I Am Back, Ice-Cold Natural Ice Beer* in Hand

And I think that henceforth, I shall start every column with that exultation. Because honestly, if you can’t drink a cold Natty Ice while writing comic books, or writing a column about writing comics, what’s the point of it all?

Getting Right to the Point

In the old days, I’d spend the better part of a column (and by that I mean, the first 75% of a column, as opposed to the actual better part of it) hemming and hawing and trying to find out what the column was really about. But now, the new-and-improved Ecto 2008 XL only wastes approximately the first 7.5% of the column on hemming and hawing.

Because now, I make an outline before I start writing! And the outline for this column goes something like this:

• Blank page is your worst enemy if you want to actually get productive writing done.
• Outflank the blank page rather than meet it head-on.
• State of the Ecto
• Next week

So there you have it: the meta-column within a column! My work here is done. Goodnight, all!

Laundry Break

Ummm, I have to go put my clothes in the dryer. And that’s the kind of personal insight you won’t get in just any old “how to write comic books” column, let me tell you.

Back in Black and on the Attack

Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve got my magical mystical Boston Red Sox cap on now, so that’s your cue to listen up.

For Those Skimming To See When The Actual Column Starts, This Is It

Remember, my target audience in Running Up That Hill v2 is YOU, the aspiring comic book writer (and also the me of three years ago, who was where you are now). So, while all the cool kids may find this all to be drearily obvious, trust me, it’s exactly the kind of thing I wish I’d known three years ago when I first sat down to face the dreaded blank page.

The Dreaded Blank Page

An argument could be made that the blank page is the writer’s best friend. Much like the artist’s blank canvas, it’s… (drumroll please) a blank canvas, upon which you can write whatever the hell you like. The creative world is your writing oyster, when you’ve got that blank page in front of you. At any minute, you could start typing the opening line to the greatest comic book story ever written.

Or, you could go play Guitar Hero.

The thing is, yeah, in theory, a blank page is a wonderful thing, a great opportunity to unleash your creativity upon the world. But in reality, it’s an invitation to despair and suffering and, worst of all, bad writing. Or super-mega-bold-extreme worst of all, no writing at all.

So, to those who claim that a blank page is the writer’s best friend, I say “Opposites Day!” Because, in the final analysis, the blank page is the writer’s worst enemy. An enemy to be defeated at all costs.

And I believe that so strongly, I put it on my business cards!

Credit Where Credit’s Due

I should point out here that my obsession with the notion of Defeating Blank Pages as a way of life is all Simon “Exterminators” Oliver’s fault. My friend and fellow writer/Scryptic Studios columnist, Caleb Monroe, interviewed Simon Oliver a few months back in his Making Good column right here at Scryptic Studios. And the big takeaway I took away from that interview was this (quoted from Simon):

The only way to get anywhere and, most importantly, better, is the hard grind of facing and defeating that blank page, day after day.

So, Ecto, How Do You Defeat a Blank Page?

I’m glad you asked. The answer is simple, really: I cheat!

I don’t let a blank page get the jump on me in the first place. I outflank it, a la Norman Schwarzkopf’s grand Hail Mary in Gulf War I. When I sit down at the computer and open Word or OpenOffice to start writing, I already know more or less what I’m going to write. Because I’ve already written it -- albeit in a vastly abbreviated form!

Say What?

Now’s as good a time as any to move from the general to the specific.

Last fall, I wanted to write something to submit to Trailer Park of Terror, the coolest comic you’ve quite possibly never heard of. I’d submitted a script a few months previous that was close to making the cut, but ultimately came up short. So, since then, it’s been a burning desire of mine to get a story published there.

I was fresh back from the San Diego Comic-Con and feeling super-charged and inspired, as a good con experience will do for you. And I just knew I had a good story in me that would pass muster with J. Dracoules, TPoT Editor Extraordinare.

So here’s how I got started on that story:

Killing Trees For a Good Cause

I bought this spiral notebook many moons ago, and what I’ve found works for me when approaching a new story is to line it all out on paper first, the broad strokes of the story, before ever sitting down at the computer to start scripting.

As you can see from the pic above, what I do first is figure out how many pages the story will be. Then I number 1 to whatever, one per line, and then jot down the key thing that must happen on each page to drive the story forward.

Taking my new (not-yet-published) story, “Frog-Boy,” as an example, here’s what I jotted down for the page-by-page flow of the story (on the off chance you can’t read my chicken-scratching in the pic above):

1. New at school. At least I’m not Frog Boy. Nature trail.

2. Class, licking frogs. Lick the frog, new boy! Sorry, Howard.

3. Picking on F-Boy. Tumble down stairs, spills books. Help pick up.

4. Bathroom, gonna stick head in toilet. (something illegible) on door, voices inside.

5. Frog Boy saves the day, bounds out toward pond.

6. Sitting froglike, watching still pond. Black, calm. Eye opens.

This gave me the big picture of the story I wanted to write. Now, what I’m leaving out here so far is the fact that when I’m working on a story, I’m thinking about it many times a day for many days: in the shower, driving to the liquor store for more Natty Ice, and so forth. Pretty much day in and day out, the story is in the back of my mind whatever I’m doing, so it gradually works itself out in my head.

And this is what goes on prior to sitting down and writing the page-by-page outline like the one above.

