However, I’d like to offer a qualification for the following statement: “Here’s a hint to the writer and artist: if the writer has a person saying one thing, don’t show her doing the exact opposite.” Okay, it could be a problem if readers don’t understand why there would be a discrepancy. (I haven’t read the issue, but based on the review it sounds like there isn’t a good reason for the character to explain why she’s refusing to train as she is training). However, under some circumstances, having a character say one thing while doing another might be dramatically effective.

• The character is being hypocritical. For example, a character talking about the need for sacrifice at the same time he’s eating a lavish dinner.  In most cases, a hypocritical character won’t be aware of the hypocrisy, but perhaps he does know and just doesn’t care what the other characters in the scene think of him.
• The character’s perspective of the situation is off. For example, if a really angry guy gets asked to calm down, he might scream something like “I’m being perfectly calm.  Don’t ****ing tell me to calm down!”
• The character is lying from off-panel. For example, John might give Mark’s widow a sob story about the horrible “accident” that killed Mark, but as he says that the camera flashes back to John shooting Mark in the back.
• The character is using misleading language or a double-entendre. For example, if Mark’s widow thanked him for being there with him until the very end, he could say something like “I always had his back.”

If readers don’t understand why there is a discrepancy between what a character says and what you’re showing the readers, readers will probably get confused.

1A.  If you got your symbol from a list somewhere, it’s probably too obvious. For example, tree -> life, fire -> destruction/Hell, spring -> rebirth/life, apple -> loss of innocence, water -> atonement or cycles, etc.  Think on it some more and you’ll probably come up with something that fits your story better than these.  For example, the recurring symbol for destruction/doomsday in Watchmen is a ticking clock.  In The Godfather, death is usually preceded by an orange.  (!)

2. In a comic book script, make sure that you tell your artist how you want the symbol to appear. Otherwise, the artist may inadvertently mangle the meaning of the symbol. For example, if technology is supposed to be a sign of progress and civilization in your story, you’d probably want the cars to look shiny and new rather than grimy and decrepit. Unless you specify otherwise, it’s up to the artist’s judgment.

3. Give us context clues to evaluate the symbol and its meaning. Possible examples include what sort of setting a symbol is surrounded by, what a character or characters think about or do with the symbol, etc. For example, in Lord of the Flies, the characters do battle over a symbol of civilization (the glasses that can be used to make fire).

4. If you do symbols, do so because it adds something to the story. For example, the aforementioned grandfather clocks in Watchmen raised the stakes for the heroes by foreshadowing what would happen if they failed (nuclear apocalypse). I would not recommend using symbols because you feel like you have to or because you think it’ll make you look smart or literary.

5. Ambiguity in symbolism is alright, but make sure we at least know what the options are.  That will reduce the chance of confusing readers.

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1.  Will the panels have enough space to comfortably fit the content? As a rule of thumb, I think it’s especially important to check this if if the page has 7+ low-action panels or 4+ action panels.  (Low-action panels, like most dialogue, usually require less space because they don’t need to show as many things happening.  For example, a dialogue panel might just have a person’s head, whereas an action shot of two boxers going at it will probably include at least the upper bodies of two men).

2.  Will the panel’s perspective portray everything you want to show? For example, if two characters are facing each other, it can be quite tricky to show their expressions, particularly if you’re trying to focus on one.  90 degree side-shots get boring fast and have trouble emphasizing either subject.

Another perspective problem is that the writer may script the page thinking that he will be able to show several things in a panel that just can’t be shown well in a single shot.  For example, check out this sample panel.

Panel 4.   Mary looks down at Brian’s shoes, which are spattered with blood.  Brian grins sheepishly at her.

It would be quite difficult to get Brian’s face in a panel that shows the shoes in enough detail to capture the blood, particularly if you’re trying to squeeze eight panels onto the page. I’d recommend either splitting this into two panels or using an insert panel.

3.  Is each character emotionally coherent in each panel? An artist can only give each character one expression per panel.  Your artist would be completely screwed if you gave him a panel like the following.

Panel 1.
JOHN:  I love you.
ALISA:  I think it’s time to start seeing other people.
JOHN:  You filthy whore!

Obviously, there’s no way to make John look both doting/loving and outraged in the same panel.  You need to split this into two separate panels or at least use an insert panel to separate the two emotions.  It’s better to figure out whether your panels are emotionally coherent before a rewrite will blow your schedule.

A parting thought: once you’re convinced that the script is physically possible, I’d recommend giving your artist a lot of latitude to set up the panels on his own.  You might have envisioned it one way, but I’d recommend deferring to the guy that’s actually a visual professional.  (If you actually know more about art than your artist does, you are screwed). Writers aren’t quite as good at setting up interesting poses.  In particular, I think we tend to over-rely on shots that are head-on and level or 90 degree sideshots.  A head-on shot is almost never the most interesting way to portray something.   See this article for more details on staging interesting panels.

1.  There’s less payoff now.  You’re telling us about the hero twelve years ago to set us up for something interesting later, not because what happened twelve years ago is the most interesting part of this story.  If it were the most interesting part of this story, why not just write that story instead? (Relatedly, if the backstory is more interesting than the present, you’re writing the wrong story).

2.  Backstory–particularly a flashback– is  generally much less urgent and more boring.  When you use a flashback, we already know how the flashback ends: the character survives to become the person he is currently.  When the reader already knows the ending, reading is much less enjoyable.

