Writing For Comics

WRITING FOR COMICS
By
J OE E DKIN
Copyright 2006
Compiled (read as copy-pasted) by
S HASHANK D EV S ON DHI
From
His website’s section on this topic
Preface
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T ABLE OF C ONTENTS
Preface .......................................................................................................................................3
Chapter 1....................................................................................................................................4
Chapter 2....................................................................................................................................7
The Basics ...................................................................................................................................7
Chapter 3 Plot and Story Construction ....................................................................................19
Chapter 4 Character Development ..........................................................................................28
Chapter 5 The Page Breakdown...............................................................................................41
Chapter 6 Writing the Script ....................................................................................................51
MORE TO COME--EVENTUALLY................................................................................................77
Preface
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P REFACE
This is a collection of the pages available on Joe Edkin’s website. There is
much more available on his website. The reproduction is honest and as-is.
The reason for compiling this is because it is a good write-up on the Marvel
process of scripting its comics. Although the comics are of days long gone
there is very little that such generic norms may have undergone in light of
updating. Thus, as an introduction to a modus operandi I hope that this will
aid aspiring comic writers to create the stuff of new age legend.
A picture being worth a thousand words, the art of comics have matured
substantially and now provide food for more creative thought in films
and other media.
Starting from an industry overview in M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable

to direct plate reproductions like the movie 300, whose scenes draw
almost completely from Frank Miller’s rendition of the epic, comics have
redefined the story-telling paradigm and have aided directors and
screenwriters in visualizing and developing crisper cinema.
In light of this I urge you as a new playwright, read on and explore.
For in this book you will see the guidelines for channeling your
imagination and creating the stuff of legends.
Godspeed,
The Compiler
Preface
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C HAPTER 1 I NTRODUCTION
When I attend conventions or appear as a guest speaker in schools, one of
the questions I'm inevitably asked is, "How can I become a comic book
writer?" The first thing I say is, "Learn how to tell a good story. Learn to
write." If you can't write an entertaining story, then you won't be able to
write entertaining comic book stories. Comic books are a medium with rules
and expectations unique unto themselves, but at the heart of every good
comic is a good story.
The goal of this site is to lead you, the aspiring comic book writer, through
the entire creative process of writing for comics. This means I will be
starting at the very beginning with a discussion of what makes a good
story. Without those basics, then you will never write a good comic book
story. From there, I will go into the nuts and bolts of crafting a comic
book script, as well as advice on writing query letters, springboards, and
proposals.
Let me say a few things up front:
1. As with any art form, there is no ultimate right or wrong way to

approach the creation of art. The methods I discuss in the course of
this site work for me. I use them every day in my career as a
storyteller. This does not mean every other writer works the way I do
or shares my philosophy, nor do you have to. You have to find your
own style, voice, and path. What I am providing here are guideposts--
things that may help you find your way. Take what you can use from
this book and discard that which doesn't help you.
2. Do not learn to write comic books from reading comic books only. (Nor
should you learn to draw comics from comics.) Reading good comics
will help you learn elements of form and style, but it is also inherently
limiting. You get into the law of diminishing returns, for if you don't
have any reference points beyond comics, everything you write will be
derivative. Read novels. Read newspapers. Read non-fiction. Watch
foreign films. Go to the theater. Expose yourself to more than what
you find on comic book shelves. The more you know about the world
around you, the more material you will have with which to build
stories. The more storytelling styles you have encountered, the larger
your own bag of tricks will be.
Chapter 1 Introduction
3. Learn to write, and in this case, I'm not just talking about writing
stories. I'm talking about basic grammar. Learn how to use language.
Learn how to spell and punctuate. Learn how to form a sentence.
Learn about literary devices like parallel structure, metaphor,
personification, etc. You may have the best, most exciting, unique
stories in the world to tell, but if you can't put them down on paper in
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a way that looks professional and can be read, you drastically reduce the
chances that an editor will read or buy your work.
4. There is more to the comic book medium than superheroes, and each
genre has its own rules and rhythms. You will find that I often use
superhero language in discussing basic concepts, but I do this because it is
an easy shortcut as the majority of people reading this material has been
exposed to the superhero culture through comics, movies, or television.
However, even if you don't care for superheroes, the theories and
concepts I am illustrating work beyond that particular genre. If I spend a
few sentences writing about what motivates Hero Woman or Super
Guy and you aren't interested in superheroes, try to get past the
veneer to what is actually being said about character motivation. It
applies whether your character wants to save the world or to buy a
can of soda.
5. Breaking into the comic book industry is hard work, especially for
writers. Let's face it: comics are a visual medium. An editor can glance
through an artist's portfolio and be able to tell quickly whether the
artist understands anatomy, perspective, layout, composition, and
storytelling. The same can not be said of a script. It takes time and
concentration to be able to determine if a writer understands plot,
structure, pacing, character development, dialog, and all the other
pieces that form a coherent and interesting story. An editor has to take
time to read a sample writing submission, and most editors are already
too busy trying to meet their publication deadlines for the projects
they're already editing. They don't have a lot of extra time to read
blind submissions. For this reason, it's a lot harder for writers to break
into the business than it is for artists.
Having said that, that doesn't mean you shouldn't try to make your
dream come true. If you want to write comics, then go for it. There are a
number of paths, but be realistic. It is extremely rare when someone
with no professional credits will land a prime gig at Marvel or DC or Dark
Horse or Image. You are going to have to learn your craft. You are going
to have to earn your chops. You are going to have to practice. It is said
that an artist has to get through 10,000 bad drawings before they get to
the good stuff. Writers have to write a lot of bad material before they get
to the good stuff too. The key is to keep writing and keep learning. You
will never know it all, and a creator who stops learning limits him or
herself and stagnates.
One more word of caution: there is no secret, no magic bullet. This

website will hopefully provide you with advice about storytelling and the
craft of writing comic book scripts, but there are no guarantees. Not only
does it take talent and skill, but there is a lot of luck involved as well.
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However, with time, perseverance, and good work, you may get your
chance. And when you do, don't screw it up! While there may be no magic
bullets in terms of landing assignments, you can certainly shoot down a
burgeoning career very easily by missing deadlines or turning in work that is
sub-par.
In the long run, you have to love what you're doing because it's not gonna
be easy. Whatever you do, have other occupational skills you can fall back
on. Keep your day job!
Good luck,
Joe Edkin, Summer 2005
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C HAPTER 2 T HE B ASICS
BREAKING RULES
Writing is an art. Art is about breaking rules, pushing the envelope, and
discovering new ways of seeing things. Writers as artists should push
themselves to break rules to find new and exciting ways to tell their stories.
However, before you break the rules, it is important to know what they are
and why they exist. Breaking rules for the sake of breaking rules doesn't
create art, it creates anarchy.
For me, art is communication and writing is an art. We, as artists, are
trying to impart something to our audience. Whether it's something
complex like a moral or something subtle like a mood, we are sharing a
way of seeing something with our audience.
Art is a co-operative process. It requires a creator (or creators) and an

audience. Art created by the artist in a way that can be translated or
understood only by the artist is defined by psychologists as "neurotic"
art. Artists can not afford to lose sight of the audience and its needs
and/or expectations. We may want to challenge the audience--the best
art succeeds on that level--but in the end there still has to be a way in,
something that the audience can hold on to that is a basic part of human
nature or part of the collective culture.
My feeling in terms of comics as art is that both must work in harmony.

While the visual elements may take precedence in some cases, those
visual have to be built on a solid foundation--the story itself. Pretty
pictures are all well and good--I have lots of them hanging in my home--
but in comics, the pretty pictures must serve the higher purpose of
communicating the story. Comics should combine words and images to
create an impact in ways that just the words or just the images alone can
not accomplish.
When the writer is doing something really experimental with the

storytelling, then it becomes important for the art to be accessible. If the
art is experimental, then the script needs to be accessible. If both are
experimental to the point of being incomprehensible, we do a disservice
to the audience.
THE "RIGHT" WAY

As with any artistic pursuit, there is no ultimate right or wrong way to
Chapter 2 The Basics
approach writing. Certainly, if you want to write professionally, you must

understand the rules of grammar and spelling. You have to use a
typewriter or computer/word processor to create your manuscripts. No
editor is going to take you seriously if you send him or her a handwritten
manuscript riddled with poor spelling and grammar. Proofread your
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work, or better yet, have someone else proofread it for you. Type your
manuscripts with 1 inch margins, and preferably double-space the text.
Unfortunately, there is no single industry standard for script format, but
there are common denominators that I will cover in the chapter on
scriptwriting. A readable, professionally presented script is a must if you are
trying to get work. (But a word of caution--don't send scripts to editors
blindly. They don't have time to read unsolicited manuscripts. This is
another element that I will be covering in the chapter on selling your work.)
Presentation is important, but what about content? Is there an absolute

right or wrong when constructing a story? No. There are as many
different ways to approach writing as there are writers. There are some
basic ground rules, but they should be treated as guide posts. Ultimately,
you are going to have to find your own way and your own voice. The
material presented in this book will give you a foundation upon which
you can build.
COLLABORATIVE MEDIA
Another important thing to keep in mind about film, television, theater,
and comic books is that they are collaborative media. When I write for
any of these media, I approach the script as a blueprint--the foundation
on which my collaborators will build the story. In any collaborative
medium, you must allow your collaborators room to do their jobs. It
serves no one if the writer or any other individual becomes a dictator.
The more everyone feels they are allowed to contribute to the final
product, the greater a stake the feel they will have in the finished
product, and the more effort they will put into it. No one's ego should
get in the way of providing the audience with the best possible story.
When I write scripts, I give my collaborators everything they will need to

tell the story--the plot, characters, motivations, settings, and anything
else that is key to conveying the story (including any appropriate
reference such as photographs or web links). I don't tell filmmakers or
comic book pencilers every single camera angle, only the ones that are
key to telling the story. Otherwise, I prefer to give my collaborators as
much freedom as possible. I also make myself available to collaborators
if they have questions or suggestions. I may not always agree with what
they want to do, but this is where you have to learn to choose your
battles. Sometimes you have to concede one thing to gain another. A
good collaboration is built on this give and take.
WHERE DO I BEGIN?
When I set out to craft a story, I don't have any single way in which I
approach the process. Often I start with the characters, examining who
they are and what they care about--this is especially true of licensed
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properties where the characters have history before I come to the table.
Other times, I have a neat conflict or moral dilemma to explore. Sometimes
I just have a really cool visual in my head around which I can construct a
story. I will go into more detail about where and how to start in the chapter
on outlines and page breakdowns. For now, I want to concentrate on some
of the basic elements of storytelling.
VISUAL THINKING
One of the most important skills an aspiring comic book writer (or a writer
working in film, television, and/or the theater) must develop is the ability to
think visually. The best comic books are a marriage of text and art. The
writer must be able to tell his or her stories in pictures. Let the art carry
important character and plot elements.
When I work with aspiring filmmakers/videographers, one of the first

things I suggest they do is make a silent film in order to learn to tell a
story with images alone. After that, then you can begin to worry about
adding words to your work. As film and video are visual media, if artists
can't convey their message with their images, then they are not taking
full advantage of their medium.
In many ways, I think it would serve aspiring comic book writers well to
do the same thing. Use a camera--be it still photo, film, or video--and
shoot a purely visual story. This will help you in many ways. It will train
you to think of your stories in images. It will help you conceptualize how
much information you can convey in a single image. It will also help you
learn how to describe the pictures in your head to an artist.
The biggest limitation to storytelling in the comic book medium is space.

Generally speaking, you are only given so many pages in which to tell
your story. If an editor assigns you to write a twelve page story, you can't
turn in a script for eleven pages, or thirteen, or any number other than
twelve. There is also only so much material that will fit on a page or
within a panel. You have to learn how to make the best use of this space
by combining words and images to maximum benefit.
THE THREE PLOTS

All right, let's start right off with a disappointing reality. Every story that
can be told has been told--probably by a writer better than any of us can
ever hope to be. Our job as creators is to reconfigure these hoary old
chestnuts, disguising them in such a way that the audience is fooled into
thinking they're seeing something new and different. So, what are those
three plots?
The Mysterious Stranger (Comes to Town)

The Quest
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The Genesis Story
That's it. I don't care what movie, novel, play, comic book, or what-have-you
you point to. When you boil the story down, you will come to one or more
of these three basic plots. Yes, this is reductionism to its extreme, but these
are not where you end. It's where you begin. Let's consider them one at a
time.
The Mysterious Stranger (Comes to Town). Someone or something enters a

community. The story built around this plot often follows one (or both)
of these two questions: What is this stranger's impact on the
community? What is the community's impact on the stranger? If it does
not follow either of those questions, then the stranger may be used as a
lens by which the author reveals the characters and/or community in
which the stranger finds him or herself.
The Quest. This can be a search for anything: love, the Holy Grail, the
identity of the Mysterious Stranger. All mysteries are built around the
quest for the solution. You might consider some subcategories to the
Quest. My friend, comic artist Howard Simpson, feels that the quest is
too broad and breaks things down further, including such categories as
the Chase and the Hunt. Other writers consider Boy Meets Girl a
separate classification. While I understand the distinctions being made in
each of these examples, I still see them as all being quests of one sort or
another.
The Genesis Story. How something or someone came to be. In comic

book terms, this is the origin story.
As far as I'm concerned, that's it. I've never found anything else, but if
you have something to suggest, I'd love to hear it. E-mail me with your
thoughts and if you come up with new categories that are truly separate
from these three, I will be happy to update this page to include them.
Think about your favorite stories and you'll see at the heart of them is
one or more of these three basic plots. Our job as artists, and writing is
an art, is to find a new stories to tell based on these plots. This is where
your artistic vision comes into play. We are all individuals, shaped by our
experiences. It is our unique perspective on these three stories that will
give our work a distinctive voice.
EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT
For a story to have any impact, it must instill a sense of emotional
investment in the reader. The reader has to care about the characters
and what is happening to them. To do that, you need to create
characters that are recognizably human--be they aliens, super-heroes, or
average schmoes. They must have human concerns (hopes, dreams,
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fears, etc.) for the reader to empathize or sympathize with, or at least
understand.
People are the sum total of their experiences. For characters to seem well-
rounded and consistent, the writer has to convey a sense of history for
them. It's in this history and common experience that reader identification
and thereby emotional investment will occur.
We'll cover this in more detail in the chapter on developing characters.
CHANGE
When you boil it down, every story is about change. Who has learned
something? If something or someone hasn't changed or learned
something by the end of the story, then what was the point of the
audience reading your story?
In the traditional definition of fiction, it is held that your lead character--

your protagonist--must change from the beginning of the story to the
end. That is the protagonist's journey--the events he or she lives through
in the course of the story--should have a transformational effect. If there
is no change or growth, it is held, then why should the reader waste their
time plowing through your golden prose?
In many ways, I do agree with this philosophy. I do think that the

