One of my first jobs was Music Editor of the Boston Phoenix. It was my job to go out night after night, listen to musicians, talk to them, and write about them. I also reviewed records. In the seventies, the music companies were engorged giants with massive sales. They sent me vinyl. Music jobbers plied me with cocaine while I listened to the latest bands in their cars. One day, seventy-three records arrived at my basement apartment in Brighton. I tried to listen to everything. I also wrote for Fusion and Creem.
I still write about records for popgeekheaven.com. However, the supply has dried up. Most new releases are digital. I am a diplodocus. I prefer CDs. I don’t do downloads. I have no personal device on which to listen, and I fear losing all my data to a giant Chinese EMP. All our hard drives will be wiped out. I also love physical product. I loved poring over album jackets, looking at pictures of the band, reading their notes and endorsements. There are many books dedicated to cover art. It was great art and deserves to be remembered. It’s hard to put that much info on a CD. Some companies do it better than others. I listen in my car. Every time I drive, I have a CD playing. I make notes at traffic stops. These days, I have few new records. There are sites that are happy to listen digitally. Not me.
These days, people send me novels and comics hoping for a kind word. As every working novelist knows, it’s damned difficult to secure a review or endorsement unless you are James Patterson, or one of his legions of ghost writers. There’s only so much time in the day.
Many of the comics and novels I receive are not professional. I understand the urge to enthrall. I suffer from it myself. You can tell whether someone knows how to write in a few pages. Very few of the novels I receive make it to Chapter Two. They are all self-published.
As for comics, they are the most forgiving medium in the world. You can get away with ideas that wouldn’t work in any other format. Flaming Carrot. Adolescent Radioactive Black Belt Hamsters. Reid Fleming, World's Toughest Milkman. The last was pretty good. And people read them. They will read the dumbest comic if it has good art.
It pains me to attend conventions where hopeful artists and writers have purchased a table hoping to sell their books and comics. Especially the latter. You can tell at a glance whether it’s worth reading. If the art isn’t good people won’t pick it up. If the art is good they will pick it up. Many will buy it just for the art. They will forget the story within five seconds of finishing. Just because comics appear to be simple doesn’t mean you can throw down cliches and expect people to return. The story has to engage the reader’s imagination. It has to be fresh. It’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it. Once you write, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” I’m outta there. Once you write the zillionth supercilious billionaire crime boss, sneeringly explaining his plan to his captive superhero, like James Bond in Goldfinger, I’m outta there.
You only have one chance to make a first impression. Don’t chase your readers away with hand-me-down cliches. Be original. Use fresh language. But not too much. When I see a page covered with blocks of prose, like a Soviet era apartment complex, I lose interest. Comics are a visual medium and blocks of prose are reader repellent. Show don't tell. Use fresh language. Avoid clever wordplay. Clever wordplay is the kiss of death, unless you’re using it to characterize someone. Riddle me this works for the Riddler. As long as he doesn’t say it in every panel.
Every would-be writer has a million words of bullshit clogging up his system. You have to get it out before you get to the good stuff. Write every day. Keep your ears open. Be original. Be fresh.
Good art brings in the reader, good story/dialog keeps them coming back for more.
Goldfinger: No Mr. Bond I expect you to die.