Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle says, among other things, that the more accurately you can describe the location of a particle, the less accurately you can describe its velocity. The reverse is also true. Being the lover of dualities that I am, I wonder how far I can stretch this principle. Does it work for writing? For comics?
I believe that it does. Consider the last story you read. When characters enter a new location, you may have to read 2 full pages just describing this place. And all of that time, the characters aren't doing anything, either. The same thing happens in comics that have several wordless panels that are simply showing different parts or an area.
Conversely, when the characters are doing things, the scenery is unimportant or ignored. This is especially true in the case of Japanese comics, where the background is replaces by simple patters to accentuate the action.
But why is this the case? Why can't we have deep scenery and exciting action? Why can't we have our cake and eat it too (another great duality)? It's the problem of space. The words that fill your pages can either describe the scenery or the action. A panel in a comic can either show a place and it can show people, but it can't focus on both.
It is a frustrating fact of writing, but it doesn't have to be a detriment. Whichever focus you choose, make sure it is so effective that it does the work of both.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Random Fan Mail
Send it out. Do it now and do it often. Sending fan mail does nothing but good things. If you are an audience member and you really like what the artist makes, then let them know. You will feel great that you got to share your joy with the person that made you joyous. You will also probably get a reply from the writer thanking you for your kind words, which will make you even happier. You will feel special and, quite frankly, you will be special.
If you are the artist and you receive fan mail, it will often make your day (if not week). The fact that your work gets seen regularly may tell you that people enjoy it enough to keep coming back to it, but fan mail is a whole new level. Somebody took the time to tell you personally, in their own words, that your work is special and important. It gives you the drive to do more and work harder and make a product that is even better.
If you are both an artist and an audience member, fan mail can get you in contact with people who know what they are doing in the business. They may just be willing to help you out if they can. And, maybe, just maybe, you can find out that the artist you admire is an admirer of yours. You can start a friendship that can take you places you could never have gone before. Definitely worth a shot.
Fan mail also helps in the war against negativity. Whether the majority or the minority, negativity is always the most vocal group. That kind of weight can drag down an artist to the point of giving up. Hearing that not everybody thinks the way that those haters think sometimes is enough to just keep the artist going.
That's right. Fan mail can keep the thing you love from dying. If you love it, make it live. If you love it a lot, make it thrive. You can do both things with the same action. Just make sure that it is genuine. Don't send fan mail to try to get stuff for free. Don't send fan mail just to advertise your own stuff. Send fan mail because you are a fan of something and care about it that much.
If you are the artist and you receive fan mail, it will often make your day (if not week). The fact that your work gets seen regularly may tell you that people enjoy it enough to keep coming back to it, but fan mail is a whole new level. Somebody took the time to tell you personally, in their own words, that your work is special and important. It gives you the drive to do more and work harder and make a product that is even better.
If you are both an artist and an audience member, fan mail can get you in contact with people who know what they are doing in the business. They may just be willing to help you out if they can. And, maybe, just maybe, you can find out that the artist you admire is an admirer of yours. You can start a friendship that can take you places you could never have gone before. Definitely worth a shot.
Fan mail also helps in the war against negativity. Whether the majority or the minority, negativity is always the most vocal group. That kind of weight can drag down an artist to the point of giving up. Hearing that not everybody thinks the way that those haters think sometimes is enough to just keep the artist going.
That's right. Fan mail can keep the thing you love from dying. If you love it, make it live. If you love it a lot, make it thrive. You can do both things with the same action. Just make sure that it is genuine. Don't send fan mail to try to get stuff for free. Don't send fan mail just to advertise your own stuff. Send fan mail because you are a fan of something and care about it that much.
Challenge Yourself
The moment your art stagnates, it is instantly half as effect. Whether you are a writer, painter, or fighter, this is true. Art itself, regardless of its form, is about growing, living, experiencing new things. When you are a beginner in an art, these things are happening constantly and in large quantities. The higher you go, the better you get in your art, the harder it becomes to reach a new level.
