B&N Week 6: Communication
Good morning, everyone! I’m guessing it’s Tuesday, so it’s time for another installment of Bolts & Nuts.
I’m still looking for a theme song. Maybe Cream, by Prince. [I’m a big Prince fan, as if I haven’t said that before.] Daimonds and Pearls was a great album… Digression! Okay. I’m good now.
Today, we’re going to talk about working with creative types. So, let’s dive right on in.
First and foremost, you have to communicate. Communication is the best, and the most important thing you can do to help yourself. If you don’t communicate, what’s the point?
The best form of communication is talking on the phone. (Duh, Steven. I know that.) Yeah? Then why are you getting artists that are near you, and only communicating through e-mail and IM’s? What’s wrong with picking up the [cell] phone and using your voice to talk to someone? Until we all become telepathic, talking to someone is the fastest, most efficient way of communicating with someone. Pick up the phone. Don’t be scared.
Now, if you’re in Kansas and your artist is in Argentina or Germany [or vice versa], picking up the phone would be costly. I don’t recommend it, in that case. In those cases, e-mail and instant messaging are perfectly acceptable alternatives. If you’re in the same country, though, there’s really no excuse.
Communication is a two-way street. Everyone needs to be kept in the loop when you’re working on a project. If you’re a writer and started paying to have Pen-Man created and then ran out of money, TELL SOMEONE. Own up to your situation, tell the team that Pen-Man is on hold until you can pay them, and give them a timeframe [if possible] as to when you can start paying them again. Giving half up front and then half upon completion is a standard practice, and if something happens in your life that the second half suddenly dries up, just be upfront with it. You’ll be much more respected as a creator that way. You don’t want to be the creator that ends up on Rich Johnston’s Bleeding Cool site for non-payment. It’s a stigma that’s hard to get around.
Basically what I’m saying is not to disappear. It’s embarrassing to have something like that happen, but comics is a small community, and you don’t want to be known as a person who cuts and runs. It’s not professional.
This also goes for artists, who are notorious for flaking out. Tell someone what’s going on. If you can’t cut it, give a refund and let the writer move on. Things happen. Be an adult and own up to it.
We’re going to revisit communication, because its the central theme of today’s column. As a writer wanting to do your own projects, the first thing you’re going to do is look for an editor. [See? I’m following my own advice.] Editors are creators too, and each part of the creative team is going to have their own challenges when it comes to bringing Pen-Man to life.
The first thing you have to decide is how much power you want the editor to have. In the end, it’s your book, but you’re hiring someone else to guide you to make it the best book possible. Do you want Pen-Man to suffer because you let your ego get in the way? Are you going to pull rank on the person you hired to help you? Because I’ll tell you, it’s happened.
Time for an aside in order to explain what I mean.
Like I said before, I used to work for a small press company as the Editor in Chief. When I got the position, I went in with a plan, as anyone would. That plan was to read every project we had on the books, script by script, and to look at all artwork we had. I had to know where each story was, and make sure that all stories were up to snuff.
We had one book who’s basic premise was a gimmick: to be able to read the entire story backwards and forwards, and have it make sense both ways. It was a story that came from another company, and when lots of people jumped from that particular ship, this story landed with my company.
Like I said, I got this story basically third-hand. It had somehow slipped through the editing cracks, and there was already an issue’s worth of art done, with another ten or so pages of the second issue done. I was pretty happy! One issue in the can, artwise, and another on the way. The artist was doing both pencils and inks, so things were going smoothly.
And then I got to be EiC. [insert tones of doom]
I read all the scripts, and when I got to that story, I was appalled. Totally and irrefutably. Like I said, somehow the scripts had slipped through the editorial cracks. The thing didn’t have an editor assigned to it, it didn’t get read when it came to the new company, and was just silently being worked on with no oversight.
