Two weeks ago in this space, we spoke about the things that comics do best and the things that only comics can do. Today, we will begin to chart the opposite trajectory as we examine some potential pitfalls of the medium. What can't comics do? What shouldn't comics do? And how can we write brilliant, heart-wrenching, 4-color epics anyway?

If you read comics and you have an internet connection, odds are that you've heard the phrase: "waiting for the trade." Depending on your point of view, "waiting for the trade" is either the future of comics or the worst thing to happen to the medium since Frederick Wertham read Tales from the Crypt.

For the uninitiated, "waiting for the trade" means reading a monthly, serialized comic book series only after it's been collected in trade paperback form. The idea behind waiting for the trade is that monthly comics are flimsy pieces of entertainment, too short to stand on their own as satisfying entertainment. By contrast, a trade collecting four to six issues provides a more substantial reading experiences.

One obvious danger of waiting for the trade is that if everyone waits for the trade, the monthly comic's sales will tank and there won't BE a trade, because--to the publisher--it looks like the property tanked.

Certainly nowadays, when publishers are putting out more and more trades and relying on trade sales as a key part of their business, this is less of a concern. Publishers know that certain kinds of comics will do better as trade paperbacks and are willing to release them in both formats.

A trade can sometimes mean a second chance for a property that looked like a failure the first time out, especially as the trade paperback finds its way into new locations, like book stores and record stores. The feeling is that new audiences are attracted to the trades, because they're a more complete, more fulfilling reading experience.

Which leads us to the crux of this digression...

Odds are that if you knew "waiting for the trade," you've also heard about "writing for the trade." There is a belief, only partially anchored in reality, that writers have begun writing monthly comic books with the eventual trade paperback collection in mind. It's certainly true that many storylines now run six issues only because someone decided that six issues of a monthly comic is the ideal length for a trade.

What's more questionable is the claim that writers have altered the pace of their comics to the fit the six-issues-to-a-trade model. Many monthly comics don't tell complete stories, but that was true well before the trade paperback was invented.

BUT it's not that writers are telling longer stories to fit the trades that irks some fans. It's the perception that some writers are stretching shorter stories to fit the trades.

Whereas it used to take four pages for Superman to send Mr. Mxyzptlk back to the 5th Dimension, it now takes six issues. And in most of those issues, Superman isn't battling Mxy's weird magic. Instead he's talking to Lois about his feelings.

That may be a bad idea for a comic ("A man from Krypton! Ridiculous!"), but it doesn't mean that it's a flawed approach to storytelling.

Readers who object to a stretched story are measuring the value of that story by how many plot points are crammed into one issue. Which is the kind of reasoning that only makes sense with comics.

Nobody ever won an Academy Award because "a lot of stuff happened in that movie."

Slowing a comic's pace allows a writer to focus on and develop theme, conflicts, and characterization much more strongly. It's the reason that writers write novels and not just short stories. It's a good thing.

And nobody seems to argue that comics "written for the trade" do read pretty well as trades.

But the economic reality is that most publishers rely on monthly comics sales. As long as that's the case, readers need to be satisfied with their individually issue purchases.

So there has to be a way to make an individual 22-page comic story more substantial that strengthens, and doesn't weaken, the eventual trade paperback experiences.

Let's step back for a moment (again) and make a few more general points:

First, there's nothing inherent to the medium that demands that comics be 22 pages long. Or that they should be published serially. Or that they should be the exact proportions that they are.

Second, "writing for the trade" isn't just about writing. It's about the art as well. Taking six issues to tell a story means that you can spend more space on individual sequences. You can also use larger panels, more frequently. This can make for some great visuals, but it also tends to make for quicker reads.

Ultimately, one of the main reasons that trades exist is that somebody realized that the 22 page, serialized monthly has never been all that satisfying and that it pales in entertainment value next to the video game, the $10 movie, or a good MTV Cribs marathon.

You can stretch all you want. Superman can beat Mr. Mxyzptlk in four pages, in 22 pages, or in six issues. But unless you're fundamentally rethinking the way that comics are paced, you're always going to run into the same problem.

"Well, that was fun. Now what should I do for the next five minutes?"

Comics are not movies. If we, as writers, try to make our comics "cinematic," we're doing our stories a disservice. We can't match the smooth moves of a 24-frames-per-second film reel. We can't rely solely on big visuals to sell the story, because once you flip the page, they're gone.

Comics are not plays or novels. We can't simply put two characters in a scene together and make them talk and think we're writing good comics. Even if the dialogue is brilliant, we're still operating at half potential.

So what's the answer? Do we add two dozen caption boxes to every double-page spread? Do we revive the Stan Lee cliche of super-heroes exchanging soliloquies while they punch and kick each other?

How do we address the essential failing of most modern comics? How do we improve panel density?

     What is panel density?

     Find out next week*.

This is one of Drew's classic Think Like Tomorrow columns.