If you feel yourself bored or on a plateau or some other form of stagnant, it is because you aren't being challenged. Even if you are doing good work, even if you are putting in hard work, if you aren't growing, that work is only half as effective. So start growing. Start challenging yourself. If you don't know how, then recreate the circumstances you were in when you were a growing beginner.
Beginners either have a teacher or they teach themselves. If you had a teacher, then find a new one. It doesn't need to be somebody who sits over your shoulder and holds your hand, but it does need to be somebody you can learn from. Ask them for advice on where you can go from where you are. If they know more than you do, they should be able to at least guide you in the right direction and give you an idea what to look for.
If you are self-taught, then you either stole your knowledge from others or you experimented until you got it right. When I say stealing, I don't mean it in a malicious way. I just mean that you can see somebody's style and copy it in order to understand through reverse engineering. Experimenting (A.K.A. fake it 'til you make it) is like throwing stuff in a pot until they turn into something edible.
If you stole your knowledge from other people, then find a new person to steal it from. Find somebody better than you, somebody who can do something that you can't do. Find somebody to look up to and try to reach their level. If you experimented, then keep on experimenting. Why stop just because you found one recipe that worked? Find another one, now with the added knowledge of your past experiments.
The most difficult place to be in art is the middle. You either think you know everything or you just don't know what the next thing is. If you cared enough about your art to pursue it this far and care enough about it to get bothered when you're bored of it, then care enough to get past these problems and push yourself above the middle tier.
If you feel yourself bored or on a plateau or some other form of stagnant, it is because you aren't being challenged. Even if you are doing good work, even if you are putting in hard work, if you aren't growing, that work is only half as effective. So start growing. Start challenging yourself. If you don't know how, then recreate the circumstances you were in when you were a growing beginner.
Beginners either have a teacher or they teach themselves. If you had a teacher, then find a new one. It doesn't need to be somebody who sits over your shoulder and holds your hand, but it does need to be somebody you can learn from. Ask them for advice on where you can go from where you are. If they know more than you do, they should be able to at least guide you in the right direction and give you an idea what to look for.
If you are self-taught, then you either stole your knowledge from others or you experimented until you got it right. When I say stealing, I don't mean it in a malicious way. I just mean that you can see somebody's style and copy it in order to understand through reverse engineering. Experimenting (A.K.A. fake it 'til you make it) is like throwing stuff in a pot until they turn into something edible.
If you stole your knowledge from other people, then find a new person to steal it from. Find somebody better than you, somebody who can do something that you can't do. Find somebody to look up to and try to reach their level. If you experimented, then keep on experimenting. Why stop just because you found one recipe that worked? Find another one, now with the added knowledge of your past experiments.
The most difficult place to be in art is the middle. You either think you know everything or you just don't know what the next thing is. If you cared enough about your art to pursue it this far and care enough about it to get bothered when you're bored of it, then care enough to get past these problems and push yourself above the middle tier.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Audience
My last post naturally led me into this post. The question of reference, of deciding how obscure of a joke I should make, really depends on who my audience is. How do I, as a writer, decide who I should be writing for?
So far, I have found two models that say who to write for. The first one is the business model. Whatever group will pay me the most money is the group I will write for. Now, the common convention is that no more than 10% of your readership will ever pay you any money. It's a law of nature, so there is no use in arguing it. Seeing as how I am part of the 90% that is cheap as hell and just wants the free comic, I can't say that I blame them. However, it does mean that I would need to have a massive readership in order to make livable amounts of money.
In order to get the greatest quantity of people to laugh, though, I need to be writing jokes that are universal to everybody. However, as T-Rex so eloquently points out, "Let's say I have a joke about how cats like to sleep. NOT VERY FUNNY." He also says that, "The more obscure a joke is, the less people there are who'll get it, but the MORE they'll find it correspondingly HILARIOUS!" (He shouts a lot with his words, but I forgive him for being right when he talks.) Now, I don't have the gall to try to write a comic so obscure that only one human being will enjoy it, strictly in the hopes that I will receive large caches of cash out of it.
