. Don't worry about them. Just do your work the best you know how."

I'm not certain, but I think conversations about compression and decompression fit into the same category as Card's warning about theme and its essential meaninglessness.

So, somewhere in all of this mess above, did I answer your question, Bill? Any of you other gentlemen of the Tick and the Tock care to wade in on this subject?