Workin' it. Well, not really.

Got into a bit of hot water at the Z2H blogs this weekend, when I let slip a portion of my Unified Theory of Real Work.

Now, while I don’t consider thinking about stuff to be Real Work (which isn’t to deny that it can have value), typing up my explanations for why I believe that does. And seeing as I went to all the trouble to type the stuff up in the first place, I’m going to put it here, too. Might as well piss off every writer I know at once and get it over with…

The post I replied to was asking about how much writers got paid compared to artists and other craftspeople, in both film and comics. Part of my reply was as follows:

“In the Work-For-Hire comics world, generally speaking, experience levels/marquee qualities all being equal, artists make more per page than writers. The rationale for this is that it takes artists longer to finish a page than it does writers. Some writers argue that that isn't true, that time spent originating/thinking about/constructing the story makes the contributions more equal than time spent at the desk/drawing table would suggest. I maintain anything I can do while walking the dog doesn't count as real work.”

I should’ve known that would ruffle some feathers. Another comment shot back (a little snarkily, I thought, but you can judge for yourself at the thread if you care), implying that I was discounting the value of creating an idea. My reply:

“I never said conceiving an idea lacked either value or import. I just said it's not real work. At least I don't consider it to be real work if I can walk the dog while I'm doing it.

Coming up with an idea is easy. Coming up with a good one isn't as easy, but it's not hard. Molding an idea into something usable is less easy. Writing a script is harder than that. Drawing a page/comic is harder still. Painting a house...now that's real work.

I've done all those things, and, I'll say right upfront, my continuum for what constitutes real and/or hard work is based mostly on physical labour. I like nothing better than to lie in bed or walk the dog and think things up. Mostly because it's easy.

I know that at least some of what I think up has some value, because I've been paid for some of it and I've got others expending their resources in support of it. That doesn't mean it was real work.

The work in those cases came when I put pen to paper or fingers to keypad. And even then, it's not what I'd call hard work, not compared to climbing up a 32 foot ladder carrying two gallons of paint in the blazing sun for ten hours a day.

This is strictly my way of defining things, of keeping things in perspective. I'm a talented, creative, and driven guy. But I know a lot of talented, creative, and driven people who have to get up at seven in the morning, put on pants and probably a shirt, leave their house to go and do something they probably don't particularly want to be doing for at least eight hours a day, before coming home and using whatever energy they've got left after a day of real work to exercise their talent and creativity.

So in addition to being talented, creative, and driven, I'm also lucky. And that's something I'm determined to keep in mind."

In response to a comment about the value of actually writing and rewriting (as opposed to thinking about writing):

"I spend 90% of my writing time revising, tweaking and polishing.

Unless someone's really good with a blackberry and multitasking, that's stuff that can't be done (at least not effectively) while walking the dog. So it's real work in my book.

I still don't think it's hard work, though.”

The commenter who took issue with my comments pointed out that most peoples’ definition of work includes mental effort, something I willingly concede but qualified by adding:

“I'd have thought--well, I did think--using the term "real work" as opposed to simply "work" implies that I draw a distinction between what I was talking about and most definitions of work.”

In response to the notion that mental exertion can be physically tiring (and, if truth be told, the primary reason I’m posting all this here, because I think it’s funny), I said:

“It can be. In my experience it's not as tiring as physical exertion. I've been so physically tired I can't write, but never so mentally exhausted that I can't take out the garbage or do the dishes. I've tried to convince my wife that I am, in fact, unable to do these things after a long day's thinking, but she's not buying it.”

Addressing another portion of the guy’s comment, about doing actual writing, and doing it well, is hard work for most people, led to an interesting (to me) digression, something that I’ve spent much of the rest of the day (the rest of that wasn’t spent writing THE HOLIDAY MEN Episode 3, anyway) thinking about.

“Doing the actual writing is work, for sure. Not what I'd call hard work, necessarily, but work nonetheless.

Doing it well is a whole other kettle of fish. I'm torn on this one, between my much-cherished notion that writing is a craft that can be learned with sufficient effort (which could fit many peoples' definitions of hard work, if not mine), and to what degree one is naturally inclined towards writing well.

My egalitarian (and self-deprecating) nature wants to reject outright the notion that "talent" plays any role in whether or not one can write (or paint, or weld, or design an intercontinental ballistic missile), but I'm not sure I can, at least not after a certain developmental stage.