Ironically enough, though, the second writing model involves writing for exactly one person: me. This is the creative model. It says that as long as you make a comic that you enjoy reading, you will always have an audience of at least one. This also makes for better comics. Good ideas come from interested writers. When your hobby becomes a chore, your work suffers. If you started this for fun, you should have fun while doing it.
People resonate with what they like. As long as you make a quality product and get the word out well enough, people will naturally find you, and the ones who like your style will follow your work. That is why I use the creative model. It guarantees I will make good work, and I know that I can do what is needed to bring the audiences close enough for my work to draw them in.
So far, I have found two models that say who to write for. The first one is the business model. Whatever group will pay me the most money is the group I will write for. Now, the common convention is that no more than 10% of your readership will ever pay you any money. It's a law of nature, so there is no use in arguing it. Seeing as how I am part of the 90% that is cheap as hell and just wants the free comic, I can't say that I blame them. However, it does mean that I would need to have a massive readership in order to make livable amounts of money.
In order to get the greatest quantity of people to laugh, though, I need to be writing jokes that are universal to everybody. However, as T-Rex so eloquently points out, "Let's say I have a joke about how cats like to sleep. NOT VERY FUNNY." He also says that, "The more obscure a joke is, the less people there are who'll get it, but the MORE they'll find it correspondingly HILARIOUS!" (He shouts a lot with his words, but I forgive him for being right when he talks.) Now, I don't have the gall to try to write a comic so obscure that only one human being will enjoy it, strictly in the hopes that I will receive large caches of cash out of it.
Ironically enough, though, the second writing model involves writing for exactly one person: me. This is the creative model. It says that as long as you make a comic that you enjoy reading, you will always have an audience of at least one. This also makes for better comics. Good ideas come from interested writers. When your hobby becomes a chore, your work suffers. If you started this for fun, you should have fun while doing it.
People resonate with what they like. As long as you make a quality product and get the word out well enough, people will naturally find you, and the ones who like your style will follow your work. That is why I use the creative model. It guarantees I will make good work, and I know that I can do what is needed to bring the audiences close enough for my work to draw them in.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Reference
I learned in one of my college courses that every new technology that comes along will never be accepted by the public unless it can completely replicate the current technology that it will replace. The typewriter (and then the computer word processor) replaced handwriting (at least in large businesses) when it could make all of the symbols used in writing (letters, numbers, punctuation, special characters). It makes sense, though. Why am I going to throw out my typewriter if it can do more than this newfangled computer can?
But new technology doesn't merely replace the existing one; it adds on to the last version. Typewriters are faster than handwriting (with equal skill), use less energy, and are guaranteed to be legible. Computers beat the type writer by being faster and easier still, plus they add ease of editing - no Wite-Out needed to fix errors and no wasted paper by printing drafts.
The comics world functions in the same way. With the internet being the new technology for delivering comics, there comes the question of what it has added to the repertoire of publishing comics. One of those tools is external reference. If a comic has a joke that people might not understand, the writer can provide a link to an external source of information that explains it. For example, this SMBC comic has a link in the blog update that explains the Delilah joke for those who are unfamiliar with the story. It certainly is nice to not be left scratching your head if you aren't in the know, and I am sure it saves a whole lot of emails from filling up the writer's mailbox. But I wonder, should it be used?
The infinite canvas (another one of the additions of the internet), is a tool that largely doesn't work. The idea is that because the dimensions of a web page are boundless, a comic can be made in absolutely any dimension. The problem with this is that people really don't like horizontal scrolling and they hate even more horizontal and vertical scrolling on the same image. The underlying problem, as I see it, is that people just can't see the whole thing at once, which is a shame. At the moment, the infinite canvas only really works in allowing a tall comic (like one that would be printed in comic book format) to be put on one page without being condensed.
External reference is great in that it frees the writer to make any joke regardless of obscurity, but I have a pretty strong suspicion that it also largely doesn't work. There are two main problems with it: the first is that people hate doing extra work. It has been found time and time again that the more clicks of the mouse it takes to get somewhere, the fewer people will take the time to do it. Making a comic that takes multiple clicks to get means not everybody who reads it will take the time to get it.