characters should learn something by the end of the story and that
knowledge should be a catalyst for change, or that the events of the
story result in a physical change for the character--whether it is a
physical or situational change. However, this can be very difficult to
apply to episodic fiction, especially when dealing with comic book
publishers that have a stake in maintaining their status quo. The reality is
that most publishers can't change their most popular characters
significantly indefinitely. The traditional looks and identities of characters
like Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, the Hulk, and any
other character with iconic value (any character that can be recognized
regardless of the culture of the person viewing it) are too important to
their owners in terms of licensing for bed sheets, action figures,
underwear, and other ancillary merchandise. Any of these characters
might undergo changes for brief periods of time in order to freshen the
franchise and create reader interest, but usually there is a return to the
status quo so that the value of the character's traditional image can be
exploited.
To be honest, characters who have reached truly iconic value have done
so by moving into media outside of comics. If the world at large doesn't
read the comics in which the characters have been changed, then when
faced with the new version, the average person won't understand and be
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resistant. (Think Green Lantern. Long time comics fans were horrified at the
changes made to Hal Jordan, but to people outside of comics fandom, the
response was more likely "Green who?") Companies must have an easily
recognized image in order to merchandise it well. (The main exception here
being action figures, where toy companies thrive on variations on a theme,
but in this case, the essence of the character is usually maintained, even if
their costume or props are altered.)
Mind you, the lack of significant change isn't a hard and fast rule--
sometimes publishers will change second tier characters to make them
more accessible and interesting to new readers. Jay Garrick to Barry
Allen to Wally West as the Flash or Dick Grayson to Jason Todd to Tim
Drake as Robin are two good examples of lasting changes secondary
characters (okay, maybe not so much with Jason Todd anymore...). Even
the upper echelon of publisher's characters may undergo some change.
Any long-lived character has to adapt to the times in order to remain
relevant, but the inherent essence of characters such as Superman,
Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, and other
high-profile properties remain intact even if minor cosmetic changes are
brought in periodically to make the property appealing to current tastes.
These can be slight alterations to costumes (or the temporary
appearance of a radically different look), new people wearing old
costumes, new powers, etc.
So, if publishers have a stake in maintaining their franchises so that

change to the leading characters is temporary or cosmetic at best, then
how do you effectively create a sense of evolution or forward
momentum in episodic fiction?
When it comes to significantly altering characters, the permanent

changes are usually reserved for the supporting cast. The secondary
characters are often fair game for major changes (like death), and
sometimes supporting characters are introduced in order to have a
character in the context of the story who can change permanently (blow
'em up real good and watch our hero grit his/her/its teeth in angst).
There is one other area where change can occur: changing the reader's
perception of a character, philosophy, or events by forcing them to re-
examine their perceptions via the events of the story. I consider this to
be a perfectly valid way of approaching change. If the reader witnesses

something at the beginning of a story and then, as events unfold, what
reader believed to be true is proven false by the end of the story, then
you have changed the reader's perception. This can actually be a very
powerful way to approach change as it directly affects your audience and
makes them active participants in the storytelling. Akira Kurosawa's film
Rashomon is a brilliant example of changing the audience's perception of
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events by examining events from the points of view from four very different
characters. The audience is left to piece together what the truth is, each
retelling of the story adding more facts and changing the viewer's
perspective on what they had seen before. (If you haven't seen Rashomon, I
strongly suggest you do so. Besides its historical significance and its impact
in all areas of storytelling, it is also a movie that relies on images to tell its
story. Remember what I said earlier about thinking visually and using
pictures to convey your story...)
THE FIVE W S (AND SOMETIMES H)

In journalism, writers are taught to write to answer the five Ws (and
sometimes H). Writers of fiction should also be aware of them. They are:
When?
Where?
Who?
What?
Why?
How?
When and Where? When is your story taking place? Where is it taking
place? When time or place is not specified, it is usually assumed to be
here and now, especially when dealing with the script format. Unless you
tell your artist (set designer, cinematographer, director, etc., depending
on your medium) exactly when and where the story is happening, there's
no telling what they might assume--or worse yet, draw.
Who? These are the characters in your story.
What? What is happening? This is the plot. What do your characters

want? This is motivation and it is integral to good character
development.
Why? Why are things happening? Why do your characters want what
they want? One of the most important questions you have to ask
yourself is "Why should the readers care about my story?"
How? How do your characters go about getting what they want? How do
they react to adversity or success?
Every scene, every page, every panel in a comic book story absolutely
must address at least one of the questions and help your reader
understand the events that are unfolding. Any scene, page, or panel that
doesn't accomplish this goal is a "darling" and, as Mark Twain said, we
must kill our darlings. They waste time and space and they annoy the
audience.
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THE STORYTELLING TRIANGLE
To my mind, there are four basic elements in constructing a story as
illustrated by the diagram below.
The Characters, as mentioned previously, are the who.
The Plot is the what. What do your characters want and what happens?
It is the simple sequence of events. Jimmy wants to be on time for work.
Unfortunately, he wakes up late. Jack makes him breakfast. Jimmy eats
breakfast hurriedly, dripping egg yolk on his shirt. Now Jimmy has to
change his clothes, making him even later for work. Jimmy leaves the
house in a rush, not looking in both directions before he crosses the
street. Jimmy is hit by a bus and dies. That is a plot. That's what happens.
The plot is the series of conflicts and resolutions leading to the climax
and denouement. These elements will be discussed in greater detail in
the next chapter.
The Story is the where, when, how, and why. Where and when are
surface details, but they are important as they determine how the
character and society act and react. People in feudal England would not
act in the same way that Aborigines in 1800 Australia. The plot described
above would have to happen in fairly large, modern city. It could not be
transplanted to France, circa 1100.
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How expands on the question of "What do you characters want?" by
exploring how they go about achieving their goals. We then ask the
question of why should the events of the plot matter to the characters and
the readers.
Ultimately, the story is the impact of Jimmy's death on Jack, the bus driver,
other characters, and most importantly, on the reader. Why should the
reader care about Jimmy's death and its ramifications? Therein lies the
story.
The Theme or Premise. Every story sets out to prove its theme or
premise. In the story outlined above, the premise might be "Remember
to set your alarm clock so you don't wake up late." The consequences of
not setting your alarm clock are then spelled out. The theme or premise
does not have to be overly complex. It can be as simple as "Love
conquers all" or "Crime doesn't pay" or "With great power comes great
responsibility." It can be much more complex, perhaps trying to prove or
disprove the existence of a higher power. It doesn't matter how simple
or complex your premise, as long as everything in the context of the tale-
-the characters, the plot, and the story--all relate to the theme in some
way, shape, or form to your theme. Ultimately, when someone asks what
the story is about, they will usually zero in on the theme or premise.
THE THREE MAJOR FORMS OF CONFLICT

Without conflict, there is no drama. Without drama, our stories are
incredibly dull. Conflict is anything that stands in the way of your
characters achieving their goals. Traditionally, there are three types of
conflict:
Individual vs. Individual
This is probably the most straight forward form of conflict, especially

when you consider the action/adventure genre. This is the traditional
hero vs. villain, although it applies whenever two or more individuals
(human or not) stand in each other's ways.
Individual vs. Nature
This is an individual facing forces of nature or anything outside the

control of another individual or him/herself.
Individual vs. Self
This is probably the most dynamic and dramatic form of conflict. We

refer to this as internal conflict. When an individual has to make a choice
between two things that he or she values--especially if the things are
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valued equally--then there must be consequences in making the choice.
That sense of cost is often part of the hero's journey.
Internal conflict is something with which every reader can identify. We have
all had to make choices in our lives, and every choice has its consequences.
Sometimes they're small. Choosing the chocolate cake for dessert means
you might not get to have the strawberry mousse. This is not a very big deal
in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes the choices we face are life-
altering. If you quit your job, you may not find another one for six
months. Is this a chance you can afford to take? Either way, the process
of making the decision is inherently dramatic, especially when something
important is at stake.
For example, Hero Woman may love her mother and father equally. If a
life-threatening situation occurs and Hero Woman has time to save only
one life, does she choose mom or dad? This is a decision with a huge cost
attached. How does she make this choice? What are the ramifications of
making the choice? Perhaps Super Guy has learned that his sister is an
evil genius responsible for the deaths of millions. Does Super Guy's
loyalty to his family or his sense of right and wrong take priority? What
are the ramifications of this choice? It is within the ramifications that the
story lies.
We all have things in which we believe. We all have things in ourselves

that we like. What happens when we put these things in jeopardy? What
happens when we have to question these things? That is the root of
internal conflict. If Winifred and Wilbur have grown up believing that
killing is wrong and they are put in a situation where they have to kill to
save their own lives, how do they live with the taking of life? For that
matter, do they choose to sacrifice themselves in order to uphold their
ideals? What if they have to kill to save someone else's life? Would they
sacrifice their ideals to protect an innocent life? This is the stuff of
drama.
FIVE MINOR FORMS OF CONFLICT

Over the years, I have encountered five subcategories of conflict that I
feel are worth addressing. I feel that they are actually fall into the above
categories, but they may straddle some lines.
Individual vs. Machine
This is the hallmark of Science Fiction. However, the machine is usually

something physical, and therefore can qualify as Individual vs. Individual.
Individual vs. Supernatural
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This is a case where the conflict straddles lines. If the supernatural is
personified or is solid in some way (such as vampires, werewolves,
demons), then it qualifies as Individual vs. Individual. If the supernatural is
insubstantial in that it has no physical presence (ghosts), then it may take on
elements of Individual vs. Nature.
Individual vs. Disease
The disease is an act of nature, but it may also have a physical presence in
the way of germs, bacteria, or cancer. This is a case of straddling the lines
of nature and individual.
Individual vs. Society
I find this a particularly intriguing form of conflict as it can actually be

seen as a subcategory of all three major forms of conflict. All societies
have rules that its members are expected to follow. When an individual
breaks these rules, then they must pay somehow.
In crime stories, society is represented by the legal system, the police

officers who investigate the crimes, the courts which decide guilt or
innocence and set punishment. Sometimes society is represented by
vigilantes. The superhero genre is built on this concept where the hero
upholds society's ideals.
Every individual within a society is taught what its rules are. Sometimes
an individual has to make a choice about whether or not to break one of
those rules. If your character grows up being told that stealing is wrong,
but then has to steal a loaf of bread in order for he and his family to
survive, is that inherently wrong? In this case, the rules may have the
sense of nature, especially if the individual believes that a vengeful deity
will punish him or her for breaking the rules. There is also the sense of
internal conflict. If the person contemplating breaking the rules does
distinguish between right and wrong, that is the personal cost in making
the "wrong" choice?
Individual vs. Destiny
This is an interesting thought put forth by one of my students when he

couldn't remember my other subcategories. I have to say it intrigued me
enough to add to my list. Destiny could have the force of nature. It might
be something that was internalized through indoctrination and then be

an example of Individual vs. Self.
Generally speaking, one of the places I often start building a story,

especially when I am dealing with a character with a long history, is to
define a form of conflict. I like to look at what the character values,
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whether external or internal, and put that in jeopardy. That conflict will
then drive the story.
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C HAPTER 3
P LOT AND S TORY C ONSTRUCTION
WHAT MAKES A GOOD STORY?
There are as many answers to that as there are good stories to tell.
However, every good story has at its core characters that we care about
living through events that we find interesting. Every story should have a
beginning, a middle, and an end--although not necessarily in that order.
Beginning, middle, end is your classic three act structure.
To me, story construction is puzzle solving. I see a story as big picture

made up of many small pieces. When a story fails for its readers, it is
often because one or more pieces of the puzzle is missing. In the
previous chapter, I addressed many of those pieces: story, plot,
character, theme/premise, change, emotional investment, conflict, the
five Ws (and sometimes H), and when addressing serial fiction, family,
the secret, and memory. In this chapter, I will add more pieces to the
puzzle, concentrating on elements of plot.
THE MANTELPIECE RULE

The Russian playwright Anton Chekov coined "The Mantelpiece Rule"
which states, "If you place a gun above the fireplace in act one, it
absolutely must be fired by the final curtain." This means if you take the
time to establish that Super Guy can bend steel with his bare hands at
the beginning of the story, this is something he should exhibit again by
the end of the story, preferably at the climax. Otherwise, there's no need
to confuse the issue by establishing something that the reader won't see
again.
The converse is also true. If you are going to fire a gun in the final act,
then you need to establish that it was there prior to its being fired. To
me, this is a simple matter of fair play. I am a great believer in playing fair
with the audience, meaning that everything the reader needs to
understand a story or any given episode in serial fiction should be in said
story or episode. Readers love mysteries, but they hate to be mystified.
Mysteries are puzzles which have solutions. When you don't play fair
with the readers by not giving them all the pieces of the puzzle, you will
Plot and Story Construction
mystify, anger, and alienate them.
If your character is required to possess a special, extra normal ability or

knowledge in order to resolve the story, you should establish that it is
possible that the character would have that ability or knowledge prior to
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exhibiting it. If you don't, then you create a deus ex machina, and that is
a cheat.
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The term deus ex machina comes to us from Ancient Greek theater. It
literally means "God from the machine." In Greek theater, the gods would
be lowered over the stage at the climax of the play, and if the story was a
comedy, they would make everything better for the characters, or if it was a
tragedy, they would make the characters' lives worse (usually exacting
terrible retribution for whatever sins were committed by the protagonist).
The characters had no control over their fates--resolutions to their
dilemmas were delivered from on high. This can be a useful plot device, but
if it is used too often, it's a cheat. The audience usually prefers to see the
protagonists solve their own problems in a believable way.
So, if Hero Woman is required to use her heat vision to resolve the
climax of the story, then it is important that you establish that she has
heat vision earlier in the story. A clever writer is able to set these
elements up in a way that does not draw attention to them immediately.
You want to find a way to naturally establish abilities and knowledge
without hitting the reader over the head with it. It should be so subtle
that the reader may not even realize that you've given them the key to
the climax until they see it played out and go, "Of course! It was there all
along." It's a very difficult balance to maintain, and it takes a great deal
of practice to get to the point where you do it well. In many ways, it
becomes a matter of misdirection. You draw the reader's attention to a
different point while playing out the key. In the first act, as you establish
Hero Woman in action against some two bit thugs as they draw their
guns, you might have her use her heat vision to melt the gun barrels,
directing the reader's attention to the immediate threat of stopping the
gunfire. You don't go out of your way to draw attention to it, but at the
climax, when it's do or die and the only way out is use of her heat vision,
the reader knows that she has the power. I would highly recommend
reading Peter O'Donnell's Modesty Blaise stories--either collections of
the comic strips or the novels--to see a master at work.
INTERNAL LOGIC
Your audience wants to believe that a man can fly. They want to suspend
their disbelief. You are the puppet-master of your literary world. You can
invent any rules you want, and the audience will buy them as long as you
play by your own rules (again, we're playing fair). If you establish that a
character has a specific ability or knowledge, and then construct a plot
where the character has to forget he or she has said ability or
knowledge, you create what we call the "idiot plot"--this is a plot that
only works when your characters must act like idiots in order to make
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the story work. This is a major cheat. It makes your characters look
stupid and worse, it insults the intelligence of your readers as you
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assume that they aren't smart enough to realize the huge plot hole into
which your story has sunk.
In the example stated above, we see Hero Woman use her heat vision to
melt the guns of two-bit thugs at the beginning of the story. If, at the end,
she is trapped in a bank vault made of steel and a big deal is made of how
she might die of asphyxiation--if she doesn't even try to use the heat vision
established earlier, then she has become an idiot. (Granted, it might be able
to invent a reason for her not to--the radiant heat might harm someone
else trapped inside or set fire to the money/documents she's trying to
protect, there might be the presence of explosive gases, etc. But if she
simply forgets she has heat vision simply to create false tension, both she
and by extension, the writer, have become idiots.)
It is very important that you set the ground rules of your world and
establish the strengths and limitations (both physical and emotional) of
your characters and then play by those rules in order to maintain your
illusion of reality.
CLASSIC THREE ACT STRUCTURE
ACT ONE--THE BEGINNING
In journalistic writing, people are taught that the first paragraph of their
article must answer the five Ws. The beginning of your story should
address them as well. Where are we? When is the story happening? Who
are the characters? What is happening? Why should the reader care?
In the long run, the last question in the above list is the most important.
Why should your readers care? The beginning of your story must pose
some kind of emotional investment in the circumstances being
portrayed--there must be some element to which they can relate and/or
they will want to see played out. Right from the start, you need to pose
an intriguing question that will engage the reader and make him or her
want to keep reading the story. In your standard 22 page comic book,
that question should be posed by the end of the third page, if not
sooner. And, before you answer that question, you must pose a second
one. If you answer the first question before posing another, then why
should the reader keep reading? This is key to emotional investment.
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In stories where it is assumed that the readers already have some