I put a complete halt to the production of the comic. I mean totally complete. I stopped artwork, and assigned an editor to the script, because what I read was craptacular. Too many characters with speaking parts, too many words per panel per page, too many storylines, characters that were cookie cutter archetypes, no research done on anything [time travel, the military, the military chain of command, nuclear weaponry, the effects of such on human anatomy, military bases], a truly implausible reason for the villain’s actions, and dialogue that was so cringe-worthy that I was almost physically ill. Complete and utter trash. (Steven, it wasn’t that bad, was it? I mean, really…) The writer wanted to push a nuclear warhead up Cheyenne Mountain, using nothing but about 100 people who were actively dying from radiation poisoning, with the belief that you could just walk up to the entrance like they do in Stargate: SG-1. If you’ve ever been in the military, you know that NO base has its entrance basically right off the street, like a house. (Oh…)
Anyway, I assigned an editor to it, and the editor didn’t get anywhere. The writer didn’t want to budge on his story. I assigned another editor, with the instructions to edit it hard. The writer then complained to me, and so I offered to edit it myself. I did my best to polish the script, and to salvage as much of the first issue artwork as I could. The writer wasn’t moving on much. I offered to pair the writer with another, stronger writer. The writer only trusted one other person with their writing, and didn’t want the person I picked for them. I took a look at the work of the person the writer trusted, and they were worse than the original writer!
By now, everyone’s frustrated, and the writer tells me, the EiC and direct editor, that they’re not going to make any more changes, and I better get with their program, or I could remove myself from the project. (Oooooh! No!!!!)
And that long story was to illustrate my point. How much power do you want to give up to the freelance editor, the one you’ve hired to make you look like a genius? Are they there to be your proofreader, or are you going to trust them to do the job you’ve hired them for? If they’re there to proofread, then they’re not really editing, are they? What do I mean by proofread? I mean they suggest changes, and you don’t listen to them, because you know better. If that’s the case, you’ve wasted your money and the editor’s time. Neither is really a good thing.
If the editor is with a company that is publishing you, then your story has to meet company standards. If it doesn’t, but the story’s already bought, then expect them to want changes. If you don’t make the changes, or they’re not good enough, then they’ll be made for you. You’ve heard the horror stories about Marvel/DC making changes for no reason. If you haven’t, then you will, or you haven’t been doing any independent research on your own.
How much power you want to give up is definitely a question only you can answer, but it should be pretty much to the forefront of your thoughts when hiring an editor.
With that said, we’ve already gone over the job of the editor. If they’re just helping you doctor the script, then that’s their only function. If their going to manage the entire project, then you’ve given them control over your project, which gives them the headaches and leaves you free to create. It all depends on your budget and how much you want to be involved.
So how do you work with editors? Well, if its a freelancer, you’ve hired them to guide your book, as I’ve stated. You give them all the tools and information they need in order to do their job. They should then take the script, and make as many notes as necessary in order to make the script ready for print. You should then get these notes and incorporate them to the best of your ability. Your editor should be your best [professional] friend, and depending on the level of their involvement, if they’ve done their job correctly, they’ll save your life.
Next is your artist. Artists can be really strange. Sometimes, you have to treat them with kid gloves—especially if they’re relatively new. You should befriend your artists, not only because comics is a small community and you may be working with them again, but because the closer you are, the better the work should be. Also, the less likely they are to totally disappear on you. This is commonly known as flaking out.
If the artist is purely mercenary, you’ll be paying half up-front, and half upon completion, and you should have decently constant contact with them. They’re the one making your dreams become reality, so you have the leeway to make sure it comes out the way you want it to look. This doesn’t give you leave to be an obnoxious jerk, but you get to ask what you paid for.
If you’re working with your artist as a collaboration or for back-end pay, if you don’t keep in contact with them, there’s the possibility of them flaking out on you. If they’re not interested in the story, they may go, or if they’re interested but find a paying gig, they may go. The most effective way to keep an artist you’re collaborating with, besides a constant stream of communication, is to allow them some say in the story. Draw them in, making them truly a part of it, instead of just being an artmonkey.