The other problem is that it just isn't funny. Sure, it's great to the handful of people that do know the same things that you do, but how many people are deeply familiar with motorcycles and paleontology? And since one of the rules of comedy is that if you have to explain the joke, it's not funny, I wonder if the joke should even be made in the first place.
The internet, despite it's vast size and rapid, continuous growth, is still largely unexplored. I guess the only way to see if external reference works is to try it out and see the results.
But new technology doesn't merely replace the existing one; it adds on to the last version. Typewriters are faster than handwriting (with equal skill), use less energy, and are guaranteed to be legible. Computers beat the type writer by being faster and easier still, plus they add ease of editing - no Wite-Out needed to fix errors and no wasted paper by printing drafts.
The comics world functions in the same way. With the internet being the new technology for delivering comics, there comes the question of what it has added to the repertoire of publishing comics. One of those tools is external reference. If a comic has a joke that people might not understand, the writer can provide a link to an external source of information that explains it. For example, this SMBC comic has a link in the blog update that explains the Delilah joke for those who are unfamiliar with the story. It certainly is nice to not be left scratching your head if you aren't in the know, and I am sure it saves a whole lot of emails from filling up the writer's mailbox. But I wonder, should it be used?
The infinite canvas (another one of the additions of the internet), is a tool that largely doesn't work. The idea is that because the dimensions of a web page are boundless, a comic can be made in absolutely any dimension. The problem with this is that people really don't like horizontal scrolling and they hate even more horizontal and vertical scrolling on the same image. The underlying problem, as I see it, is that people just can't see the whole thing at once, which is a shame. At the moment, the infinite canvas only really works in allowing a tall comic (like one that would be printed in comic book format) to be put on one page without being condensed.
External reference is great in that it frees the writer to make any joke regardless of obscurity, but I have a pretty strong suspicion that it also largely doesn't work. There are two main problems with it: the first is that people hate doing extra work. It has been found time and time again that the more clicks of the mouse it takes to get somewhere, the fewer people will take the time to do it. Making a comic that takes multiple clicks to get means not everybody who reads it will take the time to get it.
The other problem is that it just isn't funny. Sure, it's great to the handful of people that do know the same things that you do, but how many people are deeply familiar with motorcycles and paleontology? And since one of the rules of comedy is that if you have to explain the joke, it's not funny, I wonder if the joke should even be made in the first place.
The internet, despite it's vast size and rapid, continuous growth, is still largely unexplored. I guess the only way to see if external reference works is to try it out and see the results.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Audience Doesn't Know What It Wants
People always know if they like something or not. They don't know what about it they like or why they like it. That's all well and good. These people are the audience. They want to be entertained. If they wanted to create, they would be creators. The relationship between creator and audience is simple and it works: the creator finds what the audience likes and the audience enjoys it when the creator gets it right.
But this isn't the dynamic anymore. Ever since American Idol, people in power have decided that the audience should make the calls (or at least make it look like that). And now the audience feels entitled to have their opinions heard and followed. The problem with this new relationship is that it makes for a good business model, but terrible art. Of course, it isn't quite new in a certain sense. Focus groups have existed for a very long time and they basically do the same thing.
Paul Graham makes an interesting point on this matter, though: "I just got an iPod, and it's not just nice. It's surprisingly nice. For it to surprise me, it must be satisfying expectations I didn't know I had. No focus group is going to discover those. Only a great designer can."
Anybody can take advice and give people what they are told to give, but that can only go so far. A great creator knows great work and will create it when allowed to. I wish the masses could understand that and trust creators to make great work. Of course, I also understand why they don't want to. Too many creators just don't produce. Anybody can create and share it with the world. There are no filters to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Look at the world of fan fiction. The amount of writing in that field that is about random gay sex or Mary Sue characters is a percentage well above 99. However, that percentage is not 100. Amazing, beautifully-written, well-thought-out fan fiction that has no plot holes and doesn't contradict the canon exists. It is rare, but I have seen it with my own eyes. But as an audience member, how can I trust a person who even says that they write fan fiction?