investment in the lead characters (the memory element that is important
to all serial fiction), putting those characters in some kind of dilemma is a
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great place to start. However, I would caution you that every comic is
someone's first exposure to the characters, so you should not rely too
heavily on the reader's supposed foreknowledge of the characters and their
conflicts to create the emotional investment.
The other key question that you must pose to yourself--if not immediately
to the reader as this can be one of the driving questions--is "What do your
characters want?" This is what will motivate all the action. Therefore, right
from the start, the characters must have some goal to achieve.
Sometimes, the most exciting way to begin a story is in medias res. Yes,
it's another one of those concepts that come to us from Greek theater. It
literally means "in the middle of things." Starting with the characters
already in action creates a sense of urgency. Then, as events play out,
you can fill in the gaps via conversations, circumstances, or flashbacks
that explain how the characters found themselves in the initial dilemma.
This was a frequent device used by Stan Lee (and all his collaborators like
Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Don Heck, et. al.) during Marvel's heyday. These
stories often would start an issue of a comic with the heroes completing
an adventure, thereby introducing them, their goals, and their powers,
then as that adventure ended, a new one would begin.
Every story beings with an inciting incident (sometimes called the

catalyst). This is the action that has happened that gets the entire story
rolling--the first link in the chain of events. To mix my metaphors, it's the
first domino that falls, knocking over all the rest. (And here is where I
personally prefer not to use the term catalyst, as to my way of thinking a
catalyst can be a person or an action.)
In some cases, the inciting incident happens before the story begins.
Using a murder mystery for example, the story may begin with the
discovery of the body, but it was the murder that sets the mystery into
motion. (Or, you could take it even further back and say that the victim's
actions may have led to his or her untimely demise.) In this case, the
quest for the murderer and/or the reason behind the murder may be the
main plot, but that does necessarily have to be true.
The brilliant filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock referred to that thing all his
characters wanted--be it the solution to the mystery, the secret plans,

the jewelry, the mysterious stranger, the inciting incident--as the
"MacGuffin", a term he borrowed from his friend, writer Angus
MacPhail. The characters' pursuit of the MacGuffin was what motivated
their actions and drove the plot, but the actual, physical MacGuffin was
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secondary (and sometimes never seen by the audience or found by the

characters) to the events. It exists as a plot device that allows the
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audience to see into these characters' lives, hopes, dreams, and
weaknesses, the true meat of the story.
The first act introduces us to the key players of the story and lays out the
core conflict. With the protagonist and the conflict established, we
introduce the first major complication of the story, then move on to the
second act.
All told, the beginning or first act of the story should not take up more than
25% of the entire length of the story, although 25% is pushing the upper
limit when your dealing with a lengthy story. Think of it this way: when
you're watching a TV show or watching a videotape, if what you're
watching doesn't engage your interest in the first few minutes (maybe
fifteen or twenty for a feature length movie that you've paid good
money to rent), chances are you will change the channel or turn it off.
The same is true with a comic book. In a twenty-two page story, if you
can't engage the reader's interest in the first three to five pages, it's
unlikely you'll ever engage their interest. This is a particularly sensitive
issue when it comes to buying the comic. If someone looking at it in a
store can't get interested in the first few pages, they're unlikely to buy
the comic.
ACT TWO--THE MIDDLE (RISING ACTION)
The basic structure to any story is that you set a goal for your protagonist
and then put things in the way of the character achieving his or her goal.
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These obstacles are minor complications and they make up the second
act or middle of your story. Each minor complication on the way to the
climax of the story should be bigger and fraught with more
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danger/consequences than the last. Often, complications result in reversals-
-where the tables are turned on the protagonist making it more difficult for
the character to reach his or her goal.
This is rising action. If the incidents do not build on top of each other and
keep raising the stakes, then the reader will lose interest. This is what
provides the story with forward impetus, building a sense of momentum to
the inevitable climax if the story.
Each complication has a minor climax. Just as a story builds to its main
climax from which the lead characters or the audience has learned
something, the same is true of the minor climaxes. Following each minor
climax, there should be a brief period of falling action. This allows the
audience a chance to catch their breath and absorb what they've just
witnessed. I look at it this way: the resolution of each minor climax
comes with some kind of cost or reversal, and the falling action examines
that cost.
If you keep building complication upon complication without any

resolution, you will leave the audience exhausted, and the subsequent
complications and climaxes will have a lesser impact because you have
not let them lower their defenses again.
There may be times when you want to leave the audience breathless for
a while, and that's perfectly valid. You may want to pile a dozen
complications on top of each other to build tension, but it becomes
important to release that tension at some point or else you'll over-
saturate the audience's senses (and this is not senses-shattering in the
good way). Once you've done that, nothing you do will have any impact.
The collected complications may then overshadow your climax, robbing
it of its dramatic impact.
The climax of the story is the biggest complication or the crisis.

Everything in your story should lead inevitably to this moment. To me,
this is the decision or action that protagonist must make from which
there is no turning back--nothing will ever be the same again. The second
act ends with the climax.
Note what I just said above: the second act ends with the climax. The
story does not end with the climax.
ACT THREE--THE END
Following the climax must come the resolution to the crisis, followed by
Chapter 3
the denouement where we see why the decision/action mattered, what

was learned, and/or what has changed. This is the end of the story. If
there was no cost to the final action, if no one has learned something, if
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nothing has changed, then you've cheated your audience. Why else did they
stick around for the entire ride if there was no pay off?
There are some examples of stories where the denouement comes before
the protagonist takes the climactic action. Nicholas Meyer's marvelous film
Time after Time is an excellent example of this. Without giving away the
end of the story, I will say that the lead character understands what the
implications of his actions will be just before he takes action. This is
perfectly acceptable, although sometimes difficult to pull off and have
the audience feel fulfilled by the story. Generally speaking, the audience
needs an opportunity to release tension that's been built up by the story
along with the main characters with whom they've come to identify.
This release of tension is called catharsis (quantified by the Greek

philosopher Aristotle in Poetics), and it's an important element to almost
every story. There are exceptions to this, as there are to all rules
governing art. Sometimes the writer's point is to keep the audience
tense so that on completion of the story, the audience is forced to
confront their feelings rather than being told what to feel by the writer
through his or her characters. This can be a very powerful tool when
used well.
DRIVING THE NARRATIVE

As you write your story, make sure there is always a compelling reason
for the audience to keep reading. There should always be an unanswered
question or an unresolved dilemma that drives the narrative. I made it a
point to explain that after every minor complication there needs to be
falling action, but you don't want to fall into a cadence where you
introduce a problem, solve it, introduce another problem, solve that
problem, introduce a third problem, resolve it, and so on. It makes it easy
for a reader to stop reading once you've posed the solution to the
immediate question.
Think of it this way: what makes a novel a "page turner?" Generally, it's
because the author ends each scene and/or chapter with a new question
or unresolved action (think complication), making it difficult to put down
the book.
At the beginning of your story, you might want to pose several questions.
That way, as the story progresses and you answer some of the questions,
there are still some left hanging. As you move along and answer some
questions, the answers may pose new questions. The climax and
denouement is when you answer the last of the questions or resolve all
Chapter 3
of the conflicts. If you do so prior to the climax, what's the point of the
audience sticking around?
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In a long story or in serial fiction, we often use subplots to help maintain
reader interest. As the main plot may be in falling action, the subplot may
be rising. This keep's the reader's interest piqued. As Hero Woman recovers
from her most recent battle with Villain Person, Terrible Despot's plans may
be coming to fruition across town. Below you will find two examples of
story structure.
SINGLE INSTALLMENT STORY EPISODE IN SERIAL FICTION
QUESTION 1 QUESTION 1
ANSWER 1 ANSWER 1
ANSWER 3 ANSWER 3
SUBPLOT QUESTION 1 SUBPLOT QUESTION 1
SUBPLOT QUESTION 2 SUBPLOT QUESTION 2
ANSWER 4 ANSWER 4
ANSWER 6 ANSWER 6
CLIMACTIC QUESTION CLIMACTIC QUESTION
ANSWER 2 ANSWER 2
ANSWER 5 ANSWER 5
CLIMACTIC ANSWERS RESOLVE MAIN PLOT CLIMACTIC ANSWER

MAIN PLOT AND SUBPLOT
SUBPLOT ANSWER 1 or SUBPLOT
QUESTION THREE leading into the
next installment...
In a single-installment story, you want the climaxes of the main plot and
the sub-plot(s) to intersect, coincide, or interrelate on some level, if not
physically, then thematically. By the end of your story, all of your
Chapter 3
questions should be answered. The exception to that is if you wish to

leave one or two questions that the audience has to answer for
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themselves. This can make for intriguing storytelling, but you should at least
resolve something for them--preferably the main conflict/dilemma.
In serial/episodic fiction, each installment should have hanging questions

that will cause the audience to want to come back for the next chapter. I
strongly believe that every installment should resolve or reveal something;
have its own beginning, middle, and end; and its own climax and
denouement. Given the state of the comic book market these days, you
want to give the consumers the feeling that they got something for the
price of their admission.
Regardless of whether you are writing a stand alone story or a single

installment of episodic fiction, your subplot's minor complications and
climaxes should never overshadow the climax of your main story. The
main plot must have the most intensity in terms of complications and
consequences and should hold the majority of space in terms of pages.
We'll discuss structure in more detail as to how it applies to writing a

comic book script in a later chapter, but before we get to that point, we
should discuss what is at the heart all good stories: characters...
Chapter 3
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C HAPTER 4
C HARACTER D EVELOPMENT
"T H E C H AR AC T ER S T OO K CO NT RO L OF T H E ST O RY "
Every now and again you will hear a writer talk about a story where his or
her characters took on a life of their own and dictated the way the story
would play itself out. In the past when I heard statements like that, I would
consider it a sign of sloppy writing, believing the writer lost control of the
plot and wandered off on tangents. While I am still very much a
structuralist, I have mellowed in my feelings on the matter up to a point.
I've written material where I had something I needed the characters to
do, but discovered it couldn't work without betraying the character and
had to reconceive what I was doing. I still find the general attitude to be
dangerous, especially when writing for comics where there are usually
very rigid limitations on space, but there is a valid consideration here to
be made. Characters should be so vivid in the minds of the writer and the
audience that we can sense when the characters are acting in a way that
doesn't make sense. (Remember the "idiot plot?")
A writer must know his or her characters so well that it will be obvious
when he or she is trying to make the characters to do something that is
contrary to their nature. Any time you force a character to do something
that defies everything that has been revealed about the character to that
point, you are doing a disservice to the character, the audience, and
yourself. There is one time where the characters taking control can truly
be a good thing--when it forces the writer to rethink his or her plot to
make sure it makes sense. Plot and structure are important, make no
mistake, but your characters should not be sacrificed in order to force a
plot to work.
As with everything else in life, the writer must strive for a balance
between plot and character. If you come to a point in your story where
the plot requires someone to act out of character, then you have to
make a decision: do you change the plot or do you alter the character?
Something will have to give, or else you will drain your story of its reality.
For the writer to reach the level where his or her character can take on a
life of their own takes time, practice, and careful planning...
Character Development
WHAT MAKES INTERESTING CHARACTERS?

When we read a story or watch a movie, if we don't like the characters or
relate to them in some way, we quickly lose interest. Without interesting
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and compelling characters, all the fight scenes and special effects in the
world won't save your story from being uninvolving. Shock and awe are
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appealing in the short term, but what makes people come back to your
stories again and again are the characters.
So, what does make for interesting characters? Believability and complexity.
You want to make all of your characters--even the robots and aliens--
recognizably human, with qualities to which the humans reading your story
can relate.
Let's face it, we humans are an inherently contradictory bunch. We may say
we love our fellow man, but there are exceptions, like that creep who cut
you off in traffic or that next door neighbor who never turned down the
stereo (especially when playing that awful polka music!). We all have
hopes and dreams, as well as unreasoning fears and blind spots. We are
complex, and it's that complexity that renders a character compelling. By
embracing the common things that make us all human and instilling
them into your characters, you will achieve audience identification which
is the heart and soul of effective storytelling.
Every character should have a specific purpose in the context of your

story. This is where I usually begin in terms of building a character. What
is this character's role to fulfill: hero, villain, protagonist, antagonist, best
friend, wise sage, cannon fodder? The primary action the character must
take is the foundation of the character. From there, ask yourself a series
of questions that spell out motivation, physical attributes, and
integration.
MOTIVATION
Every human is the sum total of his or her experiences. Every time we
respond to something, we are drawing on all our previous experiences.
When we encounter something outside of our experiences, that is when
we feel fear or anxiety.
As you think through your characters, you have to be part writer/creator

and part therapist. You have to understand the goals and fears of your
characters that drive them to take action. You have to be able to
understand each character's motivations. You don't have to like or
approve of their motives or actions, but you absolutely have to
understand where they come from. There are three key questions with
which you can work that will help you build a foundation for strong
characterization. The questions come from the work of pioneering

psychologist Carl Jung.
Who are you?

Chapter 4
In Jungian psychotherapy, the therapist asks the client, "Who are you?"
Generally, the first answer someone gives to this question is their name,
but what does a name really tell you about a person (unless they a
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character in a Charles Dickens or Ian Fleming story, which most of us are
not)? The therapist once again asks, "Who are you?" The patient is not
allowed to use the same answer. The purpose of this process is to show the
patient that they have many identities--some are thrust upon us by
circumstance, some are chosen. We all play different roles in our life: son or
daughter, mother, father, lover, best friend, student, teacher, employee,
etc. The goal of the questioning is to strip away all the different roles until
the client can find out the Who they really are, without the expectations or
limitations thrust upon us by circumstance.
In the superhero genre, we deal with mask-wearing characters. It is

worth keeping in mind that we all wear masks all the time. We have our
social mask, the face/expression that we wear in order to maintain polite
society. We have the faces we wear with our families, lovers, children,
employers, annoying drivers, postal workers, etc. The more tired we are,
the harder it is to maintain the social mask, and the more our true
feelings and thoughts begin to show, and the closer others get to seeing
our true selves.
When designing a mask-wearing character, you must consider why the

character wears a mask. Is he our she hiding something or revealing
something? Is the mask the true face or the face the character hides
behind? Does the mask give the character freedom to do things he or she
might never consider when not wearing the mask? Which is the true
identity--the mask or the face behind the mask? What is the message
that the masked character is trying to send to the people who see the
mask? These are important questions in terms of characterization and
can also be the starting point for interesting stories.
Remember that nobody is ever one thing all the time, hence the many
faces/masks we wear. The more facets you give your characters, the
more storytelling potential you will have and the more interesting your
characters will be. In serial fiction, there should always be something
more to learn about your character: new skills, new pockets of
information, new surprises (that should be logical extensions of what is
already established) that will keep your readers intrigued and wanting to
learn more.
What do you want?
This is the question--the motivation(s)--that drives all human activity. The

deeper we go into asking who we are, the truer our wants should be. For
example, as someone's employee, you may want to be on time for work,
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but as someone's lover, you may wish to spend all day in bed. These two
desires may have equal value in your mind, but if you can't have both, a
decision has to be made and with it comes consequences. Sometimes
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one role has to take priority over another--as much as you may wish to
lounge in bed, the fact that you have bills to pay may force your role as
employee to take precedence. How will this affect your relationship?
The fact that we have different roles to fulfill makes for complexity, and
each role may have different needs and responsibilities. Here is where we
get back to internal conflict, an excellent source of drama.
A subsequent question to "What do you want?" is "Why do you want it?"