Inkers are probably the part of the team you’ll speak to least. You hire them, they ink, and then they fade into the background. Inkers are underappreciated. Like I said in a previous column, an inker’s job is to interpret the pencils, so they should be artists in their own right. What do you want to talk to the inker about? Their method/approach to this particular project. Pen or brush? Rough or slick? Lots of crosshatching, or not? Generally, you’re seeing the inker’s work when you look at a finished comic, so you should learn to actually see what you’re looking at.
Talk to the inkers. Make them feel like a part of the team. Trust me, they’ll think the world of you. (Steven, what about flaking? Do inkers flake?) Sure, inkers flake—almost everyone does. Inkers aren’t immune. However, I can say that they flake less often than pencilers. Really, everyone flakes less often than pencilers. Pencilers are the flake-masters. [And I know that some of you reading this are artists. Before bombarding me with hate-mail, think about how many horror stories you’ve heard about flaking, and put them into two columns: artists and everyone else. If the numbers are anything but the everyone else column totally engulfing the artist column by three to one, then you don’t really have much of a leg to stand on. Sorry.]
You’re going to talk to colorists a little more than inkers. You’re making sure that the time of day is right, that the lighting is correct, and all sorts of other stuff that you won’t be able to imagine right now. A good colorist is going to make their stamp on the comic, as much as the penciler. Colors, tones, textures, highlights, shadows, and effects such as blurs, lens flares, reversals, waves, reflections…the list goes on. The reason you want to keep in contact with the colorist is because the list does go on. A bad colorist will use all of their tricks instead of just telling the story. They get in their own way instead of enhancing the story. You want to tone them down, no matter how cool the effect looks. Too much will overwhelm the reader, so keep it to a minimum.
How do you keep a colorist? Besides the rightful ego stroke, understand that the job they do can take as long as the penciler to get it just right—especially if the comic is supposed to have a painted look. That understanding will mean the world to a colorist, because they want to get it right the first time. Changing colors means a decent amount of labor, because there are layers to the colors. [Remember when I talked about colorists a while ago, and the initial layer of colors? Those initial colors are called flats. They can consist of a couple of layers.] It’s not as simple as just changing a light source or lightening a single color. The entire page has to flow, and a single change can mean a change to the entire page, which means double work for the colorist. You keep the colorist in the loop as soon as possible, so that they have an idea as to where you want to go with the story. Their contribution, often unsung, will be the second-most influential thing the reader sees. If it’s good, it’s subliminal; if its bad, it can be garish. Be polite, be placating, but get your meaning across.
Letterers are the same as colorists. They have literally hundreds of fonts to choose from. It can be insane. The lettering can also affect how your book is read. This, too, is almost subliminal. Do you want a hand-lettered look, or a more slick look? Do you have characters that speak in different dialects, and thus, deserve a different font? A great example of this is Thor from Marvel Comics. Over the past few years, his font is decidedly different from other heroes. This can be a conscious change by the letterer, or something asked for by the writer. It adds flavor.
In the instance of the letterer, they’ll generally be talking to you, instead of the other way around. They’re going to want to know what type of look you’re going for, and generally will give you some samples of fonts based on what your needs are. From there, it’s a [simple] matter of putting your words on the page. Get back the proofs before you make final decisions, though. You may not like a tail, or a font may look wonky, or placement could be off. Experienced letterers are fast, and the changes should be few and simple. Letterers that are new are also cheaper, and you’ll have to talk to them more.
Always remember that the name of this game is communication. It will go a long way to avoiding hassles in the future.
(But Steven, what happens when they flake?)
A lot of it depends on you, really. How much time are you going to invest in hunting someone down and getting either the work out of them, or getting the money back? There are tons of stories floating around of people who’ve lost hundreds if not thousands of dollars on someone who’s flaked. And yes, it’s happened to me, too, on a few occasions. What did I do? Well, the one guy who disappeared on me, I didn’t pay. We were supposed to have some work done together, and he got the script and some character descriptions, but didn’t do anything with them. The other two? One is a working artist who hurt his hand in a motorcycle accident, and the other just never got the work done. Accident-guy never got back to me, and no-work guy I chalk up to learning a lesson.