Word of mouth helps, but that is a chain reaction that is not easy to start. Good advertising can get people to look at it, which is the first step, (the quality of the work itself should do the job of keeping an audience). But how do we get those initial people interested? What does good advertising do that draws those first people to even give it a shot?
From what I hear of the real world, it's not what you know, but who you know that matters. Depressing though it is, there is something to be said for it. Who am I? Right now, I am any random nobody who thinks they have the next great comic. Why should you trust me? Because I say so? Does anybody whose opinion matters say so? Maybe if I got an endorsement by some famous people, you would trust that my work is good, or at least try it out. What if I belonged to a production company? Then it would mean I'm good enough to pass that company's quality standards, which is a level you can set your watch to. Unfortunately, those don't really exist, at least not in any particularly functional level in the field of webcomics.
Unfortunately, I am currently left with an uphill battle. I know it is difficult, stressful, and time consuming just to do the work needed for a moderate readership, but it's just another one of those tests of passion. The fact that I am willing to charge into this difficulty head on shows that I care about this enough to deal with whatever gets thrown my way.
But this isn't the dynamic anymore. Ever since American Idol, people in power have decided that the audience should make the calls (or at least make it look like that). And now the audience feels entitled to have their opinions heard and followed. The problem with this new relationship is that it makes for a good business model, but terrible art. Of course, it isn't quite new in a certain sense. Focus groups have existed for a very long time and they basically do the same thing.
Paul Graham makes an interesting point on this matter, though: "I just got an iPod, and it's not just nice. It's surprisingly nice. For it to surprise me, it must be satisfying expectations I didn't know I had. No focus group is going to discover those. Only a great designer can."
Anybody can take advice and give people what they are told to give, but that can only go so far. A great creator knows great work and will create it when allowed to. I wish the masses could understand that and trust creators to make great work. Of course, I also understand why they don't want to. Too many creators just don't produce. Anybody can create and share it with the world. There are no filters to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Look at the world of fan fiction. The amount of writing in that field that is about random gay sex or Mary Sue characters is a percentage well above 99. However, that percentage is not 100. Amazing, beautifully-written, well-thought-out fan fiction that has no plot holes and doesn't contradict the canon exists. It is rare, but I have seen it with my own eyes. But as an audience member, how can I trust a person who even says that they write fan fiction?
Word of mouth helps, but that is a chain reaction that is not easy to start. Good advertising can get people to look at it, which is the first step, (the quality of the work itself should do the job of keeping an audience). But how do we get those initial people interested? What does good advertising do that draws those first people to even give it a shot?
From what I hear of the real world, it's not what you know, but who you know that matters. Depressing though it is, there is something to be said for it. Who am I? Right now, I am any random nobody who thinks they have the next great comic. Why should you trust me? Because I say so? Does anybody whose opinion matters say so? Maybe if I got an endorsement by some famous people, you would trust that my work is good, or at least try it out. What if I belonged to a production company? Then it would mean I'm good enough to pass that company's quality standards, which is a level you can set your watch to. Unfortunately, those don't really exist, at least not in any particularly functional level in the field of webcomics.
Unfortunately, I am currently left with an uphill battle. I know it is difficult, stressful, and time consuming just to do the work needed for a moderate readership, but it's just another one of those tests of passion. The fact that I am willing to charge into this difficulty head on shows that I care about this enough to deal with whatever gets thrown my way.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Don't Be a Little Funny
I read a lot of webcomics. Some of them I read because I enjoy them and others because I want to learn from them. Of course, I end up learning from all of them. The ones I enjoy reading are the good examples and the ones that I stop reading are the bad examples. The learning comes from figuring out what the difference is.
Although the specific techniques for art and writing are different, the principles that guide them are the same. At the top of the list is being interesting. The bad examples all suffer from a lack of this. An amateur comic has 4 panels with the same picture. The only difference from scene to scene is facial expressions and possibly hand placement. From panel to panel, nothing happens. The entire comic is about the conversation happening. If all that matters is the words, I have to ask why they have the pictures there in the first place? It would be easier to just write a script.
