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Dropped off my final copies of Paper Science at Gosh Comics today, which feels mighty strange.

I really miss wrangling that thing. There is little as satisfying as having a huge box of newsprint delivered, colours screaming off of the page, fabulous stories printed within. But there is also little worse than having a box of comics waiting to be sold, dragged from one poorly-promoted small press fair to another, every inch of profit eaten away by train fare, miserable sandwiches and rickety tables.

Paper Science 1

The numbers don’t lie: the subscription was absolutely brilliant for the anthology, in terms of finance, promotion, enthusiasm and general confidence. For that I didn’t need to leave my laptop. After that, the best things Paper Science did (in terms of audience, profit and reach) were get stocked at Gosh comics, appear on a table at MCM Expo, and get taken to ELCAF. Almost every other event, no matter how much fun at the time, turned a little bit of money into a lot less money. I’m told that that is the standard definition of ‘publishing’.

As for the anthology itself, I’m more proud of it than anything else I’ve done. It’s an excellent collection, filled with brilliant work by people who are getting better and better with each passing story.

Tomorrow my company – newly rechristened We Are Words and Pictures – enters its second year. The only goal for 2013-2014 is ‘make one thing as good as Paper Science’. Feels like a good challenge.

Today the nominees for the first British Comic Awards were announced, and they’re an absolutely phenomenal collection of awesome comics made right here in Blighty.


Thing is though, these nominations aren’t really for the likes of me and my friends. They’re probably for you.

Yes, you. I know you really enjoyed reading Watchmen, and yes – it’s great that you know Ghost World was a comic once (Really? Well, it was) – but do you own any of the books in those pictures above?

My friends and I, see, we own them all. We all get really excited when these creators do new stuff. But we’re awful at telling people we don’t know about them. So go out and buy Don Quixote, or Goliath, or Hilda and the Midnight Giant, or Nelson, or Science Tales, or The Accidental Salad, or Bad Machinery, or Girl & Boy, or Hemlock, or Tuk Tuk (although I can’t find a link to that in an online shop, so you can borrow my copy).

Scribble them down, or go to Amazon, or do whatever you need to do to find these stories and then read them. They’re a terrific collection of comics, and you should spend money on them.

Kieron asked me that the other night. I gaped like a fish for a bit before he qualified the question ‘Why would you telling [a room full of designers] something about the workings of comics have significance to them? Why comics?’

And it’s sort of not a question. It’s like asking ‘Why is telly?’. But also not. It’s about stating one’s personal stake in the medium, and using that a lens to say why that medium is important.

So here’s my go;

1) They can be anything
2) They are simultaneously easy and exhausting to read
3) I feel utterly isolated during the reading of a comic
4) …

I had a fourth, but it ran away from me while I was writing 3.

This evening I spent a few minutes chatting about comics to the local chapter of the IxDA. Last time I spoke at an IxDA night I was a bit too light on process for a lot of the audience, so this talk was almost entirely about process; a blow-by-blow account of how Kristyna Baczynski and I created a comic as resident creators at last year’s Thought Bubble festival.

Rather than retype the whole thing, I thought I’d write about the impact the residency has had on my working process. Some of it feels self-evident, but only in retrospect. At the end of the post you’ll find a list of things I referenced in the talk, as well as a link to specially discounted Paper Science collection (to say thanks for reading that far down/coming to the talk).

First up, some background. I publish an anthology, and I read a lot of them.

Independent anthologies, by and large, aren’t greatest hits collections; they’re a chances for creators to experiment or show-off. Often because they’re unpaid, and because the audience is a subsection of a niche.

Kristyna and I knew that we could created something fun and playful, while packing it with more story than our six pages should allow. We could tell a story, while offering little snapshots into the wider world the story existed in.

We could do that by manipulating the brain’s desire to finish things. Closure is how Scott McCloud refers to the thing the brain does to connect panels to panels and words to pictures. Matt Fraction‘s excellent talk The Batman Dreams of Heironymus Machines shows how that closure extends into the real world, and how you populate comics with your own world.

And so we took from the world around us – Leeds Library was where the residency was based – and brute forced a great big world into a short story about a girl looking for something.

We had a lot of fun that week, speaking a story aloud to one another, finding out about our shared processes and interests and basically having an extended comics ‘date’. It was grand. From a distance of nine months, I think four things proved their importance that week.

Our first day together was spent working out where the other person’s head was at. In terms of how we work, what we wanted to do with comics, how we wanted to spend the residency.

At the time that could have risked being a waste, but it meant we were in a way better position to be clear about things that would help or hurt the project, and when different approaches to work would be useful. Basically, a day learning one another’s boundaries was incredibly valuable in the long run.

We worked out what we wanted to deliver pretty quickly. It evolved over the week, but we spent time making sure we were working off of the same template, ‘Let’s do a six-page comic, and let’s have these characters and this library as the central through-line’.

We didn’t have a brief, so this was critical to us being able to communicate well throughout the making of the comic.

Kristyna’s thumbnails were so tiny. So so so tiny. But with tiny nibs and tinier rubbers she kept framing and reframing panels and structures and the flow of the story, which led to changes in the script which led to changes in the thumbnails and so on.

None of it was polished, little of it clear to anyone but us, but it proved the comic would flow and that the story could be told.