Yes, I can track them down, chew them out, and demand refunds. If I ever get one. Or I could demand the work that was started to be completed. If I were to get anything back from them at all in the form of communication, I’d be vaguely surprised. (Names?) No names. That’s not professional, and not the purpose of this column. The purpose of this week’s column is to give you pointers on how to work with creative types, and hopefully, give you insight on the process so you don’t end up in Rich Johnston’s site.
And with that, I’m done. Homework? Make a better effort to communicate with your creative teams. Be an adult when things don’t go as planned. Pretty simple. Thanks. See you next week. Finally, we get into scripting!
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Category: Bolts & Nuts
I thought I’d talk a little bit about my communications with various aspects of the creative team.
First up: the editor. The editor is often the first pair of eyes to lock on your script after you’ve finished your first draft. He’s the person that decides if it’s ready to go ahead to the other members of the creative team, and ultimately, to the reading audience. It is the comic book equivalent of the gatekeeper at the door, stopping you from leaving your house with your pants around your ankles.
Now, when I was young, I took piano lessons, and I had a great teacher. This teacher would pick apart every little mistake I made, judge my playing under the highest level of scrutiny, so much so that at times I got frustrated. But she’d always say that she was a hard taskmaster, but she was a lot stricter than any examiner would be. And she was right. By the time I got to my actual exams for moving up the Grades, it was a cake-walk in comparison to the standards I had to maintain in lessons.
And I think that’s what’s great about Steven Forbes, the editor I’ve been working with all through the creative process of “The Standard”. He is a hard taskmaster, and is not easily pleased. He judges a story a lot more harshly than any reader, picking apart any logic holes and mistakes. This results in a whole lot of notes and required fixes, but it also means that when he finally deems that you’ve got it right, YOU’VE GOT IT RIGHT.
Case in point: one of the scripts I wrote, I was really happy with. I was thinking to myself how good it was – action-packed, dramatic – and that Steve was going to LOVE it. So imagine my shock when he got back to me, and not only did he not love it, he thought it was bad, that it had core structural flaws. He said that surface changes wouldn’t be enough here, I’d have to pretty much go back to the drawing board.
I wrote a lengthy e-mail back to him pleading my case, explaining all the ways I thought he was wrong and how my story wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. I adamantly disagreed with him, and to this day I’m still quite fond of that original script. But here’s the important bit. Despite the fact that I personally thought he was wrong, I still trusted his judgement enough to take his advice and go back to the drawing board with the script anyway.
What’s crucial about this? You don’t just want an editor who likes the exact same things you do, and sees things the same way you do. Then you might as well just be cloning yourself and acting as your own editor. You’ve hired an editor to be someone who can stand outside you and your story, and over an outside, objective perspective on it. And even if you don’t agree with their conclusions, if you hired them to do the job you should trust they’re doing it right.
And here’s the other sign of a good editor: Steven told me I needed to go back to the drawing board, but he didn’t tell me what to replace the bad stuff with. He could easily have just said, “Right, take out this page, and put this and this and this in there instead, then have that character do this, and this character do that.” He’s a good enough writer that he COULD have done the fix himself. And perhaps, in certain emergency cases, such a hands-on approach is necessary. But he respected my status as the writer and that this was my story enough for me to come up with my own solution to the problem.
So anyway, I start the drastic redraft, following Steve’s advice despite not agreeing with it, and telling myself that I’d only go ahead with this restructuring if the final product was better than the initial draft. And it was. Dramatically so. I’ll admit it. By taking some stuff out, and putting other elements in, the script went from good to great (Steve would probably view it as “from awful to adequate”), and put the story on a whole other level.
Other times, the editing contribution has simply been fixing wonky lines and tightening up elements here and there. But whether the changes are large or small, going through an editor is always an essential part of the process. It lets you know your script is ready, that it reads well to someone other than yourself.
