A Few Roles of the Storyteller

Be a Seeder.

Crafting a story requires planting seeds of information, whether they involve a special prop, something someone says, a specific turn of events, etc. Eventually, these seeds of information will sprout and bloom--in true climate-controlled fashion--during specific points in your story. The challenge is to make your seed-planting inconspicuous--the reader realizes only later in the story that the information you've planted is important. This requires careful planning and graceful execution on your part. You don't want revelations to feel forced and contrived.

Be a Sadist.

Pummel your protagonist with everything you've got. Let your hero suffer. Let your reader believe that your hero has no way of surviving in one piece. Execute the ultimate tough love.

Be a Savior.

Your sadism, however, should be climate-controlled as well. Because, as the master of ceremonies, you must have the ability to lead your hero out of the ordeal. This isn't deus ex machina, or the cop out act-of-God way of neatly tying things up. You have to seed these as well during the course of the story. It's like Joaquin Pheonix swinging the bat in Signs, but not as cheesy.

DC's MINX Imprint Cancelled

Now here's some sad news. Comic Book Resources reported that DC cancelled its Minx graphic novel line, the one aimed at tween and teenaged girls.

I saw the preview pages of some of the books through the Minx website and thought, "This doesn't look like something young girls would buy." The approach, to me, was too indie-flavored. When I think about tween and teen girls, I think Beverly Hills 90210, Hannah Montana, High School Musical, Camp Rock... even Charmed and Buffy. The samples shown on the Minx site didn't appear to evoke the aforementioned images.

Yes, those television shows seem shallow, but they mean a whole lot to the target market.

I was hoping I was wrong in my impression. But, despite the marketing efforts of DC, we haven't heard any staggering news of the line's success. So the hypothesis at this moment is that Minx either flopped, or it did at least fairly-slightly-somewhat okay, but not enough to merit the production of more books.

So, anyone want to try making a book for that market? If you're curious about what stories to tell, all you have to do is check out this, this, and this.

A Question of Worth, Part 2

In the previous post, we began exploring the idea of worth when it comes to purchasing decisions. Worth is defined by 1) the promise of the product; and 2) the need of the market. Only when these two factors are in sync can a product increase its worth in the eyes of the market.

With that, here are a few tips and strategies that hopefully can help you put your graphic novel's worth under a more solid light. There are more, of course... Hmmm... maybe we should write a book.

1) Provoke and Justify. What gets you riled up? What moves you to tears? What sends you into deep thought? What sparks your laughter? What makes you painfully afraid? Anything that provokes you mentally or emotionally has a strong chance of finding a more permanent spot in your memory. And for good or ill, any memory that stays long enough has value.

In addition, the ability to make sense of that provocation adds even more value. Shock for shock's sake is empty, a gimmick. But having a convincing reason behind the shock, that you can justify your creative decisions, speaks a lot about your maturity as a storyteller.

Test your story, its scenes and theme, and see what buttons you're pushing. If there aren't any buttons, make a few, and push like crazy. But make sure that you have a good reason to do this beyond shock value. Your insight is valuable.

2) Take your reader for a ride. My theory is that most people see comics as simplistic, or incapable of telling rich, detailed stories, so do your best to break the impression. Like prose novels, graphic novels have the luxury of length. So take advantage of this by developing complex plots on both physical and emotional levels without sacrificing pacing. Dig deep even if your story is a slapstick comedy. Think big even if your story is a high school romance. Let your plot take unexpected turns, and make your characters do unexpected things.

3) Invest time in creating arresting and nuanced visuals. Worth is assumed when there is perceived effort to detailing. If you have a scene set in Paris, draw Paris, not a bunch of lines that looks like Paris. If you have a scene in Times Square, evoke the energy and life of Times Square. If you want to feature the grace and beauty of a ballet performance, have it in your art. Unlike prose novels where readers are able to imagine the setting through sensory description, graphic novels rely heavily on imagery and the occasional caption. It can be jarring to the reader to read, "The performance was the most beautiful thing I ever saw," but the panel shows a stick-figure ballet ensemble displaying the grace of a crane truck.

4) Attack a specific market. This can't be emphasized enough. If your story is for young boys, then give copies to young boys and find out what they think. If your story is about a rock band, give copies to people interested in rock--or, to members of a rock band. A story about zombies can be dangled in front of horror fans. When you've identified the group that appreciates your work, present yourself in places where they thrive.