Answering this question in terms of creating characters makes for
believable motivation. Our roles and goals are often defined by our
experiences, and there is often a cause and effect relationship. A person
who grew up in a broken family might go to extremes to make sure that
the same doesn't happen for his or her children. A child who put his or
her hand on a hot burner usually learns to respect fire. Once you
understand what your characters want and why they want these things,
it will become easier to write them consistently.
Why are you here?
Once you have answered the questions of "who are you" and "what do
you want," the last question is "Why are you here?" In real life, this is a
metaphysical question. When it comes to writing, it is a practical
question. Every character in your story must be there for a reason.
Sometimes they move the plot forward by taking decisive action or
providing important information. Sometimes they are there to give your
lead characters someone to whom they can speak (a very important role
as it helps avoid interminable monologues or lengthy thought balloons).
Sometimes they are there for thematic purpose, to help prove your
premise. Whatever the reason, they have to be present to serve an
important purpose, or they shouldn't be there at all.
CHARACTER BIOGRAPHIES
As we develop our characters, we have to ask ourselves what role they
provide in the context of the story. With that in mind, it is useful to build
a biography. Although the material you create for the biography may
never be shared directly with the reader, it will be helpful for you as
author to understand what drives your characters. The more you know
about their histories, the more realistically you'll be able to portray their
reactions in any given situation.
Often we start with the externals--what does the character look like?
How old? How tall? What gender? What race? What body type? Hair
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color? Eye color? How do they dress? What is their educational

background? Socio-economic background? Are they an introvert or an
extrovert, happy or depressed, easy-going or tense? Etc. These are
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questions that are driven by individual, personality, self-image, family,
geography, and time period.
Then there are the internals--their desires and motivations--built around

"Who are they?"; "What do they want?"; and "Why are they here?"
Where were they before they first appeared on the page? The history that
precedes the character's appearance in a story is the character's backstory.
Where did they grow up? What were their families like? What kind of
childhoods did they have? What are the significant events that shaped
how they relate to the world?
What are your characters' hopes and dreams? What are their fears and
blind spots? What are their likes and dislikes? These are things that every
reader can relate to--maybe not the specifics, but they are elements of
the common human experience.
How does your character speak and move? Slowly and deliberately? Fast
and impetuously? How does the character relate to other people? Shy?
Forthright? Again, ask yourself why they act in these ways. Build that into
the character bio.
Give your characters interesting personality traits: do they have a

propensity for rocky road ice cream? Blind jazz musicians from New
Orleans? Do they trill their r's? Give them some defining traits that will
make them unique and interesting. It's a good idea to have some idea
where those traits came from in the first place.
All of these elements will dictate how the character acts and reacts.
In studying all human behavior, we come to the question of nature vs.

nurture. How much behavior is genetically predetermined and how much
is learned is something that can be debated at length. In the long run, for
writers, it doesn't matter one way or the other as long as you know why
your characters respond the way they do. You created them, so you have
the option of setting whatever rules you wish.
I will caution you about one thing: when you are dealing with serial
fiction, it is a good idea to leave yourself some wiggle room in the
character biographies. If you have planned out every minute of any
character's life, then there may be no room for surprises or

improvisation. Leave some gaps in the timeline so that you have room to
introduce new elements as time progresses.
Several years ago, I co-wrote a stage adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
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Hyde. The first thing I did was to write the character biographies. These
were a page or less long, but they created the blueprints I needed in
order to work out the details of the plot. I started by reading the source
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material and pulling as much information as I could out of Robert Louis
Stevenson's original story. As there is no way the story could be adapted to
the stage without making significant changes to structure, I approached the
job as a matter of interpretation than strict adaptation.
The director/co-writer had already conceived a number of original

characters for the production. What I did was to take all of these characters
and figure out how they related to the theme of the story and to each
other. I wrote a biography for each, explaining who and where they were
in their lives up to the moment that the curtain rose. I laid out what each
character wanted and why, how they related to the other characters
physically or thematically, and what role they played in the overall theme
of the story. I treated the biographies as living documents. As I
developed the outline of the plot and began to write the actual script, I
sometimes had to rethink the characters in order to move the story
along. That's perfectly acceptable. Don't treat the biographies as written
in stone. Up until the story is in print or produced, you can alter anything
you want or need in order to construct the best possible piece of
entertainment.
How much of the backstory do you share with the editor, artist, and/or
audience? As much as you need to in order to convey the story at hand.
The editor needs the most information so that he or she can help make
sure you haven't left any important questions unanswered. The artist will
need enough information to convey the character you have in mind, but I
purposely try to leave some elements sketchy so that the artist can have
input into the look and feel of the character. My general rule of thumb is
that the more important the character is to the story, particularly their
physical attributes, the more description I give. I let the artist have free
hand with the secondary characters. When it comes to the reader, I try
to give the audience enough information so that they can understand the
conflicts and the characters' stakes in the course of the action, but I try
not to overwhelm them with unnecessary detail. Leaving a few well
chosen holes in the character bio (and sometimes the story, but not in
the plot) can give your audience the chance to become active
participants in the story being told by allowing them to exercise their
own imaginations to fill in small gaps.
NAMING YOUR CHARACTERS

One of the hardest things for me is coming up with names for my
characters. You want something that sounds right for the race, time, and
underlying concept for the character. It should be memorable. It should
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be pronounceable. It should be original. That's a tall order, especially if
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you're trying to come up with a "code" name for a costumed character.
Where can you get ideas for names?
For average, every day civilian characters, one of the best resources is a
metropolitan telephone directory. Of course, you never take anyone's full
name. Treat it as one from column A and one from column B. I find phone
books particularly useful for ethnic names.
You could go the Charles Dickens or Chester Gould route and try to invent
names that reflect the inner nature of the characters. This can be an
interesting device, but it's a difficult balance between effective and
artificial. The name should at least sound vaguely realistic (unless you are
dealing with a world where artifice is the rule).
Code names are much harder because it feels like all the good ones have
already been protected by copyright and trademark. It's hard to come up
with cool new superhero or villain names, especially for title characters.
There are some places I regularly turn for inspiration:
The Dictionary and the Thesaurus--I sometimes just browse the

dictionary, reading random entries, for inspiration. Animal names,
words from science, and synonyms can be good places to start.
Foreign Language Dictionaries--these can be particularly useful for

stories with international casts like The X-Men.
Books on Mythology and Folklore--these can give you inspiration for

character names and stories.
Books on Science--these are very useful for writing superhero stories

and Science Fiction.
One thing to be careful about, which I touched on at the beginning of

this section is to make your characters' names pronounceable,
particularly if the name is also the title of your comic book. If the
name/title can't be pronounced, it's hard for a customer to ask his or her
retailer for the book. I created a character while working on Quicksilver.
She was one of Magneto's Acolytes, a short, gray-skinned, horned,
winged French woman. I named her Gargouille, the French word for
"gargoyle" which she was designed to resemble. Neither my editor Mark
Bernardo nor my co-writer John Ostrander ever got the pronunciation

correct, their versions ranging from gar-gool to gar-ghoulie. Oops. If the
people working on the book can't pronounce the name, then it's hard to
expect the audience to do so. (For the record, the pronunciation is gar-
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gooey.)
THE FATAL FLAW
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Nobody is perfect. Building a fatal flaw (or flaws) into your characters makes
them more human. For a hero, the flaw is something that they fight against
that will make them appear more heroic. In a tragedy, it is a character's fatal
flaw that will ultimately lead to his or her downfall.
Fatal flaws can be physical: a short leg, literal blindness, an allergy,

kryptonite. These elements limit your characters and make them fallible.
The flaw can be emotional/psychological: a short temper, a traumatic family

history, irrational fears. Again, these are things that will hold you
character back and make them more interesting.
In heroic fiction, the fatal flaw is the part of your protagonist's character
that he or she must fight against and overcome. This makes them appear
all the more heroic and all the more human. Taking it a step further into
the realm of the super-heroic, you want to develop characters that have
inherent weaknesses so that they don't become omnipotent--it's hard to
develop sufficient threats and challenges if your character is god-like in
nature.
STEREOTYPES AND DIVERSITY

In today's politically correct society, "diversity" and "multiculturalism"
have become watchwords. This can be a good or bad thing, depending
on the goal and skill of the writer.
I am a strong believer in diversity when developing a cast of a story. The

more diverse a cast, the more perspectives represented by a cast, the
more possibility for conflict and therefore, drama. Even the best of
friends don't always see eye to eye on things, and that can lead to
interesting story possibilities. As I have stated previously, it is important
that all of the characters have some connection to each other or to the
plot, either physically (family, work, circumstance, etc.) or thematically
(similar hopes or dreams, but different methods to achieve their goals,
etc.). When new characters are introduced in serial fiction, they usually
have some connection to another member of the cast, either by blood or
circumstance that allows the characters and the audience relate to them.
(They also usually have some kind of secret as discussed in previous
chapters.) Without the connection, the audience usually is slow to accept
the characters, and sometimes they are never accepted or are flat out
resented. Generally speaking, the closer to the main (tent pole)

characters the new characters are, the sooner they will be accepted, as
long as they aren't forced on the audience. It takes time for an audience
to care about a character, and it is something that shouldn't be rushed.
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Audiences generally resent new characters that take time away from the
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characters they've come to care about if they haven't had a chance to get to
know and take an interest in the new characters.
An interesting example of the alienation factor is the Fox TV show Malcolm

in the Middle. As good and funny as the show is, the scenes of the oldest
brother at military school (or whatever far-flung location they've sent him
for each season) are usually so disconnected from the proceedings at home
that they feel intrusive. I often wished they would drop that element. He is
so far removed from the rest of the family/show that I don't even
remember his name. There must be a reason why the character exists.
Don't let all of your characters be exactly the same as each other. That
will get boring. Mix up your cast by age, gender, race, religious
background--not only does it open up story possibilities, it also makes
your story accessible to the largest possible audience. Given the
shrinking nature of the comic book audience, the more you can do to pull
in readers, the better off you are.
The flip side to this argument is that if you bring in diverse characters
simply for the sake of diversity with no real thought to the reason why
this character exists within the context of the story, then you are doing
your audience a disservice. I have written projects where the publisher
or licensor has dictated that there must be four lead characters: two
boys, two girls, one White, one Black, one Hispanic, one Asian.
Sometimes one must have a physical (dare I use this politically charged
term?) handicap. While I agree it's important to be inclusive in our casts
of characters, don't ever let it become a template. It may not be logical
when writing your American Civil War drama that there be an Asian best
friend or a Southern Belle in a wheelchair. The cast must make sense
within the world you are portraying.
Be very careful when employing stereotypes. In Greek drama where

stereotypes were originally created and employed, they had a very
specific meaning and served an important function--they were a form of
shorthand, a character with a universally understood
costume/mask/make-up design that allowed the audience to
immediately to recognize the role the character fulfilled in the course of
the drama: king, slave, hero, etc. Today, the concept of stereotype has
taken on a very different and very negative meaning.
Stereotypes sometimes have at their core some element of truth, but the
danger is when you use that "truth" to apply to all members of a group
of people. If for some reason you are going to employ a stereotype
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within the course of your story for whatever reason, it's a good idea to
balance it in some way, shape, or form--either by giving the stereotypical
character additional depth or having another character of the same
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race/creed/color that works against the stereotype so that the audience
can't claim you see a group of people in a singular, offensive way.
PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE

When you are writing about characters that have very different
backgrounds than yourself, it's very important that you do your research so
that you can convey the characters in a believable fashion. While it may be
acceptable in some cases simply to change the skin color of a secondary
character in order to add diversity to your cast, that may not work as
well if the character plays a major role in the plot. You have to be able to
convey different races, religions, genders with believability. It's very
important that any artist expose him or herself to as many different
types of people and situations as possible--and preferably not through
works of fiction! The more you know and understand, the more you can
write about.
However, the bottom line is that people are people. We all have
common emotions that transcend gender, race, or culture: love, hate,
joy, fear, jealousy, anger, etc. How we handle these emotions may be
dictated by our personal histories and society--and this is where research
come into play--but tapping into these emotions will make your
characters feel more real. I remember reading an interview conducted
with novelist Armisted Maupin where he was asked how he, as a gay
man, could write such convincing love stories for his lesbian characters.
His response was that love is love and how we respond to it is with the
same beating heart, sweaty palms, longing glances, and jumbled words.
This reaction has nothing to do with gender, race, or sexual identity.
Emotions are emotions. If you get to the truth of the emotion, then the
character will come across as a living, breathing human.
OBSERVING PEOPLE
One of the best things you can do to learn how to convey characters as
believable human beings is to observe people (but don't be rude about
it!). Start by observing yourself. (This can be very scary, I'm the first to
admit.) As you respond to different stimuli, step back and think about
why you react in the way that you do. Where did your reaction come
from? Was it something you were taught by your parents, family,
friends? Are your responses based on previous experience or are they
rooted in fear of the unknown? Where did your likes and dislikes, loves
and fears come from? When you can tap into that, it becomes easier to
do it with other people and your characters. It's the first step to empathy
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that is important to the creation of art.
Observe other people. When interacting with family, friends, and

acquaintances, try to empathize with their feelings. Even if you've never
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been told the exact roots of their emotions, try to understand where the
emotions came from. Watch people on the street. Look at their body
language. What does this suggest about the person in your mind? What
emotions can you draw from the person's face and movement? Again, you
may be way off base, but that's not the point. It's an exercise in connecting
the dots in a way to create a complete picture, a skill you must possess in
order to create believable characters.
PROTAGONISTS AND ANTAGONISTS

Action/adventure stories, including superhero comics, tend to break
characters down into good and evil, heroes and villains. If we follow the
basic hypothesis stated in this chapter that people have many different
masks they wear/roles they play in life, that people are never all one
thing, then by extension, nobody is ever all good or all evil. Your heroes
may have negative qualities. Your villains may have admirable traits. That
makes them more complex and vastly more interesting.
When approaching storytelling, I tend to think in terms of protagonists

and antagonists rather than heroes and villains.
The protagonist is the primary character of the story. He or she may be

hero or villain or an average person, but it is the character whose story is
being told. Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to have multiple
protagonists as any ensemble movie or superhero team comic proves. It
is the protagonist who should take the key action at the climax of the
story that resolves the conflict. The protagonist is the character with
whom the author wants the audience to identify and is the character
who should be most profoundly affected by the events of the plot.
The antagonist is what stands in the way of the protagonist achieving his
or her goals. The antagonist may be a villain or hero or a series of
circumstances.
What defines a hero? There are as many answers to that question as

there are heroes. We generally define a hero by his or her ability to
overcome great challenges--internal or external--for the greater good.
You can tick off a list: bravery, strength, intelligence, etc., etc. If I were to
select one trait that I feel is integral to all heroes, it is compassion. A hero
absolutely must care about people other than him or herself.
One thing that is often important to the hero is humility. In the

traditional hero's journey, the hero doesn't recognize that he or she is a
hero at the beginning of the story. It is only through testing his or her
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resolve and overcoming adversity and his or her own shortcomings that
the character comes to be seen as a hero.
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What defines a villain? Again, there are as many answer to that question as
there are villains. Again, you can list numerous traits: violence, an
unwillingness to accept responsibility, jealousy, envy, anger, greed, a short
temper, etc., etc. If I were to choose a single element that is integral to a
villain, it is selfishness. A villain is concerned with his or her own needs
above all else. They may want something that on the surface seems like a
good and noble goal, but they are willing to sacrifice anyone or anything
(other than themselves) to get it.
Writer Ruth Morrison once explained the difference between a hero and
villain in this way: "A hero is a person who overcomes a tragedy and
promises never to let the same thing happen to anyone else. A villain is
someone who overcomes a tragedy and swears never to let it happen to
him or herself again." I really like this observation.
It is important to keep in mind that most villains don't see themselves as

villainous or evil. We're all the heroes of our own lives. Even Hitler
believed he was doing the "right" thing, regardless of how appalling his
actions were. A villain has an unshakeable belief that they can do no
wrong.
Often, heroes are portrayed as "common" people. The goal of some

