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by Chuck Dixon
- (originally published in SKETCH Magazine)
Okay, let’s assume you’re an aspiring writer and you’re actually going to get to meet and talk to, live and in person, a comic book editor.
We can assume, unless you’re a stalker, that this meeting will occur across a table at a convention. The editor is busy signing books or talking to other aspiring comics creators or struggling to keep a smile on his face while being pestered by continuity geeks.
What’s your first step? Hand him a proposal? (He’ll never read it.)
A business card? Sorry. They wind up being tossed out along with his convention badge.
Well then, how the heck do you make an impression?
Slowly.
I realized early on that editors are people too. Once I got over the initial shock of this revelation I re-evaluated my editor-approaching techniques. Getting an editor to know and recognize you takes time. It’s less important to them that you know the origins of the entire League of Ultramen than it is that you can hold a conversation and don’t spit food when you talk. They need to know they can work with you. They need to know that (for at least a brief stretch of time) you can be witty and erudite.
So, rather than shove a few typewritten pages into their hands and mumbling something at their company’s booth, endeavor to find a way to speak to them in another environment. This was easier when cons were smaller. You could join discussion groups and sidle into an editor and hopefully say something to make him laugh. If you say something that makes him laugh and you meant it to be a serious comment then laugh with him anyway and add something else self-effacing. If you’re going to have a rapport with an editor this is where it starts.
When you’ve reached a point where the editor no longer has to be reminded who you are then call for an interview. For pity’s sake don’t ask for an interview while at a con. Wait ‘til the cons over and call him at the office. That’s when you bring your proposal. That’s when you make it plain that you’re serious and want a career in comics.
That’s important. You want a career. Not, “Gosh I’d kill to write Captain Asparagus.” Chances are they’re full up with guys who want to write Captain Asparagus. You make it plain that you’re a professional writer and will write any character no matter how miserable or thankless. Not only that but you’d love to have a crack at their lowest selling title or licensing nightmare. Let them know you love the medium and you’re here for the long haul.
Of course, all of this depends on the editor. Finding an editor that you can have a rapport with is difficult. Chances are a clue to this is in the books they work on. Knowing that I’d have at least something in common with Archie Goodwin or Larry Hama was a no-brainer for me. I admired all of their work and their approach to comics. When I met them and worked for them I found out I liked them as people as well. That connection between us and the things we liked formed a professional relationship and made it easy for us to work together.
See, you’ll never get anywhere in comics if, when your editor needs to call you, he says, “Oh God, do I have to talk to this clown again?” So, that rapport is paramount. They gotta like you and they gotta like your work.
A watchword I have lived by all my freelance life is, “You’ll never get anywhere in comics until you find an editor who has faith in you.” I’ve been very fortunate in that area. When I’ve worked with editors who believed in me I was encouraged to take chances and do solid work. When I had an editor with no faith in my abilities I wound up with Moon Knight.
Another hint when talking to an editor; never say, “Hell, I can write The Astonishing Dr Amazing better than (fill in name of current writer).” The editor you’re talking to hired that guy. Or he was best man at the editor’s wedding. Or something else like that.
Networking is also a good idea for approaching editors. Get to know as many freelancers as you can. Chances are if you make buddies in the freelance community (and how hard is that when you have comics in common?) they’ll speak to editors about you. Either in passing or to tell some exaggerated story about you (“Man, you shoulda heard what he asked Claudia Christian at San Diego.”) or even to recommend you for work. That forms a connection with an editor. You know someone they know. They’ll be able to remember you, “Oh, the guy who got bitch-slapped by that chick on Babylon 5.”
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