Unfortunately, those same amateur comics have the same problem with their words that they have with their pictures. There is one joke in the comic and it is all the way at the end. Now, comics have been in existence for a long time and the classic set-up, punchline model is a tried and true method. The one problem is that it is painfully predictable. Anybody who spends any amount of time even being an audience member to comedy will naturally internalize this style and it will grow stale.
If you don't believe me, I will direct you to basically every sitcom ever made. Old, classic TV shows were great when they were fresh and new and nobody was familiar with the writing style, but they grew stale very quickly. As early as 1950, laugh tracks were being used to either enhance an audiences natural reaction or to replace them completely. Laugh tracks patronize the audience, telling them when to laugh and how hard. They exist because the show itself couldn't make the audience react the right way.
Now, we have shows that take pride in not having laugh tracks. Shows like Scrubs, and The Office, are funny because the writing and the acting within the show itself are funny. Not having a laugh track isn't a gimmick; it's a testament to the quality of the show and a sign of respect to the members of the audience.
And comics work exactly the same way. The successful comics are the funny ones, and the funny comics break the formula. A comic like Cyanide & Happiness works on the traditional set-up, punchline format, but the punchline is unpredictable. The set-up makes the audience assume that a certain stale joke happens, but either a play on words or a completely random punchline happens instead. Least I Could Do, also works off of the basic format, but the punchline isn't the only joke. There will be two or three funny comments within a mere four panels.
I would note that both LICD and C&H are extremely popular and well-loved comics. That is why I model my own style on that principle: Don't be a little funny. Be very funny. Be thoroughly funny. Be consistently funny (as consistent as a human can be). And the fact of the matter is that it shouldn't be that hard to do. That's how a real-life conversation is. Even if I am leading toward a point, I am going to make stops along the way to crack a joke. Comedy comes from real life and the absurdity within it. If you want to tap the core of people, model your art after reality.
Although the specific techniques for art and writing are different, the principles that guide them are the same. At the top of the list is being interesting. The bad examples all suffer from a lack of this. An amateur comic has 4 panels with the same picture. The only difference from scene to scene is facial expressions and possibly hand placement. From panel to panel, nothing happens. The entire comic is about the conversation happening. If all that matters is the words, I have to ask why they have the pictures there in the first place? It would be easier to just write a script.
Unfortunately, those same amateur comics have the same problem with their words that they have with their pictures. There is one joke in the comic and it is all the way at the end. Now, comics have been in existence for a long time and the classic set-up, punchline model is a tried and true method. The one problem is that it is painfully predictable. Anybody who spends any amount of time even being an audience member to comedy will naturally internalize this style and it will grow stale.
If you don't believe me, I will direct you to basically every sitcom ever made. Old, classic TV shows were great when they were fresh and new and nobody was familiar with the writing style, but they grew stale very quickly. As early as 1950, laugh tracks were being used to either enhance an audiences natural reaction or to replace them completely. Laugh tracks patronize the audience, telling them when to laugh and how hard. They exist because the show itself couldn't make the audience react the right way.
Now, we have shows that take pride in not having laugh tracks. Shows like Scrubs, and The Office, are funny because the writing and the acting within the show itself are funny. Not having a laugh track isn't a gimmick; it's a testament to the quality of the show and a sign of respect to the members of the audience.
And comics work exactly the same way. The successful comics are the funny ones, and the funny comics break the formula. A comic like Cyanide & Happiness works on the traditional set-up, punchline format, but the punchline is unpredictable. The set-up makes the audience assume that a certain stale joke happens, but either a play on words or a completely random punchline happens instead. Least I Could Do, also works off of the basic format, but the punchline isn't the only joke. There will be two or three funny comments within a mere four panels.
I would note that both LICD and C&H are extremely popular and well-loved comics. That is why I model my own style on that principle: Don't be a little funny. Be very funny. Be thoroughly funny. Be consistently funny (as consistent as a human can be). And the fact of the matter is that it shouldn't be that hard to do. That's how a real-life conversation is. Even if I am leading toward a point, I am going to make stops along the way to crack a joke. Comedy comes from real life and the absurdity within it. If you want to tap the core of people, model your art after reality.
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