storytellers is to celebrate the sense that any one of us can be a hero.
They create their heroes from the every day, hoping to inspire the
audience to bigger and better things. They imply that heroes are one of
"us."
Sloppy writers frequently fall into the trap of making their villains an
outsider, an "other." They don't want the audience to feel that a villain
could be one of us--it has to be one of "them." It is my observation that
in soap operas, villains are often "foreign devils." They are not members
of the core families, but rather people who come to town from another
place. In order to make villains all the more loathsome, bad writers pile
all kinds of "negative" qualities on them in order to stop the audience
from identifying with them. One short cut that became popular in the
mid-90's was to show us a scene of the villain or general troublemaker
smoking a cigarette. Another shortcut used in action/adventure and
mystery novels in years past (but not that far past...) was to make their
villain all the more repellent and alien by making them "sexual deviants"-
-homosexuals--reinforcing the negative stereotype that all gays, lesbians,
and bisexuals were twisted and not to be trusted. Personally, I find a
villain that could be one of us far scarier than one that is completely
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alien.
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When you compare heroes and villains, they often have many common
traits. They may even have common goals. But what separates them are the
lengths to which they will go to achieve their goals.
Now that we've covered the basics of story structure and character
development, we can now begin our focus on the specifics of writing for
comic books, beginning with outline or "page breakdown..."
Chapter 4
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C HAPTER 5
T HE P AGE B REAKDOWN
THE OUTLINE
When writing for comic books, I tend to work in a three step process: idea,
outline, and execution.
The idea is just that: the basic concept or hook that is at the heart of the
story. In the professional world, the idea is presented as a springboard or
a proposal. As they are used to present your ideas to editors, I will cover
them in a later chapter about selling your work.
The execution is the physical writing of the script, including all of the
panel descriptions and dialog (if full script). That is the focus of the next
chapter.
This chapter is about the outline, often referred to as the page

breakdown or PBD. For an example of the three step process, you can
read my Scooby-Doo story "Psychic Psyche-Out" which includes the
springboard, page breakdown, and final script. This will give you an
overview of the steps I went through in writing the story. It will also
show that even when a springboard and page breakdown have been
approved, there is still room for change. The story was published by DC
Comics in Scooby-Doo #19 (and reprinted recently in Scooby-Doo TPB
Vol. 4--"The Big Squeeze").
The page breakdown or outline is the basic blueprint of your story. I feel
very strongly about the use of outlines when writing for comics. As
mentioned previously, the biggest limitation in telling stories in the
comic book medium is space. There is only so much material that will fit
on a comic book page, and only so much that will fit in a panel. When
working professionally, you will usually have a set number of pages in
which to tell your story: 5, 8, 10, 12, 22, 28; whatever the number you
are assigned, you have to hit it. You can't turn in two less or three more.
It simply doesn't work that way as there is a set number of physical
pages in the publication, and most publishers have to reserve some of
that space for advertising. Once in a great while, a publisher might allow
you ONE extra page for a month, but that is rare as it often represents an
additional expense for them (they have to pay the creators for the page)
The Page Breakdown
and the loss of advertising revenue. The rule of freelancing is you deliver
what's commissioned in the format in which it was commissioned.
With space being the main determiner of pacing and the amount of
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content, working with an outline will help you stay within your confines.
If you map out your story before you begin to script, then you are less
likely to go off on space-consuming tangents. I can't tell you how many
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scripts I had to grade as a teacher at the Joe Kubert School where students,
who had not worked out the pacing of their story before they began writing
their scripts, discovered that they had run out of space on the last two
pages of their story and tried to wedge six pages worth of story material
into two pages. It doesn't work, and it can be avoided by starting with an
outline.
Below is a cramped map you can use for thinking out a standard ten page
comic book story. The image is very small and hard to read (as if you
needed me to tell you that). It is, however a link to a full-size 11 x 8.5"
PDF version that you may print out and keep as reference (it's a handout
I created to give my students at The Kubert School). The theory in terms
of pacing remains pretty much the same for any length of story as it is
based on the 25%, 65%, 10% structure. However, keep in mind as you
expand a story that your audience usually has limited patience for
waiting for a story to begin. If you are creating a 64 page graphic novel, it
may not be wise to keep the reader waiting 13 pages (25% of story by
volume--settling may occur in the shipping process) for the plot to kick
into gear. I try not to make the reader wait more than five pages for the
first kicker when writing stories of 22 or more pages.
BASIC PHILOSOPHY
The Page Breakdown
Let's start with some of the basic assumptions with which I work.
A good average for the number of panels on a comic books page is five.
Five allows your artist room to work and maximizes panel layout
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possibilities. I say average--don't make the mistake of falling into a

cadence with five panels on every page. I once worked with an editor
who strongly believed that every page should be a five panel page. Some
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of my scripts were rewritten by the editor to fall into that vision, sometimes
taking a six panel page and combing two panels in order to make five. This
sometimes destroyed the rhythm I was attempting to create and I felt that
the stories that were mandated at a five panels per page rate felt very
mechanical.
Any rigid format in terms of panel numbers may become repetitive and
boring to the reader, even if they don't recognize how or why on a
conscious level. (Exception one: sometimes the cadence can become a
powerful rhythmic device--if you are using it for effect, then it's perfectly
acceptable. This goes back to my assertion that if you are going to break
rules, break them with a purpose, not out of ignorance. Exception two:
Steve Ditko used the nine panel grid throughout his Marvel career, and
it's hard to argue with his Spider-Man or Dr. Strange pacing. More
recently, David Lapham uses his eight panel grid very effectively in Stray
Bullets, although even he sometimes breaks with the number eight.)
Sometimes a six or nine panel grid will be an effective tool for pacing
(although don't ask for a crowd scene in each panel of a nine panel grid
unless you want to give your artist heart palpitations). As action gets
bigger, especially in the superhero genre, then fewer panels on the page
will allow for big, dramatic shots. The more panels you ask for on a page,
the less information you should ask for within each individual panel.
At the other end of the spectrum are splash pages. I tend to be very
cautious with my use of splash pages. One or two per 22 page story is the
most I will (usually) ask for. If you overuse them (or any other device),
they will lose their impact. When I employ them, it is for dramatic
purpose. Many young artists in the industry like to throw in multiple pin
up pages because they're fun to draw and they can be sold for higher
prices in the after market. As a writer, my primary focus is the
storytelling, and multiple splash pages decrease the amount of
storytelling space and can disrupt the flow of the story. (Besides, we
writers don't get a piece of that after market, so it doesn't become a
motivating factor for us.)
I often use a splash page at the beginning of the story as a place to

introduce the initial dilemma and/or key character(s) and as a place for
the title and credits. The best placement for the introductory splash is
The Page Breakdown
generally on page one or page three. Right hand pages are usually seen
first by Western readers when casually flipping through the pages of a
publication (which is why magazine publishers can charge a premium for
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ads placed on the right hand pages of their publications), and the
placement of a big, dramatic image at the top of the story on the right
hand page can be an effective sales tool when a consumer is leafing
through the comic at the store. Again, don't feel you MUST always place
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the splash on page one or three. Sometimes is a good idea to move it
around so you don't become predictable.
The other place I might use a splash page is at the climax of the story, to
present the big action that resolves the core conflict of the story. As the
biggest, most important part of the story, it may deserve the biggest, most
dramatic image--especially when writing an action/adventure story. (An
interesting exception to that theory is when a small decision might have the
biggest impact. Using a small panel to convey the decision and then
opening up later panels to show the weight of the impact can be an
effective device.)
I may sometimes use a splash page in the middle of the story if I am

introducing a key character or concept, or introducing a crowd of
characters (as in a team book). I try to be mindful that nothing that
happens in the middle of the story overshadows the climax, though.
Otherwise, the story will feel out of balance.
I try to make sure that every panel carries important information about
plot, character, or story. Every panel should exist for a reason. I also try
to make sure that something significant happens on every page. A
complication or reversal should happen every two or three pages to keep
raising the stakes and hold the audience's attention.
One additional element I'd like to address at this point is the use of the
end of page hook or question. Some comic writers, especially those who
work in the "slice of life" genre, feel that this is an artificial device. I can't
say that they are inherently wrong, but it CAN be an extremely effective
device. At the heart of the concept is that you end each page with an
unanswered question or unresolved action that will cause the reader to
want to turn the page to find out what happens next. As all narrative is
driven by unanswered questions, I think that the end of page hook can
be employed well, as long as you don't use the same type of hook at the
end of every page. As with every other tool and trick, vary how you
employ it.
Some examples of end of page hooks include:
A punch about to be thrown, and its impact is seen at the top of the
next page.
The Page Breakdown
A character asks a key question, the answer to which is revealed on

the next page or later within the story.
A character is about to enter a room or look into a box (etc.). We
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may see their reaction (joy, horror, etc.) but it isn't until the next
page that we get to see what the character has seen.
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A dialog balloon or narrative caption is broken into two pieces. The first
half is at the bottom of the page with the second half at the top of the
next page forcing the reader to turn the page in order to complete the
thought.
The end of page hook can be used to compress time. A character may
leave location A at the bottom of a page and arrive at location B at the
top of the next. Time has been compressed and you have left the
reader with the question of what will change when the character
arrives at his or her destination. (A further discussion of the passage
of time follows in the next chapter.)
THE PBD
The page breakdown, or PBD, is just what it sounds like: the outline of
the story broken down page by page. Some editors will want to see a
PBD before they let you go to script. This is particularly true if you are
working on a custom comic or a licensed property (in both cases, the
publisher doesn't own the property, so representatives of the licensor
must approve each step along the way. By approving the PBD, then it is
less likely that significant plot changes will have to be made in the actual
script, saving the writer and editor from more work).
When writing a PBD, all that is necessary is one, two, or three sentences
that explain the key action/events/story developments on the page. It
truly is an outline, and you may find you have to make changes when
you are writing the actual script--some scenes may require more or less
(A side note to aspiring pencilers space than you originally thought. That's perfectly acceptable--most
who may be reading this material-- editors won't sweat the small stuff as long as your changes don't change
the same advice holds true. Don't the story itself.
judge your storytelling a single
page at a time. To get the full In the days before word processors, I used to use 3" x 5" index cards to
impact, lay as may as you can side work out my plot outline. Each card represented one page of my story. I
by side so that you can get a sense could lay them out on a table and get a sense for the actual shape of the
of the flow of your artwork. Even in story. By stepping back and taking a long view (never lose sight of your
my professional work, I can tell main story by focusing too much on the details), I could often tell if
when an artist has looked at his
anything was missing or if the story rhythm was off. Were there any
previous pages to make sure that
scenes that were too long? Did I leave out any important details? I would
everything comes together the way
it should. If you are working at a move things around if necessary to improve the pacing, cut scenes, add
fever pitch and have to send pages scenes--whatever was necessary to make the story work. You can
The Page Breakdown
in to the office as quickly as you certainly cut and paste with a word processor, but there's nothing better
finish them, then keep photocopies than being able to step back and look at the big picture, especially when
by your drawing table so that you you are just starting out. Even today I may do my initial PBD on
can always look at the work you did notebook paper with boxes representing each page so that I can get a
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previously.) better overview of my pacing.
HOW LONG SHOULD ANY GIVEN SCENE BE?

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This is a vexing question, especially for beginners. The bottom line answer
to this question is "as long as it needs to be." The trick is developing a sense
for how much space any given scene needs to be. Developing an instinct for
the length of scenes will come with time and practice.
There are a couple tricks I try to keep in mind when writing for comic books
that you may find useful when addressing this question. I generally don't
like to change locations more than once on a page (unless I'm creating a
montage sequence in order to compress time. Another exception is
when showing characters in transit from one location to another. Then
the readers assume the movement as the characters pass through
multiple settings). Frequent changes of location can become disorienting
to the readers as they try to keep track of where the action is happening.
Therefore, for the sake of pacing, I try to keep to single location on each
page--which means each scene I write tends to be at least one page in
duration.
This is less true when I am dealing with stories that are 12 pages or less
in length, although the shorter the story, the fewer locations I use in the
first place.
Every scene has its own set up and pay off, which usually translates to at
least two panels. The bigger the payoff, the more panels of set up it may
require and the more panels to deliver the payoff.
The more characters that have to be introduced in a scene, the longer

the scene will have to be. The more detailed plot information to be
conveyed, the longer the scene will have to be. Content and intent
dictate length.
GENERAL PACING
Remember in chapter two the basic story structure I laid out:
Beginning 25% or less of the total length of the story

Middle 65% or more of the total length of the story, depending
on beginning and end
End 10% or less of the total length of the story
You can use these basic proportions as you approach your plotting. In
your standard 22 page comic book story, this means approximately 5
The Page Breakdown
pages for beginning--the basic introduction of time, place, key

characters, and introducing the first complication; 15 pages for rising
action to the climax; and 1 or 2 pages for denouement/resolution/wrap
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up. The basic proportions are sound for stories of 1 to 32 pages. If the
story extends beyond 32, then lower the percentages for the beginning
and end. It is rare that people will want to wait 12 pages out of 48 for the
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story to begin or to take 6 pages out of 64 to watch action wind down
(unless the repercussions are THAT interesting).
As a general rule of thumb, even in stories that are longer than 32 pages (in
a single volume), I try not to spend more than 5 to seven pages to get the
story rolling. I try not to use more than 4 pages for denouement.
In thinking out your story, remember that every scene of your main plot
should help build to the final climax, and the climax should be the single
most dramatic element of your story. (In a serial, your sublpots may not
be resolved for many installments. As long as you resolve something in
every installment or moved the plot forward significantly, your readers
won't feel cheated.) You should try to have a variety of scenes in terms
of length and location. Again, try to avoid falling into a cadence. Mix up
the length of your scenes--some can be one, two, three, or more pages,
followed by one of a different length. Short, staccato scenes can be used
to build tension, then break that tension with a longer scene that will
give your readers a chance to breath and absorb what they've just
learned.
I try to pace my stories so that there is a significant development on

every page. Something should be learned by the readers or the
characters on every page, or the status quo should change in some way.
This gives your story a sense of forward momentum. You want to avoid
pages or scenes where the audience learns nothing as they will feel that
their time (and, worse yet, their money) has been wasted.
However, this does not mean that every page has to be at a fever pitch.
A small character revelation can be just as important (if not more) than a
big, dramatic explosion (physical or emotional). It is wise to have a mix of
both in order to give the audience that "roller coaster" feel. Every story is
built on peaks and valleys--the minor climaxes and resolutions that build
to the climax.
WHERE DOES THE STORY START?

