There is no "I" in "collaborate."

There's an "I" in "writer" and an "I" in "artist" but once the two join hands to create, "I" becomes "we."

A cartoonist friend once asked me what the purest, strongest, most rewarding collaboration I ever undertook was. Once I gave him a name and project, I explained that the reason the collaboration was so pure was because the artist an I were so attuned that his pages recreated my descriptions to the letter.

Now that's not going to happen in every case, is it?

Fast forward several months. I'm writing a script for a collaborator who, until now, has always worked alone. As an artist he's been able to accurately display the visuals described by the writer since the writer has always been, well, himself. Our collaboration marked the first time that he had to take a second party description and translate it to the page. As I tend to write with specific "camera angles" in mind and use film technique in my panel description, he had a very hard time with it.

Now, was that my fault or his? Mine for not accurately and clearly explaining what the scene called for or him for being unable to recreate exactly what I was looking for from my panel descriptions? Depends on whom you ask.

Another collaborative case: I'm currently working with an artist on an ongoing superhero book and the action takes place in a city that my artist (and editors) is unfamiliar with. As the writer, I clearly and explicitly describe the city area and landmarks. Now, I know many writers who assume that it's the artist's responsibility to gather photo reference of the city and landmarks. I know artists, writers and editors who will no doubt claim the opposite - that it's the writer's responsibility to help that artist by providing him with the exact landmarks and locations of said landmarks for accurate representation. Personally, I follow the latter point of view but I know many writers and artists who claim I'm doing the artist's job.

There is no "I" in "collaborate."

How do you, as a writer, work with your artist? Is your artist the "work horse" who should just shut up and draw? Or do you consider the artist an integral part of the team, more important than the writer and editor sometimes? Or are you equals -- sharing the responsibility?

Let me introduce you to Jake Allen. Jake, hailing from the New England area, has never been out and out published in the comic book industry. He attended the Kubert School for two years and now does something involving selling shoes or drawing surfboards or whatever it is they do up past Buffalo and before Maine. Two and a half years ago, Jake and I were introduced after I finished writing a 196 page graphic novel that I was looking to get drawn and published. I was having trouble locating an artist to work up some pages and commit to the hefty load, and was about to break up the story into twenty-two page blocks and sell it that way. Then I got an email from Jake saying "I love the story; don't break it up. I'll draw the whole thing."

For free. With no assurance it was going to get published.

And he was good.

Jake started drawing the book and did up some samples that got the book picked up by NBM Publishing. And, honestly, I've really done nothing since. Which of course isn't true. You see, Jake needed photo reference. Lots of it. So I went ahead and gathered a photo bible that focused on the time period the story was set in and began sending him website links and online essays about the characters. Then Jake needed direction on panel descriptions, so we got on the phone and talked it all out - many times with me saying things like "you're the artist - you know best." If Jake had questions, I was there to answer them. If Jake had problems, I'd help solve them. If a panel description was unclear or didn't work, I stepped in to rewrite it. If there wasn't enough information, I'd add some.

For two years, hand in hand, we worked on this 196 page book that's mere months from publication.

Hand in hand. The way every collaboration should be.

The writer-artist partnership is a tricky one. Many writers feel that the story is THEIR vision, THEIR baby and micromanage to the point where an artist can't get their work done without checking to make sure they put the right buttflap over the right criminal genius' overalls. Other writers take the lazy way out, choosing to give an artist a panel description that reads "SuperBombBoy solves the crime" or "Captain Rhino beats up the bad guys."

Um... a little detail, Shakespeare?

Conversely, there are some writers who just don't realize the limits of the single panel visual. Like me. Remember that cartoonist I was working with who had trouble deciphering some of my panel descriptions? Here's why:

PANEL TWO

EST. SHOT- LONGSHOT LANE

Shutter windows slam against plaster walls and moppet heads peek out from until recently barred doors... and the children of Invention, Oklahoma run out to rediscover their swing sets and baseball diamonds. An impromptu game of Freeze Tag starts and everyone from the first house on the Lane to the sixth are happy that the day would not be a colossal waste. We can see a sign that says WELCOME TO LONGSHOT LANE - THE HAPPIEST COMMUNITY IN INVENTION, OKLAHOMA.

Shit. There's a lot going on in that panel. Where's the focus? Or how about this:

PANEL THREE

EST. SHOT- NUMBER SEVEN, LONGSHOT LANE

But inside the seventh house, behind closed windows, firmly locked doors, and an oddly misshapen front door - the one the children rather thought looked like the outline of an ape -- one might make out an insistent hammering. Metal tapping metal and the dull rings echoed outside the modest two car family home.

How the hell is the artist supposed to represent "metal tapping metal" visually? And how do we know what the children are thinking?

I tend to write "prose" style, where I explain some background information in the script for the artist... but it confuses people some times - what is the artist supposed to do? He's not a mind reader! Just tell me what to fucking draw!