In The Beginning…

When I’m ready to start actually scripting the story, the first thing I do is pull out my trusty spiral notebook and refer back to my page-by-page outline, and then start thinking through the opening page. How many panels? What needs to happen in each panel? Sometimes it’s a visual, sometimes it’s a line of dialogue, sometimes it’s just a location or a mood. But whatever it is, it’s the thing that justifies that panel, that makes it a vital and necessary part in telling the story.

Once I have the page pretty much figured out, I commit it to paper. Here’s what I did for page one of “Frog-Boy”:

1-1. Being new kid at school sucks. You don’t know anybody.

1-2. You don’t know the games they play. You don’t know the lay of the land. Go in for rebound.

1-3. What’s a rebound

1-4. Nature trail

1-5. At least I’m not Frog-Boy.

So when I finally sat down at the ol’ computer to start scripting, I knew exactly what I wanted to say. The blank page was putty in my hands, rather than my mortal enemy.

But Doesn’t That Take The Fun And Discovery Out of Writing?

No way. It simply removes the despair and hopelessness (not to mention the temptation to go play yet another game of Guitar Hero instead of writing).

The page-by-page and panel-by-panel jotted down in your trusty spiral notebook aren’t a prison by any means. They’re more like a blueprint, a map, a faithful companion who thought to bring Vanilla Coke and King-Size Snickers on that crazy road trip you set out on with nothing resembling preparation.

They give you the means to actually do some productive writing, rather than wandering in the writing desert for 40 years, as the blank page taunts you with thoughts of all the cool stuff you could be writing, ultimately leaving you exactly as it found you: staring at a blank page, wondering how in the world you can ever be a comic book writer.

I don’t always stick to the page-by-page or panel-by-panel as written in my notebook. But it’s enough of a guide to keep me on track and keep me moving forward. And I’ll improvise a little when I’m actually on the computer writing the script. For instance, in “Frog-Boy,” the business about going in for a rebound and “what’s a rebound?” and the nature trail did not make it into the final script. But the first page is five panels, as planned, and it does end with the line, “at least I’m not Frog-Boy,” as planned.

Here’s page one of the final script (currently in the hands of the best artist you’ve never heard of: Renzo Podesta!):

PAGE ONE (5 panels)

Panel 1-1.

Wide panel. It's an early fall morning, a crisp breeze blowing the fallen leaves as Ted, a young boy of 12, sulks his way toward his new school, Westside Middle School. A few stragglers are still milling about in front of the school, making their way up the steps and into the building. We're on Ted here, with the school in the background.

cap/ted:           being the new kid at school sucks.

Panel 1-2.

The school cafeteria, as Ted exits the lunch serving line, holding his tray, scanning the lunch room for a place to sit. Behind Ted in the lunch line are a couple of jerky jocks smiling and laughing. Everybody's talking and eating, a closed system that is in no way welcoming to outsiders.

In the background we see a large, round boy sitting at one end of a table by himself. This is Frog-Boy. He's short, round, and squat, like a frog. Really short, like maybe 4 feet tall, and really round. He's got a round face with a wide mouth and large, bulbous eyes.

Maybe we can do something with his skin, nothing too over the top, but just an intimation of texture or the wetness of a frog's skin.

cap/ted:           you don't know anybody.

Panel 1-3.

On Ted as he sits down across the table and a couple of seats down from Frog-Boy, who glances warily at Ted while licking the rest of his yogurt out of the plastic container. Frog-Boy's tongue should be subtly emphasized here, so an observant reader will see that it seems large, but not so much that it screams out, “look at me!”

cap/ted:           you don't know the games they play.

Panel 1-4.

On Frog-Boy as the two jerky jocks from panel 1-2 walk by and pour one of those small cartons of milk over his head, laughing all the while. It's a fake stumble and spill scenario.

cap/ted:           you don't know the lay of the land.

Panel 1-5.

Close on Frog-Boy as milk runs through his hair and down his face. His bulbous eyes are closed now, his wide mouth grimaced shut as his unnaturally long tongue licks the milk from his cheek.

cap/ted:           so like i was saying, yeah, it sucks to be the new kid at school.

cap/ted:           but at least i'm not frog-boy.

Editorial Aside

This column was written to the soothing sounds of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Show Your Bones (3X and counting).

In Conclusion

I hope this little “jot it down in a spiral notebook before sitting down at the computer” tip will help save you some time, effort, and despondence. I think probably the first 18 months of my writing career, which produced exactly zero publishable work, could’ve been greatly compressed had I known then what I’m telling you now.

Next Week in Running Up That Hill:

Without them, we’re merely delusional dreamers.

If you want to write comic books, you’ve got to find artists to bring your words to visual life. It’s a lot like dating, only without the remote possibility of end-of-date sex!

Learn all the Ecto has learned – and hopefully a lot more – in “The Courtship of an Artist,” next week in Running Up That Hill.

In The Weeks Ahead:

Look for these (and other) columns in the coming weeks:

• Dialogue Last: the best thing ever?
• My magical mystical Boston Red Sox cap
• "By the Southern Grace of God" actually IS a lovely and wonderful story, and how it got that way (for Drew, who loves my long column titles!)
• The power of being nice (a column that Anthony Peruzzo, an artist I’d love to work with one day, cannot wait to read!)
• The ultimate Jason Aaron post-Marvel exclusive interview (I hope…)

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* Ice Brewed for a Naturally Smooth Taste. 5.9% Alc./Vol.

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Elton Pruitt is a comic book writer in Little Rock. He’s actually quite proud of his knowledge of General Hospital trivia. Plus, he misses his former dachshund pup, Baxter!