When you are working in the superhero genre, it is often important to
establish who the character is, what his or her powers are, and why they
fight the good fight early in the story so that when the main dilemma
kicks into high gear by mid-story, the audience is understands the
The Page Breakdown
character's goals and motivations.
One trick we use to get capture the audience's attention right from the
start and to explore the hero is to start the story in media res, literally in
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the middle of things. By having your characters already in action, you can
show who they are, what they can do, and why they do what they do. If
you introduce Hero Woman by having her apprehending some common
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street thugs in the opening pages of your story, you can establish important
elements about her on the fly. As always, it's better to show rather than tell.
If you start the story in the middle of an action, then you will have to fill the
readers in on what is happening and why it is happening. There are a
number of ways we can accomplish this important goal:
Narrative captions. This is probably the weakest method, although it is

sometimes the only option you may have. When working in the
action/adventure genre, over-long or large numbers of yellow
caption boxes are often ignored by readers who want to get on with
the story. This may be less true of Vertigo-type stories where the use
of language is of equal importance to the storytelling as the art and
the action.
Conversation. If a new character is arriving in the middle of the

action, the old characters can fill in the newcomer (and thereby, the
readers) with dialog, explaining what is going on and why.
Flashbacks. I am a strong believer in "show, don't tell" in any visual

storytelling medium. This can be combined with narrative captions
or conversation, showing the readers what led up to the current
crisis. Sometimes you can use this device to add new details that
were unrevealed previously, thereby making the flashbacks
important to new and old readers alike. This helps take some of the
old readers' resentment out of the flashbacks.
The topic of flashbacks can lead into an interesting discussion about how
much backstory you need to reveal at any given point in time. Readers
who come back month in and month out for every issue of a comic often
complain about the fact that they have to re-read material that they read
last issue, last year, or several years ago. They often just want to keep
the story moving without having to slow down for explanations of what
they have already witnessed. This is further complicated by the
emergence of trade paperbacks as a driving force in the comics industry.
With so many story arcs being collected into single volumes, the
flashbacks become an even greater sticking point. There are a lot of
readers who wait until collections come out to read stories where once
there were four week gaps. Flashback often helped even regular readers
The Page Breakdown
refrech their memories, but with collected editions often read over a
short period of time, going back over things that happened just a few
pages ago (in trade paperback time) seems very awkward.
Chapter 5
How can you provide important history without alienating the core
readers of your ongoing comic book or boring readers of trade
paperbacks? The use of the inside front cover or letters page (or even
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the time-honored explanation over the titles on the splash pages in 70s
Marvel Comics) is a relatively painless way to accomplish the goal, although
it isn't an option with all publishers. The list above offers some tools you can
use, but I'm sure you can think of or invent additions of your own. As long as
you play fair with the readers, filling them in on all the important
information they will need to understand what is going on, it doesn't matter
which method you use.
VISUAL ELEMENTS
Something else that I recommend is that you always give your characters
something to do, even in the slower, dialog-heavy scenes. It is often
more visually interesting to watch people who are in motion than ones
who are sitting around. (Again, this is not a hard and fast rule.
Sometimes you can increase dramatic tension in a static setting.) In
theater, we call any movement that takes the character through space
blocking. Personal movement, such as interacting with props (food,
cigarettes, or anything else the character can hold) is called business.
Blocking and business can reveal much about your characters via body
language.
It is also wise to place your characters in visually interesting locations.

The settings in which you place your characters can reveal much about
them. Where do they feel comfortable? Where do they feel threatened?
Where do they have fun? What do they do to have fun? This keeps the
story visually appealing and can increase your artist's pleasure in the
work by giving them fun stuff to draw (although if you are going to ask
for anything way off the beaten path, you should provide your artist with
reference!).
Movement, location, and structure are core things to keep in mind as

you sit down to work on your outline. The more you think out ahead of
time, the faster and easier the plotting and writing will be.
WRITING THE PAGE BREAKDOWN

All right, so I've laid out some of the theory with which I work. The act of
putting all this down on paper is going to seem anti-climactic. That's
because you should have thought out your story before you sit down to
work. The more thought you put into the detail up front, the faster and
easier the actual writing usually is--not always, but usually.
The Page Breakdown
The PBD should be short and to the point. You don't need more than a
few sentences to describe each page. All you need to do is lay out the
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key story points for each page. Sometimes its useful to make note of
specific character motivations and other details, but the PBD is merely a
blueprint You don't have to overload it with detail. In many cases, you
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are better off NOT overwriting as the editor may want you to make
changes.
Don't feel that you have to write in a linear fashion. I have found that with
beginners, it is often best for them to work from the end backwards. That
way they don't fall into the trap of coming to the penultimate page of their
script and discover they have five pages worth of story they have to wedge
into two.
It doesn't matter what order you write the scenes--all that matters is
that you keep writing. Work on the scenes that are clearest in your mind
and work outward from there.
I have a template on my computer that lays out comic book stories page
by page, to wit:
PAGE ONE
PAGE TWO
PAGE THREE
PAGE FOUR
PAGE FIVE
Etc.
A template can help take some of the drudgery out of the work as you
don't have to keep typing PAGE PAGE PAGE. I also have the template set
up so that when it comes time to script I can access the different
paragraph styles with a few short keystrokes. (Learn the power of your
word processors, my friends--they can save you much work.
The best advice I can give you right now is to go do it. Write a PBD or
two, keeping in mind what you've read here (and heard from any other
sources) and when you get that done, move on to the next chapter:
scripting.
The Page Breakdown
Chapter 5
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C HAPTER 6
W RITING THE S CRIPT
(Note #1: to see some examples of scripts and plots, visit the sample scripts
section of the website at http://mysite.verizon.net/joe_edkin/sample.html
Note #2: even though this chapter carries the title "Writing the Script", a
discussion of writing dialog will appear in the next chapter..)
DEFINING SOME TERMS
All right--we've covered characters, plots, and page breakdowns. Next

we come to the actual writing of the script--except that before we can
discuss the script, we need to define some terms.
Let's start with terms I will be using for the sake of this discussion.
Script - in the world of comic books, "script" can mean one of two things.
There is the full script where the story is broken down page by page,
panel by panel, with all of the dialog, caption boxes, and sound effects
included.
The second meaning for script is the dialog script that is either written or
tightened up after the pages are penciled. When you work in the plot-
first style (often referred to as the Marvel style, even though it predates
Marvel Comics and is not used by every writer or editor at Marvel). In the
plot-first method, the writer breaks the story down page by page, and
usually panel by panel (although it can be even looser than this). The
amount of information provided is dependent upon the relationship
between the writer and the artist (as well as the editor's comfort zone).
It allows the artist the greatest amount of input into the story. Once the
pages are drawn, they are sent to the writer to compose the dialog
script. I will be coming back to this concept in a later chapter. This
chapter will focus on the process of writing a full script.
Plot - in the course of this chapter, "plot" will mean a

breakdown of the story in page by page, panel by panel format.
Manuscript - this is the script or plot as you turn it in to your
editor. Remember, the manuscript is read only by the people
invovled in the creation of the comic book. It is usually not read
Writing the Script
by the audience at large. The text that the audience reads is the
copy.
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Copy - all text that is published in the comic book and is seen by
the readers will be referred to as the copy for the sake of this
discussion.
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WHICH STYLE DO I PREFER?
I am sometimes asked in which style I prefer to work--full script or plot-
first? It all depends on my relationship with the editor and/or the artist.
Often, when a writer turns in a full script, the copy placement is handled by
someone in the editorial office, although it may also be determined by the
penciller or even the letterist. I've heard some writers say that once they've
turned in the full script, they've done their job and don't want to see it
again, perfectly happy to let someone else deal with the copy placement.
I'm not like that. I prefer to do my own copy placement whenever given
the opportunity. Where the copy is placed on the page has a significant
impact on the storytelling and page design, and I don't like to let go of
the control of this element. I will discuss the theory of copy placement in
a later chapter.
One of the strongest arguments for working in full script is that it shows
the artist exactly how much dialog for which they need to allocate room
in their compositions. When you work plot-first, you are at the mercy of
the artist in terms of copy space. You may mention in your plot that a
specific page or panel requires extra room for copy, but what you
consider extra room and the artist considers extra room may be vastly
different things. By having the copy in front of them, the artist should be
better prepared to leave the required amount of negative space.
Another benefit of having the pages come back to me even when

working full script is that it forces me to take a second look at the text
I've written and it gives me the opportunity to make rewrites.
Because there is a gap between the time you turn in a script/plot and the
time the penciled pages come back, it gives you the opportunity to forget
what you've written. This is a good thing because you can come back to
your work with fresh eyes and often you can catch things that got by you
the first time around--missing words, clumsy dialog, unclear thoughts--
and fix them.
To me, the biggest benefit of having the penciled pages come back to me
is that it allows me to take advantage of opportunities presented by the
artist that I had not expected. There have been many times where artists
have added little bits of business or fun expressions on the faces of
characters that have caused me to change or add dialog. It's great to
have the chance to capitalize on these opportunities. And there have
Writing the Script
been other times where artists have not left the amount of space I'd
needed for the copy or not drawn important elements, so I had to make
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adjustments to make sure that the story remained clear.
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When you work plot-first, the pages HAVE to come back to the writer to
finish the job by providing the dialog, so that is an advantage if you are a
control freak like I am about copy placement.
EVEN MORE BASIC DEFINITIONS

Before we get to the nuts and bolts of writing a comic book script, we
should define some more important terms that will make communicating
with your artist much easier.
Comic book scripts borrow not only elements of screenplay format, but
also the language of the screenplay in order to communicate to the
editor the composition for each panel. When we describe a panel, we
write as if the artist is taking a picture. We often refer to "the camera"
with the assumption that the artists is the cinematographer (the person
in the filmmaking process responsible for camera placement and lighting
design). Therefore, it is useful for you to know basic filmmaking
terminology. In this section, I will define some of the most common
terms you will need to know.
Subject - the subject is the person or object that is the primary focus of
the panel.
Shot - in filmmaking, this is a single camera set up. Each panel in a comic
book can be considered a shot.
Cropped - when the subject of the panel is not completely seen,

extending beyond the panel borders. A bust shot shows the subject's
head and shoulders (get your minds out of the gutters, people), cropping
the rest of the body outside of the panel.
Three planes of action:
Foreground - the area closest to the camera, and by extension,

the reader.
Middleground - the area between the foreground and the
background. Often, this is where the majority of action will take
place.
Background - the space that exists behind the subject(s) of the
panel.
In Chapter Four, I defined blocking and business. I think they're well

worth mentioning again here because these are elements you will be
Writing the Script
using when writing panel descriptions.

Chapter 6
Blocking - this refers to any movement that moves characters through

space. Getting characters from one location to another is blocking. Fight
scenes are blocking.
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Business - this is any personal movement/interaction that characters have
with props. Personal business should never steal focus from the primary
action.
Ah--what does it mean to steal focus? This means that something is pulling
the audience's attention from the main focus and distracting them from
what they should really be watching. That's a great skill to have if you’re a
magician--it's called misdirection in that case. You lead the audience's eyes
to the unexpected flash of powder while pulling the concealed dove out
of your pocket. It's not cool to do that to someone who is imparting
important information about the plot or undertaking important action.
This is also called upstaging someone. This is a term that comes from the
theater. The part of the stage that is closest to the audience is
downstage (i.e. the foreground). Center stage is just that--center both
from front to back and from left to right (the middleground). Upstage is
the part of the stage furthest from the audience. Unscrupulous actors
who want to steal focus will drift upstage so that the other actors have to
turn their backs to the audience in order to interact with them. This is
where the concept of upstaging comes from, and today it refers to
anything an actor does onstage to steal the focus away from the other
actors.
COMMON TYPES OF SHOTS

Shots are defined by the distance from the subject of the panel to the
camera.
Establishing Shot - usually an extreme

long shot that defines the location and
the spatial relationships between
people and objects in the panel. I think
it is useful to have an establishing shot
on every page of a story, or at the very
least, within every scene of a story.
Establishing shots can also be for people

or objects that we need to define for
the audience.
Writing the Script
Chapter 6
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Extreme long shot - a shot so distant that the main subject is a dot or not
visible at all.
Distant long shot - a shot where the subject can still be seen, but no
meaningful information about the subject is discernable.
Long Shot
Writing the Script

Chapter 6
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Long Shot
(for a person)
Medium Shot
Writing the Script
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Long shot - a shot of such distance that few
details and little meaningful information
about the subject can be easily seen.
When the term long shot is used to describe

a person, then it usually means a full body
shot of the subject(s).
Long medium shot - a shot where

meaningful information about the subject
can be seen, but the subject of the panel
occupies less space than the surroundings
within the composition.
When referring to people, a long medium

or medium long shot might be from the
Close Up
knees up. Part of the body is cropped
outside of the panel, but we can still see
about 3/4 of the individual.
Medium shot - A shot that shows the

subject and the surroundings equally
well.
When referring to people, a medium shot

would be from about waist up, revealing
maybe 1/2 of the individual.
Close medium shot - the subject takes up

more of the frame than the surroundings,
but is significantly cropped within the
panel. The emphasis is clearly on the
subject.
Extreme Close Up
When referring to people, a close
medium or medium close shot would be
from the breastbone up.
Bust shot - this is the head and shoulders shot as mentioned above.
Close up - the subject fills the panel with very little room around it. For a
person, it's a full face shot. For an object, it's the entire object
Writing the Script
Extreme close up (ECU) - this shows a specific detail of the subject: the
dial pad of a telephone; the mole over someone's lip; a finger tightening
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on the trigger of a gun; etc.
And here's an important aside to artists (and I do hope that artists are
taking the time to read this, just as writers should learn the theory of
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layout, design, lettering, and coloring. The more we all know about the
other disciplines, the better we are at communicating with our
collaborators)--when you think in terms of close ups and extreme close ups,
remember that the copy (caption boxes, word balloons, sound effects)
make up part of your frame. If the writer calls for a close up and indicates
that there will be text in the panel, don't fill the entire panel with the close
up and leave no room for the copy. The copy elements are part of your
framing device.
MORE T E R MS YO U SHO UL D K N O W
In the previous section, I discussed different types of shots. Now I want
to address some additional filmmaking terms you should know that can
apply when you are writing your plots and scripts.
Two shot - this is generally a medium or medium close shot of two

characters where the two subjects have equal prominence in the panel.
A "two shot favoring character one" means that character one is more
prominent within the panel--usually because this character is carrying an
important piece of the plot or action (whether it's dialog, blocking, or a
reaction shot).
Zoom In
Zoom Out
Pan (Right)
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Chapter 6
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Dutch Tilt Over the shoulder shot - the camera is
(Dutch Angle) placed behind one character, looking over
that character's shoulder at another
character or object. This is a variation of the
point of view (POV) shot where the
audience's attention is being drawn to the same element that the character
is focusing on without the audience being asked to identify completely with
the character.
Point of view (POV) shot - the camera (and by extension the audience) is
seeing something the same way that a character does. This is done to
force audience identification with the character.
Reverse angle shot - the camera is placed in almost the exact opposite
position that the immediately previous panel. For example, if panel four
was over HERO WOMAN's shoulder looking at CANNON FODDER BOY as
CFB said something particularly stupid, then panel five might be a
reverse angle shot over CFB's shoulder looking into HW's dumbfounded
reaction.
Hey, artists! Here's something to keep in mind--when discussing reverse

angle shot, you should keep the 180 degree rule in mind. When reversing
angles, you want to be careful not to cross the 180 degree line bisecting
the subjects of your frame. Doing this will cause the characters to flip
position within the panel and be against a completely dfferent
background. This can lead to confusing visual cues to the audience. This
rule is very important in film, but perhaps less so on a comic book page,
but it's worth thinking about as you work out your compositions.
Head room - this is the amount of space between the top of your panel
(frame) and the tops of the heads of your characters or the topmost
point of an object. Generally you want to leave a little space between the
top border and the tops of heads unless you are trying to create a sense
of claustrophobia. This is not the same as dead or negative space. Also,
keep in mind that caption boxes and word balloons are part of the frame,
so head room applies to the amount of space between the tops of heads
and the bottoms of copy elements.
Dead/negative space is used to help draw attention to the subject of the

panel or is reserved for copy. This is space within the composition that
has no artwork in it. It usually white or some other solid color.
Writing the Script
Cut away - this means we cut away from the primary focus to something
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else. This can be a reaction shot within the context of the scene or to
someplace completely different to give a sense of meanwhile.
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Match cut - this means that panels flow from one into the next in order to
give the sense of continuous action:
P AN E L O N E
Inside the bank vault. SUPERGUY draws back his fist, preparing to slug
MEAN CHICK.
P AN E L T W O
SUPERGUY lets loose with a mighty blow, speeding right toward MEAN
CHICK's jaw.
P AN E L T HR E E
SUPERGUY's fist connects with MEAN CHICK's jaw.
P AN E L F O U R
Cut to outside the bank. MEAN CHICK crashes through the wall, carried
by the momentum of the blow.
In that sequence, there is a very definite flow of action, each panel

matching the action of the previous panel to create a sense of fluid
motion.
Jump cut - jump cuts compress time. We move from point A to point E
without seeing points B, C, or D. For example:
P AN E L O N E
Inside the bank vault. SUPERGUY draws back his fist, preparing to slug
MEAN CHICK.
P AN E L T W O
Outside the bank. MEAN CHICK is escorted away in handcuffs by two
UNIFORMED POLICE OFFICERS as SUPERGUY watches. Mean Chick's jaw
is bruised. There is a hole in the bank wall and rubble on the sidewalk.
The reader should be able to piece together the cause and effect. They
saw Superguy about to throw a punch and the bruised Mean Chick being
escorted away. We've compressed time, but the audience can assume
what has happened pretty easily by the visual clues.
Zoom in - the camera moves closer to the subject.
Zoom out - the camera moves away from the subject.