Some people will never be able to write well, no matter how much effort they put into it. They may be able to improve their writing skills, but if they spent the rest of their lives writing--and writing with the intent to learn how to write better, rather than simply express themselves--they just don't have "it."

Is that a question of inborn talent, or one's upbringing? I don't know. But I think for the person who seriously wants to write well who simply can't, for whatever reason, writing would be difficult, frustrating work indeed, if only because in the end whatever energy expended on the activity would result in something other than what the would-be writer engaged in the activity to create in the first place.

Eh. I'm rambling now (right, 'coz I wasn't rambling before...)”

I expect the conversation’s over now--the Z2H blog comment/discussions don’t tend to last too long, as the original blog posts are moved further and further down the page with every new post, eventually to be lost to the mists of time. But it was--not fun, exactly, but…challenging(?) in the best possible way, while it lasted.

A

X-UnfulFiled

The world writes an open letter to John McCain.

***

THE X-FILES: I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THEY WERE THINKING

Double guest passes to a 10:00pm preview for The X-Files: I Want To Believe showed up at Happy Harbor last night at around 8:30. After much hemming and hawing, my penny-pinching side won out over my lethargic one, and T and I went to see the film.

I’m guessing/hoping for Chris Carter’s sake that everywhere that got passes in the city got them an hour and a half before the film, like we did, because there were fewer people in the theatre last night than there were for the preview of Rainn Wilson’s by-the-numbers, obviously written for Owen Wilson comedy Rocker on Monday.

The film is a bit of a mixed bag. On balance, I think I liked it, but I would’ve liked it considerably less if I’d paid for it. A few reviewers have noted that it plays like an extended episode of the television show, and this is true. What’s weird is that it plays like a random episode of the TV show, rather than one of the mythology-building alien conspiracy episodes. Which is fine when you’ve got to do 22 hours a year, but when you’re doing, what, maybe two hours every couple of years (being charitable/optimistic and assuming that they’ll get more X-Files films made, something I’m not even sure the creators believe, given the ending that’s unspooled under the final credits, as literal a goodbye to viewers as any I’ve seen since the finale of MASH)? I think you need to build up the brand a bit more than simply shoehorning the two main characters (and a favourite supporting character, eventually) in to a creepy mystery/suspense story, at least in a re-introductory story like this one.

Now, in fairness, the creepy mystery/suspense story did have legitimately creepy and on occasion even suspenseful elements (if cruelty to animals disturbs you, this will not be your cup of tea). And, as an old fan of the series, there was a bit of a nostalgic thrill in seeing the characters interact again--especially Duchovny, who brought just a little bit of the energy he’s got in Californication to this incarnation of Fox Mulder.

But, outside the Hollywood economics of having recognizable leading actors in a pre-established franchise, there’s absolutely no reason this had to be an X-Files film. I’m almost inclined to think it didn’t need to be a film at all--if Duchovny and Anderson careers are enough on the downswing, the franchise is almost ideal for experimenting with direct to DVD or internet to DVD productions.

My understanding is that the film was made for a relatively small budget, so economically, it doesn’t need to win its opening weekend to make money and possibly justify (for the bean-counters) further films. Which is lucky for it, because judging from the still-completely-sold out Dark Knight screenings happening in four of the other theatres at the multiplex we were at, it’s going to get annihilated. I kind of hope it does get another shot, somewhere along the line--and I hope this time they actually resolve the alien conspiracy plotline in a way that makes more sense than I recall the series finale doing.

Speaking of The Dark Knight: still haven’t seen it. Maybe next week at a matinee. Maybe the week after that. Neither T nor I have the stomach for crowds at the moment, and only free passes seem to be enough to get us to brave facing the public at the moment.

A

Quote of the Day/Dribs and Drabs

“Ideas are like pumpkins, they just float through the air, and hit people on the head”. Alan Moore, quoting R.A.Lafferty.

***

Things are going neither badly nor particularly well. Lots of waiting to do, which means a fair amount of worrying. It's irritating knowing there's going to be no information coming any time soon, because anyone who might have any's going to be preoccupied with San Diego.

Weather's been apocalyptic in the best way the last few nights. Lots of lightning. Terrible for the animals and my sinuses, but vaguely energizing, somehow. Energy I desperately need at the moment...

