I’ve got nothing to say this week. Which is problematic, for a number of reasons, not the least of which is, I’ve got a production blog post to write. And then, in a couple days, I’m supposed to do a fifteen minute presentation on comic editing at the Editors Association of Canada Conference 2008. And I am not ready.
This is partly my fault, but only partly. Technically speaking, I knew I was going to be part of a panel at the conference for several months. A couple weeks ago, I spotted a flyer for the thing and thought, “Hey, is that the thing I’m supposed to be doing a panel at?” In a fit of cosmic synchronicity that could only be explained by the fact that the panel was going to be happening in the foreseeable future, when I got home I found an e-mail from the person who invited me to the panel in my inbox. He wanted to get together with all the panelists so we could discuss our presentations.
To which I said, “Presentations? Uh, what presentations?” I’ve been on a number of panels at various conferences over the years, and they’ve all been run the same way: everyone sits down, the moderator asks a question, and the panelists talk about it. Or, depending on how much some of the other panelists love the sound of their own voice, they at least try to talk about it. Presentations are a whole other thing. I don’t do presentations well. Never have.
I’ve figured out how to do readings–I’ve only done a few comic readings, but I’ve enjoyed every one of them. I had the privilege a few years back to see cartoonists Seth and Ben Katchor do readings at a local art gallery, which taught me almost everything I needed to know about how to do a good comic reading (as a public speaker, Katchor was amazing) and how not to (Seth was…not so amazing.) But a reading, to my mind, is a form of entertainment–and I actually like to entertain people.
A presentation is something else–it’s intended to inform, educate, or sell something. And these are things that I’m not particularly comfortable with, especially when it comes to doing them publicly via something other than a keyboard. If I wasn’t so bloody tired from the insomnia I’ve been suffering as I try and figure out what I’m going to talk to these editors about for fifteen minutes, I’d be panicking about the presentation right now.
And if I wasn’t panicking about that, I reckon this is a reasonable time to start panicking about deadlines. Specifically, Z2H’s rock-solid, drop-dead deadline of the end of June for the completion of BLACK JACK O’BREEN and KNIGHTCAP: NOVEMBER’S SONG (and every other Z2H book, though I’m not going to panic about those until I’m done panicking about the books I’m directly involved with). There was a Big Editorial Meeting on Friday where all the editors updated each other and Jessica about the state of our books. It was almost a presentation, but I didn’t mind that one, because I actually felt pretty confident about the way things were going.
John Keane’s a consummate pro and I’m convinced the only way he’d miss his KC: November’s Song deadline is if an asteroid fell out of the sky and demolished his house with him in it. Of course, by typing those words, it’s pretty much a cosmic certainty that this will now happen. Sorry, John.
Frank Grau, Jr., is plugging along on BLACK JACK O’BREEN. We’ve refined the approach a little. Now he’s doing all the pencils, then going back and doing all the painted colour. This will theoretically let him build up a rhythm with a specific artistic discipline and cut out any lagtime jumping back and forth between penciling and painting might cause. Frank knows the deadline, and he knows I’m on edge about it, and he still seems confident we can achieve the desired goals without cutting corners on quality.
I hope he’s right. Because, unfortunately, my job as editor is not to help my creators put together the best book possible. My job is to help them create the best book possible under the circumstances. I’ve been on jobs where deadlines forced creators to compromise on quality, and it’s not a pretty sight. Nobody wants to do less than their best work. It’s a poisonous situation for a creative person to be in, a real soul-killing scenario. But when the deadlines loom and the gas bill’s due, sometimes something’s got to give.
I’m not saying that’s going to happen on my books, or any of the Z2H books. Every creator I’m working with has hit the ball out of the park so far. The two Johns, Stephen, Frank, and Ed are making me look like I actually know what I’m doing. But as I said to Z2H office manager Alisia the other day, if I didn’t have something to worry about, I’d just be worried that I was missing something I should be worrying about.
And, you know, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad quality in an editor. I remember awhile back I was complaining to a colleague of mine about the paper stock a publisher had elected to use for one of my books–without consulting me or my collaborator, even though they’d agreed we’d have a say in it. This associate of mine was of the opinion that I was worrying too much about something that wasn’t that important. The phrase “It’s good enough” was bandied about.
Saturday Night Live producer Lorne Michaels once said something to the effect that “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready. It goes on because it’s 11:30.” Sooner or later, a creator who aspires to be a professional has to put the work out in front of an audience. Sometimes, they have to do it before they’d like to. And if, as a creator or an editor, I end up having to put something out before I’d like to, the idea that “it’s good enough” won’t offer me any comfort.
What MIGHT offer some comfort is the idea that next time, I’ll do it better. And part of the reason for that is because next time, I’ll have a better idea what to worry about.
Foley