Join an organic lifestyle bazaar if your story has strong references to gardening. Leave copies in Starbucks if your story is about the helter-skelter life of the office worker. Have a story about homeless kids? Then present yourself to the Invisible Youth Network. Don't limit yourself to the normal comics distribution channels. Start small, then work your way up.

A Question of Worth, Part 1

Arguably, prose novels can be seen as having more worth in terms of physical content vs. price. You get 400 pages containing tens of thousands of words, all for the price of, say, $8.00 for a paperback. On the other hand, you have to shell out twice that amount to get a paperback black-and-white graphic novel with only 200+ pages. By this alone, graphic novels are destined to sell far less than their prose cousins, because "worth" is determined by how much you offer for a certain price.

Worth is a function of cost vs. benefit. Price vs. Promise.

But worth is also subjective, as much as commercial success depends on an ounce or two of luck. In my experience, worth can be influenced, and it all starts with what influences people to buy.

In the real world, we know that physical content is not the only factor that influences buying decisions. Otherwise, everyone would be buying cheap but reliable mobiles and not care what Apple's plans are for the next generation iPhone. Moreover, the subjectivity of worth is evident in the simple Christmas gift. Give your music-loving friend gift certificates for digital downloads and she'll love you forever. Give that same friend a subscription to Organic Lifestyle magazine, and she'll wonder what you've been smoking.

In short, worth is also a function of what your market wants.

In Seth Godin's The Dip, being "the best in the world" is dependent on two factors--what "the best" means and what "world" means. Michael Moore can be seen as the "best in-your-face director" in the world of "documentary filmmaking." Donald Trump can be seen as the "best businessman" in the world of "real estate." Anyone who has no interest in these worlds would not care, because these worlds don't matter to them.

How many times have we heard young creators talk about their wonderful concepts for a graphic novel? They don't have much writing or art experience and yet they harbor secret hopes that their concept is going to rake them some success.

And how many times have we seen new indie comics on the shelves, waiting for someone--anyone--to check them out, betting their shelf lives on the curiousity of the random comic buyer?

Being "the best" is about your promise. The "world" is the market of your choice. The worth of your graphic novel is measured by how much you give against what is expected of you. These two have to be in sync. If you fail to deliver what is expected, then your work has little worth. If you give your all for those who don't care, then your work has little worth as well.

In the next post, we'll try to zero in on more helpful tips in increasing the quality and worth of your work.

Tips for Graphic Novel Greatness - Story

1. Start at the Core

The "core" is the thematic question that runs the entire length of your story. It may not be the concern of your character, but it has to be the concern of you, the author. That's why you're creating the story in the first place. You have an assumption that you want to challenge and eventually answer. After all, art is personal, so use the graphic novel to reveal the inquisitive side of you. This is what truly separates one graphic novel from another--the author's unique view of the world.

If you're doing, say, a high-adventure story involving a team, the core could be about group politics. A superhero tale could have a core involving psychological trauma in children. A romantic comedy could be really about insights on youth. Whatever the core of your story is, it should come from you and it should concern you. Because any great story tackles that human element that people can relate to.

2. Make every character a star.

Your main characters are the stars, yes, but it doesn't mean everyone else has to be cardboard. Giving your support, even peripheral, characters a nuanced presentation can enrich a reader's experience. It can be a speech pattern or a distinct look, just enough to give these characters a piece of the spotlight without necessarily hogging it away from your main characters.

Give them "business," a relatively insignificant activity that's good enough for one panel. For example, while your main characters are in their HQ talking about how to deal with a villain, show a janitor on the floor in the background working feverishly on a stain. He doesn't have to say anything, and he can only appear in one or two panels before walking away with a headache. But it's enough to show your reader that there's a "real world" that exists outside of your main characters.

3. Make your villain a mirror.

The best villains are those that totally go against what your protagonist stands for, so make sure that your villain hits a nerve. It is thesis and anti-thesis, with the hero trying to disprove the villain's convictions, and vice-versa, even if it's as fundamental as the right to live. Doing so increases the urgency for your protagonist and, in turn, increases the tension generated within the reader.

Villains need not be personified, by the way. Villains can exist in the mind of your protagonist as insecurities and past issues. Villains can be certain laws within a community. Villains can even be natural phenomena, or even a best buddy. It's not so much who or what the villain is, but the level of threat it presents to the life of your protagonist.

4. Entwine your A and B story.

The A story is your main plot. The B story is a subplot. More complex stories even have C stories. A typical action-adventure has the love angle. A typical romantic comedy segues into scenes with family and friends. A typical police thriller has a subplot about family.