And Steven has been incredibly supportive through every aspect of my first comics project, advising me on every step of the process, looking over art. I’m incredibly grateful for his contribution, and I know the comic probably wouldn’t have been made without him.
Next up: the artist!
I’m not hard.
Really, I’m not. Seriously.
I’m just not that easy to please.
Here’s the thing about communication: you have to express yourself well, making your case, but at the same time, not come across as an overbearing asshole. Here’s when effective communication with a creative type is key.
John wrote a script that adhered to the plot we both had approved a year beforehand. There were changes to the scripts in that time, John also grew as a writer (and really, he’s pretty good already), and the story he wrote for that particular issue was not totally in keeping with what had gone before. He went straight from his plot, and while it was a decent piece of work, if it were published the way it was, readers would rightfully want to slap me in the face for not saying something about it.
So, I did what any editor would do. I told him it was a piece of crap, that his keyboard should be taken away from him, and that he should think about a career as a navel-lint picker, because comics writing was not his forte. BUT, if he wanted to give it another go, he should shore up some things about the storytelling, and gave him a rough plot that incorporated some things from the past.
And John was pissed. As he should have been. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’d be pissed too if I wrote a piece of crap. But, because my communication was effective (I told him that if he wanted me to remain on this project, he now had to mortgage his firstborn to my everlasting slavery, PLUS pay me a royalty for having to read his tripe beforehand and fixing it so that it would be readable to the masses), he went back to the drawing board with the script.
But he tried to get out of it, though. He told me I was an egotistical monster, just trying to make money from his hard work, and that readers would understand what he was doing. He also said I should go back to my cave, and not come back out until I had a real education in comics. (That one hurt, John. I can say that, now. That one hurt.)
And I told him why it wasn’t effective. (That effective communication again.) I told him that he didn’t bridge the gap from one issue to the other. I told him that there were things that just weren’t gelling because he failed to bridge the gap, and that if he ever crossed me again, I’d make sure that the Midnighter would visit him.
So he went back to work. And what he came back with was “meh.” It’s not something I’d care to wipe with, but I wouldn’t burn it, either.
Communication is a two way street. You have to have information told to you, then you have to take it in, internalize it, see if it fits, and then come back with a response.
Communication also takes courage. You have to be willing to listen to something you might not want to hear. That can be hard. But if you want to get better, this is what has to be done.
When working with an editor (in the indies, and especially freelance), you have to decide if they’re there for themselves, or if they’re there to make the story better. You’ll quickly be able to tell the difference. It will be apparent in the way they communicate with you, and with the reason for the changes made to the story.
Communication, folks. That’s what it’s all about.
Sorry about that whole “go back to your cave” thing, Steven. I was demonically possessed by (redacted) at the time.
Two things:
First and foremost, we’re not here to bash. That means no bringing up some things (even if REALLY funny!) that puts down someone else. That’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to learn some things, and have a good time in doing it. That is the reason why I edited your post a smidge, John.
And no, folks, that won’t happen often. Not too much into the “moderating” if I don’t have to.
And second: apology accepted. 🙂
I think when an artist gets involved in your project is when it starts to become real. When someone starts turning your words into images, your comic stops being something abstract, and starts to take shape before your eyes.
To any new or aspiring comic book writers reading, I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to put out an ad, and have all the replies start filtering into your inbox. I had over a hundred artists contact me in response to my first ad. It was a bit overwhelming: all these people want to work with me! Of course, some were more suitable than others, and I narrowed it down to my top choices. But here’s something I should mention, something I think everyone should do: I took the time to personally reply to every ad and thank each artist for submitting, even if it was just to tell them they weren’t right for the project. As creative types, we’re all going to experience the frustration of submitting work and never getting a reply, so we all know how much any acknowledgement is appreciated. I certainly know I’d like to hear back from anyone I submitted work to, even if it was just to say, “no thanks”.