Writing the Script
Pan left or right - the camera pivots from left to right or vice versa.
Chapter 6
(Please note that this is not a discussion of filmmaking, so I am not going

to get into the differences between zooms/pans and tracking shots.)
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Tilt up or down - the camera tilts up or down. (Hmmmm--that one is pretty
self-evdient, isn't it?)
Low angle/worm's eye view - the camera is placed below the horizon line
(often at floor level) looking up at the subject. This is often used to make
the subject look powerful.
High angle/bird's eye view - the camera is placed above the horizon line
and looks down at the subject. Often used for establishing shots or to
distance the audience from the action.
Overhead shot - the camera is placed directly over the subject's head
looking straight down.
Dutch tilt/angle - the camera is at an angle causing the horizon line to

not be parallel to the top or bottom of the panel frame. The 60s Batman
TV show used this device often.
FORMATTING YOUR SCRIPT

I've said it before. I'll probably say it again. And again. There is no
universal format in which you must write and/or submit your scripts.
Generally speaking, comic scripts use a modified screenplay format.
What you really need to convey in a full script is:
Page Number
The page number is the story page number, not the physical page
number in the comic book/graphic novel or of your manuscript. In the
standard 32 page comic book, story page number four often is on page
five of the comic. Since you can't always be entirely sure where ads will
be placed any given month, you can't anticipate where your story pages
will fall. That's why we must provide story page numbers.
(Note: the inconsistent placement of ads makes it really difficult to plan

for double page spreads--a thought I will come back to later.)
P AN E L N UM B E R
You number you panels sequentially on each page, starting again with
one at the top of each successive page.
PAGE FIFTEEN
PANEL ONE
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Description
Chapter 6
PANEL TWO
Description
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PANEL THREE
Description
PAGE SIXTEEN
PANEL ONE
Description
PANEL TWO
Description
PANEL THREE
Description
I like to give the artist clear cut visual cues in my manuscript to tell when
a new page starts. I often use all caps for the page number and indent
everything that applies to that page. I also try to make clear visual
distinctions for each individual panel, again using caps and indentations. I
do this to make the manuscript easier for the artist to work from. (You
will note that because of the inherit formatting limitations, I have not
applied the identations to all of the sample scripts on this website. It
would take to much time to go through and reformat those pages at this
time.)
When there is only one panel on the page, it is called a splash page and
you indicate as such…
PAGE FIFTEEN
SPLASH PAGE
Description
D E S CR I P T I O N
Here you describe the action that is happening in the panel. You must tell
the artist everything he or she needs to know to convey the story. I put
the names of any characters who appear in the panel in ALL CAPS. Some
writers also put key props in all caps, but I tend not to so it doesn't
confuse matters.
At the beginning of each scene, the first panel description should

Writing the Script
indicate time and place (i.e. Exterior, bank, night; or Interior, Lana's
bedroom, mid-afternoon; etc.)
Chapter 6
COPY
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As I mentioned previously, all text that is placed on the printed comic page
is called copy. This includes captions, dialog, thought balloons, signs, sound
effects, and anything else that must be lettered.
When indicating dialog, I use the following format...
PAGE SIXTEEN
PANEL ONE
Description
1) SPEAKER: Blah blah blah blah blah.
2) SFX: Boooooom!
(Note that SFX is short for "Sound Effect.")
Sometimes you may find it useful to number the copy elements. It can
help you keep track of how many copy elements you have on the page. It
can also be a useful shortcut when you get to the point where you are
doing balloon placements and preparing the dialog script. You beginning
renumbering at 1) with the beginning of each new story page.
MANUSCRIPT FORMATTING
Generally, it is wise to leave one inch margins on top, bottom, left, and
right. The inch at the top and bottom may be used for your header and
footer. I can't stress how important it is to have the title, manuscript
page number, and your contact info on every page, preferably in the
header--the upper right hand corner makes it easy to find the info when
the pages are printed out. It's also useful to have the date of the draft.
That way, if there have been multiple drafts and any questions arise, you
can make sure you are all on the same page, literally and figuratively.
Personally, I like to double space my manuscripts. This allows me to

make notes and corrections on the hard copy (print out) during the
proofreading phase. Double spacing can create issues if you are working
by fax, given that it uses twice as much paper as single spacing. It can
also lead to horrific phone bills, especially if you are dealing with artists
in other countries. Single or double spacing is something to work out
with your editor, but being almost everything is being done these days
via e-mail and electronic files, recipients can reformat manuscripts at
will.
Writing the Script
Most writers today work in word processing programs on computers. If

you don't have a computer, then get a typewriter or stand-alone word
Chapter 6
processor. No editor is going to accept handwritten scripts or proposals.
As a general rule of thumb, when working in a word processing program,

use a serif font (one with hooks on the edges of letters), preferably a
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ubiquitous one like Times New Roman. This means that when you e-mail a
file to an editor, chance are nearly 100% that they have the same font on
their computer. Studies have shown that serif fonts are easier to read than
sans serf fonts like Arial, avoiding eye strain and fatigue. (Yes, this website
uses a sans serif font for its body text. Studies show that fonts like Arial are
easier to read on computer monitors.)
Do not use display or funky fonts in order to make your manuscript look
more personal or to indicate odd speech patterns for characters.
Chances are excellent that your editor, artist, and letterist don't have the
same font collections you do and this create problems when they open
your file. And sharing fonts isn't always going to be a solution since Macs
and Windows-based PCs map fonts differently. So, avoid the headache
and stick to Times New Roman.
One more thought on the subject of submitting your scripts via e-mail or
on disk--save your file in RTF (Rich Text Format). I suggest this for several
reasons. First and foremost, Microsoft Word documents can contain
macros which are virus delivery systems. Sharing a virus with your co-
workers is bad form. Second, RTF is a (relatively) universal file format
that can be read by (almost) all word processing programs. I used
parentheses in the previous sentence because MS Word uses some sort
of proprietary formatting even in its RTF files that can sometimes read
into other programs oddly. (I discovered this when test driving Open
Office/J for Mac OS X. Still, as long as you aren't using tables, frames, or
other specialized formatting, RTF is your best bet. Otherwise, go with
PDF format, but that is another technical conversation for another
website.) RTF is an option under File: Save As. Within this dialog box, you
can specify what format in which to save your file.
All right, with all that out of the way, let's look at some nuts and bolts of
the scriptwriting process...
HOW MANY PANELS SHOULD BE ON A SINGLE

COMIC PAGE?
The short, and seemingly not very helpful answer to this question is, "As
many panels as you need." Of course, there is the limiting factor of
physical space. It's very unlikely you'll get one hundred panels on page
twenty-two of your story, even if you need that many to wrap everything
up. Ultimately, it's going to be a matter of practice for you to determine
Writing the Script
how much space/number of panels a given scene may need.
Even after you have developed a sense for your pacing, you'll still run
Chapter 6
into times when you miscalculate. I've run into this problem while
writing Sonic X. I've been putting a lot of plot into my scripts, and with
every issue, I have found that I've had to cut panels and entire scenes in
6
4
order to keep to my allotted page count. One of the skills you need to
develop is recognizing what is important and what you can cut. I know it's
sometimes painful to lose elements, but when you are assigned X number
of pages, you can't turn in X + Y. Sacrifices sometimes have to be made.
Fortunately, in some instances, you can file the cut material away for later
use.
I prefer to have more story than I need and have to cut something than
come up short and have to add padding. Cutting means that there's a lot
of story happening and the reader will get a big bang for their buck.
Granted, having too much plot sometimes leads to rushed conclusions
because you have too much story to tell or it can lead to the accidental
deletion of an extremely important plot point. These are things you have
to be on guard against.
However, adding padding to stretch out a thin story will leave the reader
feeling cheated. I remember hearing stories (perhaps apocryphal) about
one comic writer who had regular work and would write from page one
to the end of the story. If the writer found that the script turned out to
be less than the allotted number of pages, the writer would just
designate some panels be turned into splash pages. The writer didn't
even bother to add a new scene or two (or more). Talk about taking the
easy out!
My approach is that every page, every panel must convey something to

the reader. They (the panels, not the readers) must be there to move the
plot forward, establish time/place, or give more understanding about
what the character is thinking or doing. Any page/panel that does not
accomplish this should probably be cut.
I try to keep in mind that most panels distill one moment in time. As with
every rule, there are exceptions to this statement, and I will come back
to that thought shortly.
I tend to average five panels per page. Five is a good number because it
gives the artist a lot of layout possibilities. For dialog scenes, I might ask
for six panels on a page. For big establishing shots or action sequences
(especially those with a lot of characters), I will ask for fewer panels.
Ultimately, the number and size of the panels is determined by the
amount of information you are trying to convey.
Writing the Script
S A MP LE 5 P AN EL L AYO UT O P T I O N S
Chapter 6
6
5
1 2 1 2
2 3 3 3
4 5 4 5 4
Great for an establishing shot Useful layout for introducing a Dramatic end to page leading
at the start of a scene character into the next page
1
1 2
2 1
3 3
4 4 5
2 3 4 5
5
Conversation between two Big action with reaction shots Note that panel three
characters includes two inset panels
I rarely ask for more than six panels on a page unless there is a specific
reason for more, and that's usually a question of pacing. The smaller the
panels, the less information you can wedge into them. One way to look
at it is that the more panels on a page, the smaller the moments within
each panel can be.
Another reason I like the average number of five is that it feels like you're
giving the reader something for the price of admission. Too many splash
pages may make for a fast read, and could leave reader feeling cheated. I
try to make sure that people come away from my stories feeling like they
got something for the price of admission and their investment of time.
I use splash pages sparingly--usually only for the title page or to give a
sense of scope for something dramatic. I can't think of any occasion
where I've used more than two splash pages in a single story. They may
be pretty to look at, but they lose their impact if overused.
Double page splashes (a splash page that spreads over two facing pages)
can be incredibly dramatic, especially when introducing a huge group of
Writing the Script
characters, giving a sense of scale to an establishing shot or a battle, or

for showing devastation following a battle. A double page spread always
Chapter 6
starts on an even numbered page and ends on an odd numbered page of

the comic book. (Even numbered pages are always on the left, and odd
on the right.) Because of the problem of ad layout, you can never be sure
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from month to month where in the comic the story pages will be placed in
relation to the ads. For this reason, one of the last (almost) safes place these
days for a double page splash (unless you have worked things out well in
advance with the editor and the publisher) are pages two and three of the
story and the comic itself. I can not recall any comic book where an ad was
placed on page one, two, or three (although Mike Pellerito, my Sonic X
editor, told me in a recent conversation that ads are now starting to creep
onto pages two and three, so even that's no longer a guaranteed safe zone).
Even with this (almost) "safe zone", the rise of collected editions/trade
paperbacks has made using double page spreads even more complicated
because when ads are removed for the trade edition, it can throw off the
odd/even rhythm of the page placements and the binding of a trade
paperback may mean more lost space in the spine, so important dialog
or art may get lost). The editors I've spoken to in recent times are really
gunshy about double page spreads. It's too bad because there are times
when they can be most effective.
ONE PANEL, ONE MOMENT IN TIME

My basic philosophy is that the script (and plot, if plot-first) should
provide the artist with everything he or she needs to tells the story and
everything the editor needs to understand what is happening and why. I
am a big believer in brevity when it comes to the full script. I don't go
overboard in details that are not germane to plot points. I know artists
that will take pens to scripts, crossing out anything that isn't key to what
they have to draw. I can't say that I blame them. Quite honestly, very few
people will have the opportunity to read my scripts for the sheer
pleasure of it, so I don't overwrite (although humorous asides to the
editor and the artist are fair game). Besides, keeping it a little looser
means that the artist has more room to contribute, and that's a good
thing. The more involved the artist is in the storytelling process, the
more inspired and invested they become. It's good for the working
relationship.
For now, let us concentrate on the general concept of each panel

distilling one moment in time.
My approach to writing a comic book story is that every panel contains at

least one key beat. Sometimes it is an important action. Other times it
might be an important piece of dialog or even a reaction shot.
Writing the Script
When I start actually writing the script, I begin with the beats. That
speeds up my writing time because I can move from beat to beat, panel
Chapter 6
to panel fairly quickly without pausing to think about how to write the
elements around the beats.
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So, if I'm working on an action scene, I will write the choreography of the
fight scene first, then go back in to write the dialog later. The reverse is
true--if I'm dealing with a dialog-heavy scene, I will write the dialog first,
determining how I want the conversation to flow. Then I'll go back to fill in
the panel descriptions. This helps me keep moving forward and not getting
bogged down in the details.
I also don't always write sequentially. To keep my juices flowing, I might

write pages twelve through sixteen first because I have a clear picture in
my head of how I want the scene to play out--I'll work this way especially
if there's another portion that I'm having trouble writing. Rather than
getting caught up in what's not working, I concentrate on what is. That
often helps me break any creative logjam.
In writing the panel description, keep in mind that there is a limited

amount of space on the page and within a panel. If you are writing a nine
panel grid, it's not going to work to ask to have the entire population of
Brooklyn in each of the nine panels. They just won't fit and you'll drive
your artist to fits.
I try to keep my panel descriptions in the active verb tense. It helps

convey the action to the artist and makes the manuscript easier to read
for both the artist and the editor. Passive tense makes your manuscript
feel wishy-washy and you don't want to dampen the artist's enthusiasm
subconsciously through poor word choices. There are times when
passive, past tense are appropriate, but it's usually to set up what is
happening now...
PANEL FOUR
CAPTAIN WINGNUT, having just jumped over the speeding car,

looks over his shoulder, wondering where the next attack may
come from.
In the example above, "having just jumped" is past passive tense,

describing what just happened (probably in the previous panel). The
active verb in this description is "looks" over his shoulder. That is what is
happening now (one moment in time). The clause "wondering where the
next attack may come from" tells the artist what CW's frame of mind is,
and helps indicate what CW's body language should communicate to the
reader.
Writing the Script
The description of the panel must include everything that is integral to

the story--the characters, the action, notes about leaving room for sound
Chapter 6
effects and dialog (especially important when working plot-first. The full
script would include the copy and the artist should allow for it).
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Except under specific circumstances, do not ask for characters to undertake
multiple actions, especially contradictory actions in a single panel. For
example:
PANEL FOUR
GRIM GIRL grabs the parachute out of EVIL BASTICH's hand, slings
it over her shoulder, and jumps out of the plane while firing her
flare gun.
That's way too much action to fit into a single panel. It's a minimum of
two panels (1. GRIM GIRL grabs the parachute out of EVIL BASTICH 's
hand. 2. GRIM GIRL slings the parachute over her shoulder, and jumps
out of the plane while firing her flare gun), and you're probably better off
with three.
There are exceptions to this theory. In a large panel or a splash page, you
could treat a complicated action as a series of steps. In this case, the
background remains static while the action moves across the panel. For
example:
PANEL ONE
This panel takes up the entire top third of the page. SPEEDCHICK
dashes along the street, taking out the horde of villains. We see
multiple images of Speedchick as she punches VILLAIN ONE in
the jaws, kicks VILLAIN TWO in the gut, throws VILLAIN THREE
into a trash can, and pulls VILLAIN FOUR out of a car at the curb.
In this case, we've put all the action in a single long panel and it helps
underscore that Speedchick has superspeed. The static background here
also helps create the sense that this is happening very quickly--that all
this action is taking place in one moment of time.
There are occasions where there are two beats in a panel, a punch
thrown while something is said or someone reacts. The thing to keep in
mind is to not ask for too many beats or contradictory actions in a single
panel.
Another exception to the single beat theory is a montage. A montage is a

collection of images in a single panel/frame. In some cases, you can use
this to create the sense of "meanwhile": characters A and B are
Writing the Script
undertaking an action in one location while characters C and D are doing

something else in another place. You have linked these two sets of
characters together visually within the same composition, giving the
Chapter 6
illusion that things are happening concurrently
6
9
You can also use a montage to compress time: Lovers E and F are seen in
various locations around town, sharing ice cream, walking in the park,
window shopping, watching a child with her mother. This tells us that E and
F have spent quite a bit of time together.
PACING
You control the pace of your story by the amount of action that happens in
the time between panels.
(And, just for the record, I'm a big believer in gutters between panels.
They help separate moments in time and make it easier to read comic
pages. There are times when just a thin line can be useful to indicate a
group of moments that happen simultaneously or in rapid succession,
but with today's computer coloring and the use of heavy blacks or deep
colors in the gutters, comic pages have become very difficult to read.
This is just one of the many things that may hold new readers back--if
they can't fathom what's happening visually and can't tell how to decode
a comics page, they aren't likely to try. Copy placement can help
overcome this problem, but it's only part of the battle.)
So, to demonstrate my point about the passage of time between panels,

let me use two examples...
F AS T P A CI N G :
PAGE ONE
PANEL ONE
Exterior. Beautiful sunny afternoon. SUPERGUY takes

flight outside his parents' home in Charleston, North
Carolina. This is a low angle shot to make Superguy
look powerful.
PANEL TWO
SUPERGUY, in flight and coming right at the reader,

leaves Earth's atmosphere. We can see the Atlantic
Ocean and the continents in the background.
PANEL THREE
SUPERGUY comes to a landing on the moon. We can