So the panels get altered to read like this:

PANEL TWO

EST. SHOT- LONGSHOT LANE

Shot of a row of houses along Longshot Lane - numbers 3 to 5. A child runs out from Number 4 with a baseball bat and glove. One small girl pushes a window open in Number 5, looking up and holding her hand outside to make sure the rain has stopped. We can see a sign in the foreground- maybe near Number 4 - that says WELCOME TO LONGSHOT LANE - THE HAPPIEST COMMUNITY IN INVENTION, OKLAHOMA. (Note to artist: The children of Invention, Oklahoma run out to rediscover swing sets and baseball diamonds -everyone from the first house on the Lane to the sixth are happy that the day would not be a colossal waste.)

And this:

PANEL THREE

EST. SHOT- NUMBER SEVEN, LONGSHOT LANE

Shot of the door and porch of the seventh house. The door is shaped slightly like an ape. A small boy runs past the door towards someone off panel. The boy is holding a skateboard. (Note to artist: behind closed windows, firmly locked doors, and an oddly misshapen front door we make out an insistent hammering.)

Bit clearer, no?

Work with your artist. Your artist is your ally, not your enemy. Whatever you, as the guy with the vision of story dancing across your frontal lobe, can do to make things clear for your artist, do it.

Draw thumbnail sketches. Gather photo reference. Give concise and clear panel descriptions.

Collaboration is the ugliest word in the creative field because it means that someone, somewhere is giving up creative control. But rather than make collaboration a chore and begin fights with editors, pencillers, inkers, colorists and letterers, why not look at it the way musicians do?

My friend Sam is a pianist and composer and I dig the odd moments I get to work with him. Whether we're writing songs together or harmonizing around a guitar or karaoke joint, it's never about which of our voices should drown out the other. It's a seamless blend - one of us on melody, the other on harmony. Sometimes we have a bass, laying the solid groundwork beneath the counterpoint of our voices. We're not even talking about a orchestra or symphony, where the pieces and parts alone can make beautiful music by themselves - we're talking about a capella. One voice coming together with another voice and another. And another. Where the voices alone might be nice, but are so much more when balanced against a partner.

And that's what comics is. Sequential A Capella. Individual talents that can exist apart but when brought together to work in harmony, can create wonderful, groundbreaking stories.

Your collaborator is your ally. Your artist is your brother. Hand in hand you set off into the vast fields of Making Comics and work in sync to tell your story.

Your as in "your team's story." Not as in "you the writer." Or "you the artist." Equal partners and equal interest in making sure the work gets done right and gets done well.

Writers sometimes forget that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Jake needs more coffee.

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BIG POND is a collective column that begins with ideas and continues with opinions. Each column focuses in on my musings about writing for the comic book, film and television industry and then gives way to opinions on the week's topic by a diverse group of writers.

This week, we're joined in the pond by Tony Lee, a creator equipped to tackle this week's topic aftwer working with a myriad of artists. Here are his thoughts on this week's topic:

Tony:" When you create a comic with an artist, the best ones (in my opinion) are when they're the Butch to your Sundance, when they're the Goose to your Maverick. You have to have a synergy together. You have to be able to communicate.

"When I first started in comics many years ago (I had a ten year gap between projects when I moved into TV and radio), I had a five-page story with an artist that was known only as 'Raven'. I wrote my scripts in pretty much the exact same way I do now, a panel description and then the dialogue underneath - a style I still use today, very screenplay in design. It was a pretty good story, as well.

"But when I got it back for proofing, it was totally different. It was almost like we'd both adapted the same book into a five page sequential - yet both were totally unique. With deadlines looming, I had to totally re-edit the dialogue and story to fit his art - art that was based on my tale.

"There was however some basic truths I learned from this experience. Firstly, never work with people who believe that they're a H.P Lovecraft prop. Secondly, you can't expect the artist to see the same vision you have, no matter how complicated the panel description.

"Since I've come back into comics, I've been incredibly lucky with the artists that I've worked with - mainly because I've made a point of keeping in contact with them during the project, and in the most cases, they've become firm and solid friends. I did Starship Troopers - Alamo Bay with Sam Hart, an artist I had met and gotten on with only a few times before we started, but from the moment we began I knew that he understood. He could see what I was trying to say. In fact by the end he would be improving my pages.

"And that to me is the sign of a good relationship.

"I can't draw to save my life. Unless you want stick men. I can however, after years of selflessly training myself by forcing myself to read countless comics - visualise the page in my head, as it would look on the page. It's a knack I have - I can see an entire book in my mind, work out page-turners without blocking them out on paper. It saves me a hell of a lot of time. And, once I have them fully set out in my head, I'll write them onto the paper. And lo and behold, 22 pages later I have a comic. The weeks it spends being built in my mind gives me a unique vision of how it looks.

"And then I give it to the artist.

"Now, to be honest, if they gave me exactly what I visualised, I'd actually feel cheated - after all, they need to add their own creativity to the page, and in the grand scheme of things, they've probably got a better idea of layout than I would.