Latest spec movie script is like pulling teeth. I've been putting off working on anything else while I force myself just to get a basic first draft done, after which it should get easier. For me, at least, it's easier to fix something than create it. Then again, polishing material is usually 90% of my process on any given piece, which, if this script follows suit, means I'll be finished with it sometime in 2016...

It occurred to me the other day that I may be a better editor than I am writer. Then I decided that was stupid. What I am is a more successful editor than writer. At least this year, I am, seeing as I'm making money editing and, well, not from writing. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that...

Tori Amos' COMIC BOOK TATTOO is really neat to look at, but it's a stone-cold bitch to carry boxes of eight copies up a flight of stairs. At least Belle & Sebastian's anthology clocked in at a manageable size...

A

Suddenly, Without Warning

What a bizarre week. Almost none of the stuff I was hoping would happen did (most of it could still happen yet, but I'd've been happier if they happened faster), and a bunch of things I didn't expect to happen happened instead.

So, while I spent most of Monday and Tuesday thinking I'd have been better off putting a pen through my eyeball and deep into my brain instead of ever putting one to paper, and Wednesday shuffling around being what I believe the kids call "emo", tonight I find myself thinking I may actually be able to make a career out of this comics thing yet.

Now if the stuff I was hoping would happen on Wednesday actually does manage to happen next week (more likely the week after, thank you very much, San Diego Comic Con, for managing to make my life miserable even though I'm not attending you this year), I could actually be on to something.

Even if it doesn't: two steps forward and one step back is still a step forward.

A

PS: Anybody who tells me anything about The Dark Knight before I get to see it will face my wrath (real scary, I know.) I already know more about the film's story than I want to.

Healthy Skepticism

“I don’t care what your trainer says,” I said. “A healthy lifestyle does not ensure a long life.”

“You know more about this than a professional health consultant. This is what you’re telling me,” he said, not even trying to hide the accompanying sneer.

I’ll admit it: his self-righteous refusal to consider a differing viewpoint irritated me on a fundamental level. He needed to be taught a lesson. I said, “I’ve got ten dollars that says I, someone whose idea of strenuous activity is getting out of bed to go to the bathroom, will live longer than you, with all the time and money you’ve wasted trying to stave off the inevitable.”

He stepped back and looked at me. It took awhile. There’s a lot of me to look at. Finally, he slapped a ten dollar bill on the table with all the force his heavily muscled arm could must. “Show me your money,” he said.

I didn’t actually have ten dollars. But that was OK, because I did have a shovel, the surprisingly sharp edge of which I proceeded to bury in his face.

I like to think even the staunchest believer in the benefits of a healthy lifestyle would have to concede that I’d made my point. But there’s no reasoning with some people.

A

An Attempted Insomnia Demon Exorcism

OK, the more I think about this, the angrier I get.

Not eating a cracker that was freely given to me doesn't even qualify as a crime, much less a hate crime.

At the most, it's hate. And even if hate was to become a crime, well, I know a lot of people who should be getting arrested before someone who didn't eat the holy snack food. People who make death threats because someone decided not to engage in ritual cannibalism spring to mind.

There are so many jokes I could make about this whole thing, but they're all coming from a negative emotional space I want to spend as little time in as possible. Hopefully this (very restrained compared to what it was before I edited it) tirade will have served its cathartic purpose and I'll be able to sleep now.

***

Linda pointed out a story about a woman discovering she'd been carrying a bat around in her bra--after it had been there for six hours. Apparently, she felt it but thought it was her cell phone vibrating, which makes me wonder where the hell she keeps her cell phone.

But I can't throw stones. This reminds me of the time I found a giraffe in my underwear. I felt something moving around down there, but thought it was just the kangaroo.

A

The Future of Comics (I) Fiona Staples has let her previous online home, Good-Lucky.net, fall by the wayside. Now she can be found at the aptly named FionaStaples.com. Update your bookmarks accordingly.

***

THE ODDEST THING I WILL DO TODAY IN THE ROLE OF COMICS EDITOR

Spend thirty seconds tracking down the linguistic derivation of the term "props" (it comes from "propers", which itself is a short form of "proper respect".)

This would make some kind of sense if it actually appeared in a script, pitch, outline, or really had anything at all to do with the creation of a comic.

But it didn't.

***

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"...the new (HULK film) overdelivered, relative to its underpromise." David Davis, managing partner and entertainment analyst at Arpeggio Partners in Los Angeles.

I have a new goal in life: to make only underpromises, and then overdeliver on them.

A