Writing the Script
see the Earth distantly in the background.
PANEL FOUR
Chapter 6
Etc.
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The entire trip happened between the two panels and moves the story at a
fast clip. It implies that the time it took Superguy to get from Charleston to
the moon is negligible.
Notice that I set time of day in the first panel. If Superguy's parent's house
was a common setting for the series, I would leave the description at that,
assuming that the editor or the artist would have reference. If it's
someplace we'd never seen before, I would go into more detail about the
look of the house. If it was something last seen fifteen years ago or I had
a specific look in mind, I would try to find reference to send with the
script to help the artist.
I also called for a low angle shot because I wanted to convey power. I
generally do not call for specific "camera angles" in most panels. Again,
this is to allow the artist maximum freedom to bring his or her
style/voice to the story. When I do call for an angle, it's for dramatic
purposes. If you minimize the number of specific shots you call for, you
increase your likelihood of the artist accommodating your requests when
you do ask for something special.
In the second panel, I specified a specific layout. I definitely want to have

Superguy flying at the reader with the Earth in the background to set up
the image in the third panel where I ask for the distant Earth in the
background. I did this to give a sense of the amount of space traveled.
You could further speed up the pacing by cutting out the second panel
altogether.
Another element that would affect the pacing in this sequence is the
amount of copy. If Superguy was doing a lot of thinking while in flight or I
used a lot of caption boxes to describe what was happening, the reader
would have to slow down to read the text.
So, the amount of action that happens between panels and the amount
of text within the panels themselves are the two most significant
elements that control the pacing of the story.
S LO W P A CI N G :
PAGE ONE
PANEL ONE
Writing the Script
Long shot. Late afternoon. Busy metropolitan street.

CONNOR (a professional lawyer in her mid-30s) dashes
Chapter 6
out of the courthouse, late for an appointment. She is

in a well-tailored suit.
PANEL TWO
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CONNOR tries to hail a taxi that goes right by her. There
are PEOPLE walking by on the sidewalk. She looks
exasperated.
PANEL THREE
CONNOR tries to hail another taxi that goes by her.

DIFFERENT PEOPLE are on the sidewalk passing by. By this
time, her clothes are looking a little disheveled and her
shoulders are stooped. She's been on this curb for
fifteen minutes trying to get a cab to stop.
PANEL FOUR
Another five minutes have passed. A taxi has finally

stopped for CONNOR. She gets into the back seat.
PANEL FIVE
Largest panel on the page with room for an inset panel.

Long shot. The taxi is at a full stop, trapped in traffic on
a busy city street. It's obvious that it will not be able to
move any time in the near future.
PANEL SIX (inset panel)
This panel is inset into panel five. Close up of CONNOR

looking defeated, realizing there's no way she'll ever
make it across town to meet her client.
The sheer number of panels slows this sequence down. By pointing out
that there are different people in the backgrounds of panels three and
four help denote the passage of time, as do the descriptions of Connor's
body language.
Panel five includes an inset panel. An inset panel is a panel contained by

a larger panel. When I use inset panels, it is to distill a moment or detail
happening within the larger panel. In the example above, we are seeing
Connor's reaction to being trapped in the traffic jam.
Another inset for panel five could be a plank of wood with a sharp nail
point out that the cab's front tire might be about to roll over. Here you'd
be showing an important detail that could not be seen because of the
Writing the Script
nature of the composition in the larger panel. This could be used to build
tension at the end of the page, creating your end of page question (as
Chapter 6
discussed in chapter four).
Notice that I placed the paranthetical description [i.e. (inset panel)] next
to the panel number. This is useful for the artist in planning layouts. Any
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time there is something unusual about a panel--especially something that
has a consistent look or feel that is part of the visual grammar of the story--I
will put it in paranthesis beside the panel number. Two good examples are
flashbacks or TV screens. These both often have different borders or
coloring tricks to set them apart from the standard panels, so saying that
right from the start gives the artist a quick head start.
It's a good idea to vary the pacing of your scenes so you don't fall into a
cadence, become predictable, and bore the reader. I try not to have the
same number of panels from page to page over several pages. (Although,
the magic number of five panels allows for much variation in layout
which helps overcome the problem of cadence.) However, it isn't just the
number of panels on the page that affects the pacing, it's the amount of
action happening between the panels. Steve Ditko effectively used the
nine panel grid without it becoming monotonous, as did Jack Kirby with
the six panel grid and David Lapham with the eight panel grid. However,
they broke the grid when they wanted extra emphasis for a particularly
dramatic moment.
P LO T FI R ST , O R " MA RV E L S T Y L E "
In the previous section, I talked about writing panel descriptions and the
basics of pacing. From here, it's easy to talk about the plot-first method
of writing a comic book story.
When we refer to plot first or "Marvel Style", it is shorthand for a

manuscript that does not include all of the final dialog. Traditionally, it is
broken down page by page, panel by panel, but that isn't a necessity.
Depending on your relationships with the editor and/or penciler, the
breakdown can be even looser. For the exposition-heavy pages or for
complicated action, you may provide panel by panel descriptions. In
other cases, you might say something as simple as...
PAGES TWELVE THROUGH NINETEEN
Extended fight scene. HERO WOMAN and SUPER GUY in battle

against the EVIL KNIGHT and his FIRE-BREATHING DRAGON. The
setting is an abandoned castle in a remote forest. Because of
Super Guy's vulnerability to fire, it would appear that the
Dragon may slay our hero, but once Hero Woman destroys the
control gauntlet on EK's right wrist, EK can no longer control the
Writing the Script
Dragon and the tide turns. The Dragon flies away, free once
more of EK's control. HW and SG take EK into custody. By the
end of the battle, nothing is left of the castle but rubble.
Chapter 6
Make this scene as visually exciting as possible and have fun

with it!
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The would be plenty for some artists from which to work, and they would
enjoy the freedom it allows. other artists are intimidated by this much
freedom and really want each moment spelled out for them. In my opinion,
the more comofrtable you make the artist, the more successful the
collaboration will be. Develop a manuscript style that serves the needs you
you as writer, your editor, your artist, and most importantly, the readers.
You have to make sure you convey everything the artist will need to
communicate the story on behalf of the people who have paid good money
to read your story. As important as it is to maintain a good working
relationship with your artist, you both (all) serve the audience.
PLOT-FIRST DOES NOT MEAN "NO DIALOG

ALLOWED"
Even if you are not providing all the dialog for the story in your
manuscript, that does not mean you should not provide the artist and
the editor with the gist of any dialog that will be included later. Often it is
imperative for the main dialog points to be included so that the artist
knows how to convey the appropriate body language for the characters.
For example, two characters saying "Hi, how are you? It's great to see
you." "I'm fine. That's a lovely frock you are wearing." are likely to have
very different body language compared to two characters having the
following exchange: "What the blazes are you doing here? I never wanted
to lay eyes on you again." "The feeling's mutual, punk. I wish your cape
would get caught in the axle of a truck and rip your head off."
For particularly important conversations, it is useful to include all of the

dialog, even if it's in rough form. This helps the editor determine if the
story is hanging together and the artist to know how much room needs
to be available for copy.
Here is a page from the plot to Quicksilver #13. You can read the
entire plot in the sample scripts section. This is exactly how the
information was conveyed to
Chris Renaud, penciler of the
issue.
PAGE THREE
PANEL ONE
Writing the Script
NESTOR tells QUICKSILVER that his name is Nestor--but

does that really tell QS anything? You have to get
Chapter 6
beyond the names to know who a person really is. He

asserts that he is QS's friend--or else he wouldn't have
helped him escape from Exodus.
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PANEL TWO
Close up of QUICKSILVER as he responds to Nestor's next

question, "So, who are you?" Keep Nestor off panel. Focus
on Quicksilver's reaction--he really doesn't know how to
answer this question. Leave room in the lower right hand
corner of the panel for a letter caption as Quicksilver
reveals to Crystal that this is a question he'd never given
any thought to.
PANEL THREE
Pull back to show NESTOR and QUICKSILVER in front of

the cottage. Nestor asks why Quicksilver has come to
this place.
PANEL FOUR
QUICKSILVER opens the door to the cottage, NESTOR

standing right behind him. QS looks pensive, as if trying
to understand that this was once his home. Compose
this shot from inside the cabin, with QS and Nestor
framed by the door. QS tells Nestor that this is where
he and his sister were born. He wonders what it must
have been like for his mother on the night sure first
arrived here. The cottage should look like it has not
been inhabited in quite a while.
PANEL FIVE (flashback)
This panel is how Quicksilver imagines his mother's

arrival at the cottage. It is a cold, wind-swept night with
snow in the air. The cottage door has opened. MAGDA
stands outside shivering, illuminated by the moon. She
is pregnant and asks for help. BOVA is in the
foreground looking surprised by the stranger's
presence. The cottage has a homey feel to it. Leave
room for captions as QS tells Nestor the story.
This panel echoes the previous panel visually in terms

of composition with Magda taking the place off QS &
Nestor.
Writing the Script
As you can see, artist Chris Renaud followed by descriptions very closely,
although he did not show the cabin in panel five as I'd described. and, to
Chapter 6
be completely honest, I think the choice he made is much stronger give

the echo he's created to panel four. By providing him with the sample
7
5
dialog, he was able to convey the body language the conversation required.
As the writer, you have to be prepared for the fact the artist will change
things. Sometimes it's because you have asked for something that simply
can't be drawn as you described it. Sometimes it's because he or she has a
different vision of the panel than you described. It doesn't matter what the
reason is--you have to be prepared to roll with it. This is something that I
will discuss in greater detail in the next chapter: Writing the Dialog and
Placing Copy.
Writing the Script

Chapter 6
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MORE TO COME--EVENTUALLY
I hope that you have found the information presented thus far to be
informative, interesting, thought-provoking, and useful. I will be uploading
additional chapters as I complete them. I have no set schedule in mind as I
am writing them as time permits, and right now, I don't foresee having a lot
of time to dedicate to this project.
Material that I do intend to cover in future chapters include, Full Script and
Plot-First Method, Script Format, Common Comic Book and Film
Terminology, Balloon Placement, Plotting for Self-Contained and for
Long-Term Storylines, and Writing Proposals.
In the meantime, I am providing another PDF file for your reference here.
It is a handout I created for my students on the subject of balloon
placement. This is a subject near and dear to my heart as I've seen way
too many people (writers, artists, and editors) who don't understand the
flow of pages and place copy contrary to natural sightlines. The handout
below covers just some of the theory.
If there are any areas you would like to see me cover, please feel free to
e-mail me. I may also compile a list of common questions and my
responses to them as one of the future chapters, depending on the
number of questions I receive. Be advised that I am not accepting
manuscripts/proposals/stories to be critiqued as I do not have the time
to look at them. Thanks for understanding.
MORE TO COME--EVENTUALLY
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WRITING FOR COMICS

Compiled (read as copy-pasted) by

His website’s section on this topic

Starting from an industry overview in M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable

In light of this I urge you as a new playwright, read on and explore.

Let me say a few things up front:

1. As with any art form, there is no ultimate right or wrong way to

herself and stagnates.

One more word of caution: there is no secret, no magic bullet. This

Joe Edkin, Summer 2005

Art is a co-operative process. It requires a creator (or creators) and an

My feeling in terms of comics as art is that both must work in harmony.

When the writer is doing something really experimental with the

THE "RIGHT" WAY

approach writing. Certainly, if you want to write professionally, you must

Presentation is important, but what about content? Is there an absolute

When I write scripts, I give my collaborators everything they will need to

When I work with aspiring filmmakers/videographers, one of the first

The biggest limitation to storytelling in the comic book medium is space.

THE THREE PLOTS

The Mysterious Stranger (Comes to Town)

The Mysterious Stranger (Comes to Town). Someone or something enters a

The Genesis Story. How something or someone came to be. In comic

We'll cover this in more detail in the chapter on developing characters.

In the traditional definition of fiction, it is held that your lead character--

In many ways, I do agree with this philosophy. I do think that the

So, if publishers have a stake in maintaining their franchises so that

When it comes to significantly altering characters, the permanent

be a perfectly valid way of approaching change. If the reader witnesses

THE FIVE W S (AND SOMETIMES H)

Who? These are the characters in your story.

What? What is happening? This is the plot. What do your characters

The Characters, as mentioned previously, are the who.

THE THREE MAJOR FORMS OF CONFLICT

Individual vs. Individual

This is probably the most straight forward form of conflict, especially

Individual vs. Nature

This is an individual facing forces of nature or anything outside the

Individual vs. Self

This is probably the most dynamic and dramatic form of conflict. We

We all have things in which we believe. We all have things in ourselves

FIVE MINOR FORMS OF CONFLICT

Individual vs. Machine

This is the hallmark of Science Fiction. However, the machine is usually

Individual vs. Supernatural

Individual vs. Disease

Individual vs. Society

I find this a particularly intriguing form of conflict as it can actually be

In crime stories, society is represented by the legal system, the police

Individual vs. Destiny

This is an interesting thought put forth by one of my students when he

be something that was internalized through indoctrination and then be

Generally speaking, one of the places I often start building a story,

Chapter 2 The Basics

To me, story construction is puzzle solving. I see a story as big picture

THE MANTELPIECE RULE

mystify, anger, and alienate them.

If your character is required to possess a special, extra normal ability or

CLASSIC THREE ACT STRUCTURE

ACT ONE--THE BEGINNING

In stories where it is assumed that the readers already have some

Every story beings with an inciting incident (sometimes called the

characters wanted--be it the solution to the mystery, the secret plans,