Subplots are thrown in to 1) show the reader that a protagonist has other concerns outside of the main plot; 2) allow breathing space for the reader; 3) present how difficult the protagonist's situation really is by raising the stakes of the A story.

Taking off from the third item, B stories are stake-builders, and it is their most important role. It's not enough to show the reader the hero's other life, or to give the reader an occasional distraction. They would be deemed useless to the plot, and would be better off not being there in the first place. The events of the B story should eventually figure into the A story in an alarming way as you reach the climax, showing the reader that the protagonist's path to success is more complicated that originally thought.

5. Create the emotional plot.
A story plot is a series of physical events, and let's call this the physical plot. But there is another level of plot that adds greater depth to your story. The emotional plot is the journey your protagonist internally takes, which leads up to some kind of transformation at the end of your story. This is fundamentally "character development," wherein your hero begins with a specific state of mind and heart, goes through the twists and turns of your story, then ends up changed or at least, with greater insight and experience.

When you're planning the events or scenes of your characters' actions, plan as well the progression of your character's emotions. Tie that into your A and B story and you'll end up something potentially richer and more compelling.

What Graphic Novelists Can Learn From Stephenie Meyer.

You would know the success story of Stephenie Meyer, who penned the insanely popular vampire novels Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. Now I've never read her work, but what I do know is that, according to the fans of the book, Meyer isn't even the best writer in the world. And yet she, along with Nicholas Sparks, possess that distinct quality that separates her as a hitmaker in the fiction world, something that comics creators can pick up and attempt to apply to their own comics works.

The ability to move. The ability to provide a visceral experience. The ability to explore and unearth a world of emotion.

Stories are, by nature, emotional. That's why they're stories--they have the ability to hit chords within us and make us react on a gut level. While the high-concept stories are good for the brain, their residual value is worthless if the don't shake up the core of a reader.

Just by experience, you would know that the most affecting stories you've heard from friends are those that have made you laugh, made you sad or fuming mad. These stories resonate within you even after they've been told. Emotional memory sticks harder and faster than anything you try to remember in your brain.

When you remember something cerebrally, it's more for functional purposes, and eventually you'll forget that quadratic formula you learned from high school. But that first love, or that first bloody fist fight--those moments definitely last longer.

That was the magic, I've been told, that Meyer's stories had. While we can argue that Twilight et al. had the benefits of being published by a major company and packaged in a way that attracted attention, those benefits were only means to an end. Because if Meyer's story had been told differently, there might not have been debates over Team Edwards and Team Jacobs, or the thousands of rabid discussion threads about the series.

It's always great to have a high concept for your graphic novel. Unique concepts inspire curiousity and intrigue, which are very important in the whole marketing process. But, like book covers and great art, a story that has no emotional backbone, that doesn't push buttons, is like that gorgeous wallflower--all form, no depth.

Adding emotional depth to your graphic novel is a two-step:

1) The situations you present have to, first and foremost, affect you in a profound way. To get to the bottom of that emotional well, you have to first be at the bottom. (Unless you've had a wealth of experience to be able to execute your work based on technique alone.)

2) Once you've identified the intensity of the emotion, you must be able to translate it effectively through words and images, or even through images alone. Intensity can work both ways, from the outburst of a guy in rage, or the silent tension of a woman holding back her tears.

Robert Kirkman's Call To Arms

Writer Robert Kirkman's video editorial on Comic Book Resources raised not a few eyebrows. Some call his statements messianic and arrogant, while other see the point of his concerns. There are also others who go down the middle.

When Kirkman encouraged creators to pursue creator-owned stuff, I believe he's more concerned about a creator's longevity alongside the work. People know Batman, people know DC, but hardly anyone knows who created the Dark Knight. Of course, one would get more mileage working for Marvel and DC, but my impression is that aspirants see the big companies not as means to a greater end, but as the end itself. And that way of thinking kills any career.

A good number of writers and artists have ceased to work for these companies, and the sad part is we hardly hear from these writers and artists. It's as if they've fallen of the edge of the world into the pages of a retrospective. These creators have been unable to maximize the leverage they earned during their stint in Marvel/DC to fuel their career development.

While one should be good (and sellable) enough to handle the more popular properties, creators should realize that the major companies are mere stepping stones, valuable additions to one's resumé. But one should have a plan for what happens after.

After all, the main purpose of any job is to help prepare you for the next one.