Creating Narrative

Playing with Pacing

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Poetry relies on rhythm and pacing. The meaning is felt, both with the words and there imagery and with the flow of each syllable; the positioning of each line and stanza; the hardness or softness of the consonants, and the selection of rhyme and pattern.

Graphic novels also demand their own pacing. Each page and panel requires enough text to pull the reader through the story line while allowing room for the artwork to stand on its own. Within those panels the number of boxes can guide the reader through larger chunks of artwork, or distract them entirely.

Blended together, these art forms can contend, contrast and complement each other, all at once. I wanted to see if it was possible for them to dance together.

Early in Fit the First, the text placement and pacing establishes that stanzas and even lines will be broken up. However, at this point, I tried to stay true the Lewis Carroll’s original intent for the flow of the poem—only breaking up text where the punctuation seemed to indicate that it was appropriate

This didn’t last long. By the time we get to Fit the Second, the Bellman’s demand for dramatic flair starts to break apart text into separate boxes within panels (indeed, he can’t even seem to contain himself inside a panel). In Fit the Third, his insistence on interruptions starts to take it even further.

And after our narrator seems to regain some modicum of control in Fits four and five, it all seems to fall apart again in the fragmented surrealism of the Barrister’s Dream.

But where the pacing really gets interesting, and where I’m particularly proud of this adaptation is Fit the Eighth. The excitement of the discovery moves quickly, then the pacing slows to a crawl in the final act. You can feel the slow deliberate agony of the waiting, searching, and finally resignation. I absolutely love the way this turned out.

The Impending Darkness

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For someone who “didn’t mean anything but nonsense!” Mr. Carroll certainly captured an profound number of truths about life in The Hunting of the Snark. One of the most pervasive of these themes is the sense that we have all the time in the world—as many months, weeks, and days as we could possibly want. We have time for jokes, stories, dreams, lessons, tea, and knitting. Then, suddenly, nightfall has arrived, and all our time is spent.

The need to catch the Snark before nightfall of this very day drives our characters onward through the poem. And nothing creates quite so beautiful a deadline as the transformation of the sky at twilight.

We start to see the transformation in Fit the Fifth. The valley seems to bring on the darkness faster than the rest of the island. Butcher and Beaver witness a moon rise well before dusk—and find themselves on the verge of complete darkness before they band together and leave the valley.

The sky continues to shift during Barrister’s Dream, and our crew finds themselves at the start of Fit the Seventh at the time of day when all the blue yields to menacing yellows, oranges, and reds. The Banker obviously should have heeded the sky’s warning—but it does seem like nothing and no one could persuade him to be more cautious in his zeal.

Finally, Fit the Eighth happens in those final moments of light, when we all know that the sky will soon be dark, but we have no idea what it will do between now and then. Some evenings the sky decides to visit every single color on the wheel before relinquishing to the night. Some evenings we blink—and the stars are out. It’s a time of incredible possibility, wonder, and anticipation.

Working with Artists

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“So you use an existing poem, you hire artists to do the artwork…what do you actually do then?”

In describing my projects to others, this is probably the most common question. It’s understandable. At first blush, it would seem like I’m more of a patron of the work than a creator. But please allow me to make the case that I actually do quite a bit more.

The Setup

I like to start with world building.
I pick source material that gives me hints—but also gives me room.The vegetation, the animals, the climate, the terrain (‘in what furnace was thy brain?’ 😉). Figuring out what sort of environment the characters and story will move through helps me to think about the themes I want to present in that particular adaptation.

Which flows right into the next phase: “What’s the big idea?”
The source material I use is old (public domain and all), which means it typically has a huge trove of literary analysis and previous adaptation. I ignore all of it—at least at first. Instead I start with: What do I want this to be about? That becomes my anchor point, though a flexible one. Everything I do is iterative, including that core concept.

Once all these touchpoints are built, I build out specifications and storyboards. I take all the raw, chaotic idea and turn them into a coherent brief for my artists— a combination of example art, hilariously rough sketches, and paragraphs describing the big ideas.

The Creation

Now it’s time to hire an artist and turn them lose right?

Wrong!

Now it’s time to “date” artists—not literally (unless that’s what you want), but creatively. I’m looking for someone who:

  • Is imaginative but can still align with my vision
  • Responds promptly with concept sketches
  • Can handle a year-long commitment
  • Is open to feedback
  • And, importantly, is willing to hand off creative control at the end (i.e., work for hire)

That’s a lot to ask, and unsurprisingly, finding a great long-term match can be tough.

But the responsibility is mutual. I have to be the right creative partner for them too. That means:

  • Giving clear, timely, understandable feedback
  • Sticking to my own direction unless I’m willing to pay for the course change
  • Being receptive to their ideas and surprises
  • Paying on time, every time—ideally with an advance and a delivery payment

All of this turns into a revision cycle that usually looks like:

  1. Brief (me)
  2. Sketch (artist)
  3. Feedback (me)
  4. Inked version (artist)
  5. Feedback (me)
  6. Color version (artist)
  7. Feedback (me)
  8. Final Draft (artist)
  9. Final Version (me)

It’s a lot. And if you’re doing something similar, you’ll need a system to track it all—feedback, drafts, panel status, page progress, character sheets, everything. I use ClickUp (I already use it for a couple other businesses), but there are plenty of options.

The Build

Once all the artwork is done, then we get to assemble everything into a cohesive, polished work. This includes:

  • Setting page layouts and trim sizes
  • Adding lettering
  • Reviewing the art for inconsistencies I somehow missed earlier
  • Fixing those issues (sometimes myself, sometimes by rehiring the artist)
  • Writing supplemental text and bonus material
  • Working with printers and dealing with color profiles
  • Setting up digital distribution
  • Finding physical sales channels

And probably several things I’m forgetting.

This last phase—the Build—is the one I always underestimate. It feels like an afterthought when I’m starting out, but in reality it takes 30–50% of the total time. It’s also the stage where it’s easiest to throw your hands up and quit.

If you ever find yourself stuck in this stage, remember something a very wise friend once told me:
“Of course this part sucks. It’s supposed to suck. If it sucks, everything is going according to plan. So do what you have to, and find whatever joy you can along the way.”

What I do…..

In no particular order, under the label of “creator,” I am:

  • The Bank
  • The Imagination
  • The Project Manager
  • Quality Control
  • Editor
  • Art Director
  • Finished Artist
  • Publisher

Now… if only I could figure out how to compress that into a single sentence when someone asks…