The People’s Publisher

Wow, has it been a week already? Really? My calendar isn’t erring on the side of caution and it’s actually Monday or something?

…

No, huh? OK, OK.

As I recall, when last we met, I was regaling you with the joys of being an editor (the joys revolving mostly around not doing anything.) This week, if memory serves, I was to give some examples of the sort of thing I do to earn the pile of special Zeros 2 Heroes money (or Z2Hbucks, as they’re known around the office) that I roll around in every morning prior to jumping out of a tree and scaring the postman.

And so I shall! Well, one example, anyway.

It seems to me that one of the big things Zeros 2 Heroes offers writers unfamiliar with the craft of comics creation is access to a Real, Honest-to-God Comic Editor. Or, in the case of John and Stephen, to me. You win some, you lose some, boys.

I got lucky; the first professional editor who showed any interest at all in me actually showed a lot of interest. It was a year or two before he gave me my first paying assignment, but during that time he taught me a lot about the craft of comic writing. And then, after I slew him in bloody combat in accordance with the Pennsylvanian Editorial Rite of Passage, I went on and learned a few other things. Strange and useful and frightening things. I learned enough that my fragile ego blossomed into monstrous megalomania. I had reached the state of mind of…An Editor.

Now, anyone with a brain can tell you there are as many ways to write a comic book as there are writers. And, as J.D. Salinger said, “If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late. Nobody.” At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is that the final, finished piece is as good as everyone involved could make it be given whatever constraints they’re working within. But I do believe there are some basic principles that will make the process easier on everyone, including the writer, the artist, and most importantly, me. And it is these basic principles that I try to convey to writers who don’t know them.

What are some of these basic principles? I’ll show you one in action. Here’s the original panel description for the fourth page of BLACK JACK O’BREEN:

Panel 1: Big splash page. Title at the top, credits at the bottom. We’re on the deck of a sailing ship, off the Irish coast on a dark night. The sails taut in the wind, like pale white ghosts. A couple pinpoints of light from the shore.

Standing at the railing is JACK O’BREEN in boots, long leather trail coat and a battered cowboy hat. Jack’s in his late 20s, tall and slender, a windblown look about him, and a sadness in his dark eyes. At his feet sits a big leather duffel bag.

Beside him, a sailor, MICKEY. Good lad, but a touch thick.

CAPTION
Six months later.

MICKEY
There she is, Jack. The isle of Erin. How’s it feel coming home?

JACK
I’ll let you know.

_______

If I understand things correctly, John’s writing experience has primarily been in the field of screenwriting. There are principles to be applied in that field, too, and he applied one of them in his panel description: he described a scene in an interesting but concise manner. So what’s the problem?

There may not be one. An artist may read that description and interpret in a way that may make the writer happy. But any happiness the writer would feel would be a lucky happenstance, because whatever ends up on the page, it’s not going to be the panel described. It’s pretty much impossible for an artist to draw a panel set at night that includes:
-a boat with ghostly sails,
-the coast with pinpoints of light,
-Jack standing at a railing (presumably looking at the coast in the distance, though that’s not specified),
-with a duffel bag visible at his feet, and
-a windblown look about him, and (and this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, really)
-sadness in his dark eyes

You try and draw it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

…

See?

Part of the Z2H editorial process is doing rough panel and balloon placement thumbnails based on the script. Part of the rationale for that is to give inexperienced writers an idea of how much text can comfortably fit in a panel and on a page. John really didn’t have a problem with his dialogue–he kept things lean, rarely if ever overloaded a panel with more text than it could hold. But he did, on occasion, write panel descriptions as though they were scene descriptions–and while that won’t necessarily lead to tears, the possibility is there.

And that’s where I come in. Here’s my thumbnails for Page Four of BLACK JACK O’BREEN:

It’s a bit more detailed than most of Z2H thumbs tend to be, but I did it that way for a reason (a reason other than the fact that I’m a compulsive doodler and can’t help myself). Rather than simply telling John something wasn’t going to work, I wanted to offer him a different option–or at least get him thinking in terms of breaking up his scene into drawable panels.

Here’s the revised script for BJO Page 4:

PAGE FOUR (3 Panels)

Panel 1: Across the top. We’re at sea, nighttime. Dramatic angle from water level up the hull of a sailing ship moving through choppy seas. The bowsprit and lines stabbing the night sky, taut white sails a ghostly presence in the moonlight.

CAPTION
Six months later.

Panel 2: Rest of the page, noting the inset Panel 3 below. Title and credits. At the railing with his back to us stands JACK O’BREEN - boots, long leather trail coat and a battered cowboy hat. At his feet sits a big leather duffel bag.

Beside him, a sailor, MICKEY. Good lad, but a touch thick. They’re looking at the Irish coast looming out of the dark. The moonlight glowing on the sea.

MICKEY
There she is, Jack. Ireland. How’s it feel coming home?

Panel 3: Small square inset in Panel 2. Very close 3/4 view of Jack’s face. He’s in his late 20s, a weathered look about him. Quick eyes, but a sadness. He looks out over the water.

JACK
I’ll let you know.
_________

Note that John went one step further than I did, and included a close-up of Jack so we could get a view of his quick, sad eyes. I’m not entirely sure “quick, sad eyes” is something an artist can communicate visually inside a static image–but at least he’s got a fighting chance of doing it inside a 3/4 close-up.

And that’s the sort of thing an editor does. Or at least the sort of thing I do when I’m editing.

More examples may be forthcoming, depending on what the next few days brings.

Foley