I’d like to think I was able to end on good terms with everyone that contacted me. And now I have a bunch of artists in my mind that I could approach for future projects. But from the wave of replies, I was able to find the kind of people where I could picture “The Standard” drawn by them, and I got chills at the prospect.
But this is one of the things that makes an artist flaking so frustrating and disheartening. You start to imagine your story through their eyes, see your characters how they design them, and then when you lose them, you lose that vision of the project too, and it’s back to square one. The first artist I hired submitted a killer sample page, which got him the job. He submitted a couple of character designs… then vanished. I’d try contacting him repeatedly to no avail, then maybe once every few weeks he’d reply with “Oh hey, I’m just going out, I’ll send a reply when I get back tonight.” Then I’d not hear from him for another few weeks.
This went on for several months, until finally I pulled the plug and dropped him from the project. The artist got back to me saying that he’d had a lot of difficulties in his personal life, and I don’t doubt him, but at the same time I believe COMMUNICATION is key. If life is getting in the way and you can’t produce, TELL YOUR COLLABORATORS. Don’t leave them in the dark.
This is something I find baffling. So many artists (indeed, many people of all disciplines within the comic industry) talk about how hard it is to climb the ladder and establish yourself. But surely a big part of building your reputation would be, when you DO get paying work, actually DO it?
The next artist I went to was polite, courteous, totally professional… but it was clear it was a business transaction. And that’s totally fine. Not every work-for-hire gig is going to invoke deep passion and personal belief in the project. He also submitted character designs and a sample page, got as far as thumbnails, but then another project he had been finishing up suddenly got a lot bigger. Now this is the difference: he immediately contacted me and laid out the situation, saying I could either wait a few months for him to finish, or I could find another artist – and the sample page and character designs would be free of charge. I opted for the latter option, and we ended on good terms. I’d happily hire the guy for another project, schedules permitting.
It was a case of third time’s a charm, however. I was feeling down on the whole project after two false starts, and wondered if I’d ever get it off the ground. But then Steven put me in contact with artist Jonathan Rector (another great thing an editor can provide – contacts!), and it was a perfect match. This might sound cheesy, but I very quickly got the sense that this was the artist who was always meant for this project.
His style of art was just a perfect match for “The Standard”, even moreso than my previous artists. And here’s the biggie: you got the sense that he BELIEVED in the project. He was the first artist to read the script and seem genuinely excited about working on it, popping with ideas and ways to add to what I had. The process of character design was so much more in-depth and collaborative here, as we brainstormed and through back and forth ideas. There was a total rapport there, it felt like a partnership.
The thumbnails were similarly collaborative, with Jon often working out multiple approaches to the same page – one adhering strictly to my instructions in the script, the other with him doing more of his own thing. And almost invariably, his way was better. But it was good being a part of that process – again, it felt like a partnership.
And then came the point when I started getting the interior pages. Another note to any aspiring comic writers: it is so exciting opening e-mails in your inbox, and finding your pages of script turned into works of art. You’re seeing your story come to life. And not just seeing the images you’ve had in your head for weeks, months and years perfectly recreated, but seeing someone take that image, and make it BETTER. It’s an incredible dynamic.
I feel like I’ve perhaps been spoiled in having an artist as good as Jon on my first project, as we’ve become friends. I’ll usually talk to him a couple of times a week. He’ll show me other art he’s working on and I’ll send him other scripts I’m working on. And he’s engaged and excited about every aspect of “The Standard”. It feels like it’s his baby as much as it is mine.
Jon inks his pencils, so I can’t talk about any communications with inkers from experience.
Similarly, I’ve only recently added a colorist to the book, so I can’t talk at length about my dealings in this field, other than to say I’m really happy to have someone as talented as I do onboard the project fulfilling this role.
Now, with lettering, in the very early stages of development I foolishly thought I could learn my own lettering and do this aspect of the comic. “It’s just lettering, right?” After a few tutorials on the subject put me in the fetal position curled up in a ball on the floor, I realised I needed to hire someone that knew who they were doing. I ended up with Kel Nuttall, who is a lettering machine. I was floored by the quality of stuff he was providing, and the speed at which he was doing it. The lettering added a whole new dimension to the book, really complimented the art and brought out the best in it. It was a major contribution, and I tried to make sure Kel knew how much that contribution was appreciated.
