YOUR VAGRANCY'S A FAMILIAR TALE

It's true what they say; there are no new ideas.

About three years ago, I came up with an idea for solving the perennial problem of 'waiting for the trade' - the problem being, as we've all heard by now, that if everyone waits for a comic to be collected, sales will be so low on the single issues that publishers think no-one's interested in the book, and a collection doesn't happen.

Last week, another writer - who I have no doubt never read my original suggestion on the Warren Ellis Forum - had the same idea. And perhaps someone else had even suggested it years before I did, and I just never knew.

Anyway. I still think it's a good idea, and could work if it was handled right. So maybe it's time to look at it again.

The Task:

To cater to the increasing percentage of comic readers who refuse to buy monthly single issues, and vice-versa; to encourage people who currently do buy single issues to instead plonk down their money on an original graphic novel (OGN).

The Problem:

Many people are understandably reluctant to buy OGNs, as they're an expensive and unknown quantity. On the other hand, trade paperbacks (TPBs) sell much better because most people already know the comic is worth the money.

But, not everyone who collects the monthly series is going to shell out for the TPB as well. So they don't sell as many as they could if the same number of people who read the story bought it in OGN format; but if they were OGNs people wouldn't buy them because they wouldn't know whether the story was any good.

My brain hurts.

The Thought Process:

There's yet another analogy to be made here between comics and music. (And the original idea was partly inspired by Ellis' famous 'Pop Comics' manifesto, so it's appropriate.)

In music, singles are well-known loss leaders. They rarely turn a profit, but serve as a cheap (both for the consumer and record label) and easy way for people to sample a band's new material. People who like the single are more inclined to buy the album it's taken from, because they know it's going to contain more of the same kind of stuff. The album, of course, is what will really turn a profit.

So the label has a made a Loss, in order to Lead people to the album. See? Loss Leader. Easy.

How can we apply this to comics?

The solution:

Let's use a miniseries called GREAT NEW COMIC as an example. GREAT NEW COMIC is the equivalent length of four single issues, an average length for a modern miniseries. Publisher X decides they will publish GREAT NEW COMIC, and contracts are signed in January. The creative team get to work; for the sake of argument it will take them until the end of April to complete it.

In February, a 'single' for GREAT NEW COMIC is solicited in PREVIEWS. It contains 22 pages of story - the first part of GREAT NEW COMIC - and some 'extra tracks'; sketchbook material, maybe a sample of the script, an afterword by the creative team. Maybe even a short, standalone GREAT NEW COMIC story by the creative team. It also, of course, contains adverts that will help to pay for the production costs of this single. Let's say it's 40 pages long.

It retails for $1.50. A loss leader.

The single of GREAT NEW COMIC hits the shelves in March, along with a big promotional push. At a dollar-fifty, we can assume that it will sell at least as well as a #1 for twice that price. (It would hopefully sell even better than that. Never underestimate the power of a low price.)

But that's not all.

Next month - i.e., April - the OGN of GREAT NEW COMIC is solicited in Previews. Unlike a normal OGN, it's now no longer an unknown quantity; both readers and retailers have had the chance to read some of GREAT NEW COMIC, and judge whether they like it. Those who do can now order the OGN, safely knowing they're going to like it. Those who didn't, well they're only $1.50 down.

It would be sensible at this point to also keep selling the single, catering for people who may have heard good reports of GREAT NEW COMIC but didn't buy the single as soon as it came out.

(Also in April, the creative team completely finish GREAT NEW COMIC and deliver it to the publisher. So you have two months between final delivery and on-sale date; more than enough time to put an OGN together.)

In June, GREAT NEW COMIC hits the shelves. Assuming lots of people liked the single, you've got a hit on your hands; not only will it sell to people who might buy an OGN anyway, but now you're also selling it to people who would have been reluctant to buy it sight unseen - but were happy to chance $1.50 to check it out.

The single has acted as a true loss leader.

The Caveat:

It's a simple plan, but a brave move. A scheme like this requires a publisher to have enough faith in a work that the whole thing is finished and paid for before the book ships (just like the record industry). But - as I've said before when discussing OGNs - shouldn't publishers have that much faith in every book they publish anyway?

The advantages are potentially great; minimised production costs on the single issue, a perennial book with a pre-made audience to generate revenue when it's published (and published within a short enough timeframe that people will still be talking about the single), and the whole process takes six months.

Everyone's a winner, baby, and that's no lie.

A MERE SUBJECT OF YOUR SELF-INDULGENCE

Here's what no-one told me about signings: they're bloody hard work.