"One thing I've said to every artist I've dealt with is 'read the script. Follow it. But if you think you can do it better in a particular way, then do it.' In essence I say 'if you think its crap, call me on it.' And the best collaborations I've had? They do.

"When I did Sage for X-Men Unlimited, I had no contact with the artists (the Lai brothers), and so had been suggested to write detailed panel descriptions, otherwise it would be nothing like I had visualised. But at the end of the day, my belief was that this was Marvel! These were artists that Marvel trusted! So I didn't. As I always do, I left a lot of it up to how they wanted to draw it. There's no point writing

"'Sage does a high spin kick, catching the guard at the side of the head with a swift clip from the edge of her boot, knocking him backwards as she screams her victory cry.'

"They might have a better idea on how to do it. So a more simple

"'Sage kicks the guard in the side of the head, stunning him in whatever way works for you'

"works.

"The longest description in the entire script was the splash page 2 -

"'Panel 1: Full page panel. We're now looking down from a corner of the room at Sage, shining the torch. We are in the plush personal office of Voldemir Zhivago, a man never seen in the Marvel Universe - so has never been drawn. There is a desk by the window and along one of the walls there is a waist high cabinet. The main thing you can see however is a painting on the wall. It can be anything, as long as it is related to the Hellfire Club.'

"When it was finished, the page was exact. The picture? It was Voldemir, Sebastian Shaw and Emma Frost. I hadn't even thought of that as an idea. I never expected Voldemir to be seen - and now he had. Now he was an established likeness in the X-universe. All because I left it up to the artist.

"With my more recent work I've had very close contact with the artists. With The Gloom I've had to, as Dan Boultwood, the genius artist who brings it to life is also the co-creator, so we sit in bars and discuss ideas for the next issue, acting scenes out in excited voices as we laugh at our own jokes. But when it comes to the script, Dan already knows it; he's created it with me. He can add panels, remove panels, whatever - because he knows what happens next, he knows what dialogue is going there - as he wrote it with me.

"With Midnight Kiss, I work closely with Ryan Stegman on the pages, mainly as this one is my own vision, and it's a little complicated to explain in a few descriptions. I'm mixing celtic fae with fantasy realms - it has to be quite narrowed down. But, saying that, as we've gone on Ryan's taken more and more control of how the comic looks, even to the point where he's already suggesting things for later issues.

"With Ryan and Dan, I'm probably talking to them every day by MSN, email and suchlike. It's not a control thing, but at the same time, it's good to make sure there are no problems early in the game.

"With Shadowmancer however, there is a bigger problem. As it's a straight adaptation, you can't just go off with your own design, because you have scenes where you have to follow pretty much what the book says. In these cases? Buy the artist the book. Far easier in the long run!

"At the end of the day, I know writers who work with artists, I know writers who work with the mindset that artists are their art monkeys and must do everything they say - to the letter. I know artists who want to be involved from day one, I know artists who don't want to be involved until they have the finished script.

"Me? I like to be involved as a team. To work together. To face adversity together. To reap the rewards together. If I like an artist, if I work well - then I'll work with them again. Dan Boultwood and I have already started planning our post-Gloom comic, Bjorn of the Dead. I'm also working with Sam Hart on two other projects - the world-war-two action-fest Where Evils Dare and the adaptation of Brothers - The fall of Lucifer.

"Of course, if they take what I've written, bastardise it and create a work of godknowswhat that's nothing like my original, pure and divine vision, then I'll be finding out where they live and sending the midget clown ninjas...

"After all, as the saying goes - There's no 'i' in team...

"But there is a 'me'"

The column doesn't end there, though - head on over to the The Big Pond forum at the Scryptic Forums and add your opinion to the Pond! Join the collective column and talk writing with myself, this week's contributors and the rest of the Scryptic writers.

My thanks to Tony for taking the time to weigh in this week before rushing off to San Diego. Check out his body of work. Or just his body, if that's your thing.

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Neil Kleid won the Xeric grant for NINETY CANDLES, an experimental graphic novella, and his first graphic novel, BROWNSVILLE, (with artist Jake Allen) debuts from NBM Publishing in 2005. He is currently writing URSA MINORS!, a four issue comedy mini-series for Slave Labor Graphics. A graphic designer by day, Neil harbors notions of writing full time. Weep for him.

Tony Lee has written X-MEN for Marvel and the graphic novel trilogy STARSHIP TROOPERS = BLAZE OF GLORY for Mongoose Publishing/SONY ,of which book 1 is now available, and being re-released as a three part series later this year. In May, the first issue of his APC six part miniseries THE GLOOM (with Dan Boultwood) was released to critical acclaim and in August APC will be releasing his ongoing fantasy series MIDNIGHT KISS with art by Ryan Stegman. In September his 10-issue adaptation of the multi-million selling novel SHADOWMANCER begins through Markosia Enterprises. Tony is also a novelist and screenwriter - and has written for both radio and television. He hopes for a day soon where he can just sit and stare out of the window rather than his screen.