Really, I find I’m really fortunate with the people I’m working with. They’re all such incredibly talented people, that I’ve never felt like I’m just settling for. If I had my pick of any of the biggest names in comics in each of the respective fields, I’d sooner keep everyone in their present roles. I feel like this is the ideal lineup for “The Standard”, the dream team. And these are all people I’d want to work with on other projects in the future.
I think good communication also implies learning to let go of the notion of “ownership”.
Sure it’s your idea, your plot, your characters and your script (your money too, in certain cases), but it’s good to remember that this script is only one the the parts needed to make the comic a reality. Even though it comes first in terms of process, it’s not the case in terms of importance.
The script is “yours”, but the final product belongs to the team. As such, it’s good to pick up some opinions along the way.
To end on another strange analogy, if you replace comics with car racing, the writer would design the car, the penciller, inker and letterer would build it and the editor would drive it. Okay, as the writer, you’d get to drive it a bit too, but not on the day of the race!
Nope. Not the last analogy.
The editor is the pit boss. We make sure that everyone else is doing their job, and keeps the driver (writer) on task in the direction they’re trying to go.
Everything else is accurate, though.
How fitting! You edited my analogy! 🙂
(On another note, I always felt like “pit boss” sounded like a job someone took in a gladiatorial arena in a post-apocalyptic setting.)
Well, yeah, there is that.
I would just rather be Master, and not Blaster.
And I’d rather not wear the chainmail dress.
But seriously, I think my “not driving” stance might come from my theater background. In that world, you need to let go of your script once it’s in the director’s hands.
I guess making comics is a process where you can “keep your hands on the wheel” all the way through. I like that.
Thanks for the enlightenment, Steven!
I just want to be clear, here:
It’s ONLY like that in the indies. If you’ve got a creator-owned thing going, and hire an editor, fine. That’s how it will be.
If you make it to the Promised Land (Marvel/DC), then things may not be like this. I’ve never worked for either, but you have to remember that if you get there, you are only a steward of the character. You will get to tell your story, but through THEIR filter, not yours. Sometimes, that story will be editorially created, and you’re just the typewriter monkey who gets to write it up.
And then, there are horror stories about editors totally rewriting a comic. Something like that should never happen, and if it does, it should never happen outside of Oz (Marvel/DC).
If it does, for a creator-owned book, then there’s something wrong.
Another great read, I don’t comment as often as I would like too but I’ve got a small obsession with Comix Tribe as a whole. A question I have as a novice, where would one go to find an Editor? Once you’ve found one, how do you obtain an idea of appropriate pricing? I would love to see an article that covers this aspect in all fields of the creative team one such as myself would be trying to build. As new as I am to this aspect of comics I would love to find the proper resources and understand proper pricing based on experience. Keep up the great work and i’ll be watching!
Ruiz:
Not to be much of a shill, but you can always e-mail me about my pricing. Then you can compare and contrast from pricing at other places.
There aren’t many places where you can find an editor for comics. There are places for editors, sure, but it takes a special skill set for comics. If you want that, then you need to go where comics people go.
Digital Webbing has a Help Wanted section wehre you can place an ad for an editor. Then simply ask about pricing. See if they have a track record, or if they can give you examples of how they work, or if they can give you references. (References may be best.) Check ’em out. See what they’re about. See what they can do for you and your story. See if they’re what you’re looking for.
Because if you have a manga story, I’m more than likely not the editor you’re looking for. If you’re trying to do slash fiction with hedgehogs raping squirrels, then I’m definitely not your guy.
See if the editor’s views coincide with your own. Or, if they can at least do the job you’re looking for.
Find out what your own editorial goals are. You have to do that first, because whomever you get has to share that vision.
Don’t be afraid to ask questions.
And comment more! 😉