Last Saturday I put in an appearance at Travelling Man, a comic store in the historic city of York, England, to promote the launch of THREE DAYS IN EUROPE. After a certain amount of last-minute panic trying to find a hotel room (I'll never understand why so many people would want to holiday in the North of England at the end of November), my girlfriend and I arrived at the store just after midday.

As Travelling Man is by no means a huge store, and I'm by no means some kind of superstar, I'd agreed to stay for as long as the store wanted me. There were hardly going to be people queueing out the door, after all. Nevertheless, I ended up spending five hours at the store; sitting at a desk chatting to customers, signing comics, handing out free stickers and chocolate, and having a lot of fun.

Now, I've attended a few conventions. So I've done the whole smiling-and-signing thing before, albeit in a different setting. But this was my first in-store signing, and I have to say: I was knackered by the end, and more than ready for a drink or three.

It brought to my mind the now-regular analogies between comic creators and musicians; no matter how relaxed you are, no matter how well it's going, you're constantly aware that this is your audience, and you are, in a manner of speaking, performing.

So I choose to look on stuff like this as 'paying my dues' - the shorthand for that period in a band's career when they play every gig as if it were their last. Even when the audience consists of ten people who took a wrong turn, and their dog.

Because, you know, it could be. And the only way to ensure there'll be more gigs is to give this one your all, and hope that word will get around. On that level, the Travelling Man gig was a resounding success; half of everyone who buys comics from the store now knows who I am, and has seen my books.

Plus, I woke up the next morning with the shoulder from hell; a protest against five hours of being hunched over, writing nothing but my signature over and over again. I can't turn my head to the right without my neck complaining.

Not that I'm complaining: hell, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. But next time, I think I'll take some muscle relaxant...

IN MY HEAD, THIS ALL IS

So I finished the script for ALAN MOORE'S THE COURTYARD a few weeks ago. If you've been living under a rock, allow me to briefly explain; THE COURTYARD is a short prose story by Moore, written for an HP Lovecraft tribute anthology a few years back. I've adapted it into comic form for Avatar Press, and Jacen Burrows is drawing it.

Now, this was somewhat of a daunting task. Moore is probably the best-known and most-admired comic writer of our times, and here am I - a little-known writer of some small promise - producing a comic script which has to meet the man's standards.

I've written prose myself, of course. And I know damn well that when I write, I have a pretty clear mental image of what I want to get over. Given his 'normal' medium, I think it's safe to assume Moore does, too.

The problem is: you may have a clear image in your head, but (because this is prose) you don't always write it into the text. Not unless you're Thomas Hardy, anyway.

And this made me realise something I'd never really thought about before. One of the differences between prose and comics which now seems so obvious, I can hardly believe I didn't think of it when I agreed to script THE COURTYARD:

In prose, it's perfectly acceptable to write long segments of story where nothing actually happens. I don't mean blank pages, of course; I'm talking about those parts of the story where you're inside a character's head, reading an inner monologue. And if that inner monologue's important to the story, then it has to go into an adaptation.

Comics aren't very good at having nothing happen. Even 'talking heads' scenes can be made to work; viewpoints can be shifted, different characters can be drawn, and the fact that it's a conversation between two or more people makes it more visual right off the bat.

Not so with a monologue. It's a bit of a challenge.

Instead, you have to come up with something new; something either the character is doing, or something you can show while the monologue is going on; a juxtaposition perhaps. Essentially, you have to Make Something Up.

Making Something Up is not normally a problem for me. It shouldn't be a problem for any writer. But this is Making Something Up For Alan Moore, for heaven's sake. A somewhat different proposition to making something up for my own stories.

I'll say one thing; it's opened my eyes to how artists must feel when they get a bare-bones script, and have to fill in visual details that aren't in the text. I swear I'll never write a one-line panel description again...

THEN I COULD WANDER, WANDER TO DEEP SLEEP

This month's titles are taken from Paradise Lost's new album, SYMBOL OF LIFE. Like STAR TREK movies, PL albums seem to alternate; the odd-numbered ones are great, the even-numbered ones are merely average. SYMBOL OF LIFE is album number 10, and true to form it's not as good as their ninth, the stonking BELIEVE IN NOTHING. But, much like Alan Moore, even an average Paradise Lost knocks spots off most other offerings. And there aren't too many other places you'll hear a goth-metal version of Bronski Beat's SMALL TOWN BOY...

Antony Johnston is the author of JULIUS, SPOOKED and THE LONG HAUL. His new ongoing series WASTELAND begins in July 2006.

This article is Ideological Freeware. The author grants permission for its reproduction and redistribution by private individuals on condition that the author and source of the article are clearly shown, no charge is made, and the whole article is reproduced intact, including this notice.