The reason we shared so much of our process – the reason we spent a week in and out of one another’s notebooks – is because the finished comic wouldn’t be happening for a long time. We knew it’d be a while before Kristyna could squeeze a concentrated burst of attention on it into her schedule. So we swapped every tiny piece of knowledge we could so that, when the time came, she could just zero in and Get It Done.

In an ideal world all four of those things would play a part in every project. I think I’ve definitely worked on things where a notable failure to think about or apply one of those has scuppered a job, or at least left everyone feeling a bit dirty at the end.

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For those of you looking for more links, I also referenced the work of Adam Cadwell, Julia Scheele and Tom Humberstone, in particular the latter’s anthology Solipsistic Pop.

You can also find out more about Phonogram, ‘Marvel method‘ scriptwriting and Alan Moore’s scripts using the internet.

EDIT: I also see that Kieron’s Decompressed deals with ‘Marvel method’ writing this week. You should have a listen.

As a super special bonus the collection of the anthology I publish, Paper Science, is available for just £5 plus postage. That’s half price. You should totally buy it before I change my mind about that.

Thanks to Kristyna, and to the folks at IxDA London.

At the start of 2011 year I decided to publish Paper Science – the comics anthology I edit – in a quarterly edition for a minimum of four issues. That fourth issue came out in February (this year, 2012), bringing Paper Science to a close for the foreseeable future as I turn my attention to, you know, being a freelance copywriter.

You can buy a collection of those four issues, wrapped in a lovely cover by Philippa Rice, for just £10 plus postage.

But that’s not what this blog post is about. I wanted to evaluate how that year went, partly for my benefit and partly because I think some of this might be worth sharing with other independent creators. As a rule we aren’t that good at sharing information about financials and process, and that’s not a rule I’m at all fond of. As a result, some of this is going to seem a bit obvious to a lot of people. I’m okay with that; I’d rather not assume any knowledge at this point.

This is a long read and not for everyone, so proceed with caution… Read More

I spent the morning at the Koestler Arts Centre today, poring over entries into this year’s Koestler Awards. The awards offer offenders, secure patients and detainees a creative outlet, in disciplines as diverse as poetry, watercolours and sculpture. And sequential narrative*, of course, which is why I was there.

Generally the work I saw was by newcomers to the medium, which made the range of entries all the more impressive. With 16 entries, the category makes up a tiny fraction of the 8000 artworks submitted to the awards this year, but the mix of techniques and formats formed a neat microcosm itself.

(I also got to see about twenty entries into the matchstick sculpture category, and that was just about the most impressive collection of art I have ever seen. Absolutely stunning.)

Obviously I can’t say much about this one – prizewinners won’t be announced for a little while – but the exhibition opens in September and it’ll be well-worth checking out. See their website to find out more, and thanks to everyone at the centre for having me.

*comics

The Miniatur Wunderland was terrific, filled with all kinds of amazing sights as well as dozens and dozens of ‘easter eggs’, like these climbers.

These are tiny moments in a vast and complex world. Each tiny joke is built to be overlooked by most people, but treasured by the few that spot them.

Which made it all the more impressive to notice that every little diversion like this had been fully realised: the path along the mountainside these climbers were taking had tiny ropes and ladders further along, completing their journey through the landscape.



Every one I spotted had been similarly thought through. Where two lovers lay in a field of long grass a small path had been trampled to it. Where Superman was coming to save the day a child further up the street stood gawping. Where skinny-dippers dove into the water their clothes lay crumpled by the water’s edge.

It’s an impressive commitment to maintaining some ‘fourth wall’, even when the easter eggs themselves are designed to reach through that wall and pull your camera arm to them.

On Sunday I spent a few hours playing sound-man for Anne as she shot some interviews at the London Model Engineering Exhibition. It was exactly the kind of show you’re picturing in your head; finely detailed replicas all measured with laser precision (they actually use lasers to measure the parts) and presented by chaps (and a few chapettes) clutching cups of tea.

It was wonderful. Alexandra Palace was filled with buzzing and clattering as trains, planes and ships, displayed with pride and… well, just lots of pride actually. The good kind.

I realised wandering round that the setup was incredibly familiar; it shared all the smells and murmurs and chatter of a comic convention. But the beaming faces and eagerness to talk about work with new people felt a world away. Very few were tucked behind tables and those that were were busy making things whirr about, delighting people.

Maybe it was a generational thing; by and large the exhibitors were in their 50s and 60s, a lot more confident of their abilities than the (generally) younger comics crowd I’m around so much. But I got the sense that it wasn’t just that.

Speaking to Mitch from SMEE was a treat. He beamed about the work of his friends and fellows, proud to show the work he’d spent many thousands of hours on. He was humble about his achievements as a model maker, but not entirely self-effacing, understandably proud of work he’d contributed not just to the show, but to films like X-Men First Class, Lost In Space and Harry Potter. He was brilliant. Even better, he was brilliant while wearing a SMEE-branded workshop coat.

It was a welcome reminder that it’s not impossible to talk about print and storytelling with that kind of passion.

Anyway, I didn’t get many good photos but Anne’s film will make up for that when it’s ready.

I’ve spent the last week in Leeds, scripting comics and talking about stories as Thought Bubble Festival‘s Writer In Residence. It’s been fabulous.

My script for Kristyna Baczynski, the festival’s Artist in Residence, is in production, and the four blog posts I wrote (one, two, three and four) are online to read too. Kristyna’s a fabulous illustrator, and it’s been an absolute pleasure to piece a short story together with her and see skecthes and thumbnails become six pages of comics fun.




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