Creating a comic book seems like a simple process, and perhaps it should be, like writing the lyrics to a song or deciding to put a duck inside of a chicken inside of a turkey.  Think about it - what would it take to make a comic book of your own?  You start out with the germ of an idea.  You draw that idea down in sequential format, throw in some word balloons and catchy sound effects and viola!  Instant comic book creation.

The reality of making a comic book that others might want to read is a bit more complicated.  I've never professed to being in any way "inside" the comic book industry or a part of many professional circles, but my experiences in coordinating the creation of Teddy and the Yeti, the book I am so shamelessly promoting to the world at large, has granted me some insight to what must seem a perplexing venture to those who give it more than a moment's thought.

I've been fortunate enough to be in a position to interact with comic book fans in semi-professional environments several times in the past, from a booth at San Diego's Comic-Con International in 2006 to a more recent informal book signing at Evil Genius Comics, located a block or two from California University of Pennsylvania.  Any time I'm in the unique situation of being a comic book creator, which isn't all that often, I'm surprised at how eager other fans are to become creators themselves.  No matter the venue, I've always heard variations of the same story: "the time I was THIS close to publishing a book of my own."

In this regard, comic book fanatics are unlike those of other mediums.  The NFL has millions of fans, but there aren't throngs of them lining up to attend an open tryout when a star player gets hurt.  The movie industry pulls in billions of dollars every year from innumerable devotees, but the number of people who love movies and the number of people who try to make movies is miles apart.  Comic book fans, on the other hand, all want to take an active role in the industry they support week in and week out, and I'm often asked about how one goes about creating a successful comic book.  Despite the fact that I'm still looking for most of those answers myself, I have at least attempted to come to terms with some of those steps along the way, and I've compiled a few of them below.

"How do you come up with your ideas?"

This first question might be the most difficult to answer, as it deals with intangibles at every stage.  There is no correct way to approach this question, as everyone works in a different method.  I find that I come up with my best ideas when I have very few distractions around me.  Others prefer to work with their iPods set to "shuffle".  Regardless of the how, it's important that everyone tries to find what works best for him or herself.

It's also important to not JUST read comic books.  One of the great things about comics is how they combine some of the best aspects of other media, from literature to movies to television to the Internet, and you're missing out if all you read is every issue of Spider-Man each month every month.  Take in all types of media, because comic books represent them all, in some way.

"What format should I use to write a comic book script?"

I used to lose sleep over this question - sad, I know - because I could never get a straight answer from those I asked.  It took me a while to realize that I couldn't get a real answer because none existed.  There is, simply, no "right" way to write a script for a comic book.  It seems that there should be - comics as we know them today have been in existence for over 100 years - but it ultimately comes down to individual choice and how much or how little interpretive freedom a writer wants to give the artist who will be reading that script.

To give the best, clearest answer that I possibly can without limiting would-be writers too greatly, one would do best to look at a comic book script as being similar to a movie script.  In a movie script, the writer (and often director, whose role the comic writer also plays to an extent) plots out the setting for a certain scene, gives information on the roles of each character involved, and then writes the dialogue for each speaking character, keeping in mind the time it will take to speak those lines and how they affect the rest of the overall story.  Comic book scripts can be just like this, except the scene is played out on a page, not a screen.

There are two extremes when it comes to the amount of information a writer can give in a comic book script.  On the minimalist end, we have the form that Stan Lee perfected 50 years ago, working for Marvel Comics.  Stan would write out a rough plot of a particular issue and pass it off to a waiting artist (many times Jack Kirby), who would interpret the scenes to his liking.  Stan would then take the finished artwork and interpret it once again by creating dialogue to go with the individual panels.  This format offers the greatest sense of collaboration between a writer and an artist, but story inconsistencies can sometimes result as a consequence of this extemporaneous style.

On the other end of this spectrum is a writer who writes in exact detail, from listing hypothetical "camera" angles to elaborate character histories, turning in book-length scripts and, for the most part, leaving the artist little room for interpretation.  It seems that today more writers gravitate toward this style of writing, though perhaps a less severe version.  In any case, the relationship between writer and artist should dictate how much detail a writer needs to include, and that lends itself to much of the vagueness surrounding the topic as a whole.

"How do I find an artist who will work on my book?"

I am convinced that there are writers out there who might have the best comic book story anyone has ever read stored away in his or her brain, a story that will never get the chance to be read for one of two reasons: the first is more emblematic of problems throughout the entire industry, and that is the fact that much of the comic book world is so stuck on what has worked before that they refuse to consider what might work better in the future.  The second, an equally discouraging but less existential issue, is that finding and convincing an artist to cut his or her teeth on your script is a hard sell unless you are obscenely rich.

This is more a problem of a writer's expectations, though, at least as I see it.  Expecting an artist - with the understanding that any half decent artist is going to be deluged by similar proposals - to put in long hours on an unknown writer's script is simply unrealistic unless the writer is willing to give something up in return.  That "something" must almost always boil down to one of two things: money or creative rights.

When considering a new creative concept, it seems to me that a fair compromise on the part of both the writer and the artist is to split the creative - meaning "legal" - rights down the middle.  If lightning would strike and a property would get optioned for a movie or television show (the only way a comic book is going to bring any "real" money to either partner), then both benefit from the hard work each brings to the process.  If a writer is protective and doesn't want to give up any rights, then he or she should probably be willing to pay an artist a fair rate for working on a script of which he or she has no hint of long-term benefit.

What constitutes a "fair rate" is the subject of much teeth gnashing.

"How do I get a company to look at my work?"

Here's a funny truth about the comic book industry: no big time editor will ever hire a writer without previous experience, and a writer will never get experience with the company in question without a body of work.  This is where writers and artists part ways when they look for opportunities; a skilled artist is instantly recognizable, but a great script looks almost exactly like a terrible one at first glance.  Because of this, and because EVERYONE thinks he or she can write a great comic book story, there are precious few editors that will even take the time to look at a script unless the person in question is already established, is a Hollywood filmmaker (there's more crossover than one might think), or has printed comic books the editor can pick up and read.

If a writer is looking to work in the comic book field, that last note is the most important - it is also the driving force behind Teddy and the Yeti.  If you want to make comics, then make them.  Waiting around for someone else to publish your work will lead to madness.  The work is hard, the hours are lousy, the pay is minimal, but it's one of the most rewarding things I've done. 

There are a lot of outsiders looking in at the comic book industry and saying, "I would give anything to do that."  What they really mean is, "I want to work in comics, but I want to take the easiest route possible."  What they and others need to realize is that it takes time, effort, money and talent to create a comic book that others might want to read, and even then it's a long shot that the book you work so hard on will be anything resembling successful.

I get asked the same questions everyone does, but it all breaks down to "how do I break in to comics?"  The answer is simply, "try and keep trying."

"How do I reverse my impending hair loss?"

If I knew, I'd tell you.  Oh Lord, I'd tell you.

Jeff McClelland, originally from Brownsville, writes and publishes Teddy and the Yeti through his Wagon Wheel Comics imprint.  The first issue is on sale in comic book specialty stores and directly through the website www.teddyandtheyeti.com.  Jeff also makes funny videos at www.franksandbeansonline.com, though how one defines "funny" may affect one's particular level of enjoyment.