3.  It’s generally harder to follow, particularly if the backstory is layered with events.  (X happened 12 years ago, Y happened 7 years ago, then we learn that Z happened 10 years ago, etc.)  For example, Heroes’ backstory is convoluted even before you factor in the time-travel.

Now I’d like to show an example of backstory that is very well-executed.  This is how Silent Dragon #1 introduces us to Renjiro’s history.  He is confronted by a ghost as he walks through a forest.

Here’s why I really like this.

1.  It is focused on the present, not the past. We learn a lot of interesting details about Renjiro now. For example, he shows that he is competent and skeptical by trying to disprove that he’s actually seeing a ghost.  He suggests that he isn’t comfortable about his work in the fourth panel.  He minimizes his role but doesn’t claim that his work is honorable.

2.  We aren’t bogged down in details.  This is paced very quickly and it’s easy to follow.

3.  It has conflict.

(A parting thought… I used a comic book example above, but these observations apply just as much to novels).

THE EXCELLENT

• It produces scripts that are generally easier to read and navigate than Microsoft Word.
• Easy to learn.  It took me 10 minutes to figure it out by trial and error.
• It’s extremely good at converting scripts into typeset.  (You can see an example here).  A typeset separates the in-panel text (like dialogue, captions and sound effects) from the text that won’t actually appear in the panel, like your directions to the artist.  That’s useful because it helps you gauge how large the panels will have to be to accommodate the text.
• It’s free!

THE GOOD

• Handles comments notably better than Word.
• It’ll help you keep your comic book documents separate from your other files.
• If you like to fill out index cards with important details about characters or places, it can help keep those details accessible and organized.
• Built-in spellchecker.  Not that important for a professional proofreader, but you might find it helpful.

THE BAD

• It’s not as easy to add dialogue as new pages or panels.
• They should add buttons for New Panel and New Page.
• It can’t save scripts as Word files.  Everybody (like friends and editors) is comfortable with Word.  Right now, if I have a Celtx script that I want to show you, I have to also tell you how to download Celtx and pray that you figure out the software quickly.

One last note. I haven’t had a chance to test its printing capabilities yet.  Given that Celtx can’t produce Word files (as far as I know), its ability to print usable scripts is essential.

1. The status quo of the main character.  What is this character like before everything goes wrong?  In the Lord of the Rings, for example, Frodo celebrates Bilbo’s birthday before being called upon to save the world.  In Superhero Nation, Gary is a workaholic accountant.
2. The inciting event.  What throws the character off his status quo?  Usually, this is the point at which everything starts to go wrong.  For example, in Superhero Nation, Gary narrowly survives a car-bombing very early on.  This forces several changes on him:  first, he is transferred away from his job for his safety.  So he’s completely out of his social comfort zone.  Second, assassins are now trying to kill him.
3. A goal for the main character.  This is usually a response to the inciting event.  This can be as simple as “I want everything to return to normal.”   Gary wants to rebuild his life by getting a job somewhere and he wants to survive the assassins.  This brings him to the superpowered Office of Special Investigations.  Wacky hijinks ensue!  (Buy the book when it finally gets published, heh heh).

A lot of manuscripts get bogged down in details that are typically too far removed from these three goals.

1. Prologues.  They usually lack immediacy and, far too often, they just skip the main character entirely.  Ick.  The main character is almost always the best available way to hook readers into your story.
2. Backstory.  Typically, it doesn’t really matter what your character was doing 5 or 10 years ago.  Readers want to know what’s happening now.  If you are literally unable to start the story without explaining what happened 5 or 10 years ago, you may wish to reevaluate the starting point for your story.  Ahem.  “If your backstory is more interesting than your current era, you’re writing the wrong story.“  If you have to introduce backstory, try to keep it to a bare minimum. Tell us only what we need to understand what is going on now.
   
3. Side-characters.  If the side-characters are the best hook to your story, there’s probably something wrong with the main character and/or the plot.  For example, if a fantasy novel wants to show us the parents of the hero right before he is born, that will trap us in backstory.  Furthermore, will readers care about the hero’s parents?  Probably not.  If they were the most interesting characters in this book, they would be the leads.  Harry Potter #1 was very well-written, but it made a questionable choice to start the book when Harry was an infant.  It was a very slow beginning.
4. Elaborate settings.  Typically, the main character is a better hook into the story than the world is.  A strong character can be relatable and likable, mostly unlike a strong world.  Try to limit the setting at the very beginning to just what we need to understand the main character and the plot.

I originally wrote this article for novelists, but it’s largely true for comic-book writers as well.  The main difference is that a comic-book writer has even fewer pages to establish the status quo.  What is your Peter Parker like before he becomes Spiderman?  If your character has a particularly interesting origin story, I’d recommend giving the status quo no more than half an issue (12 or 16 pages, probably).  But readers tend to appreciate introductions that are much shorter. A good establishing shot is typically sufficient and lets you get to the interesting stuff faster. (I love alternate identities as much as anyone, but usually the superhero identity is more gripping.  Would you want to read a comic called The Amazing Peter Parker or Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne?)

In a comic that probably ranges from 24-32 pages, you really need to get to the inciting event (probably the radioactive spider-bite or however else your hero got his powers) as soon as possible.  In a superhero story, I’d recommend giving the hero his powers early enough in the first issue that you can introduce his goal.  Ideally you can conclude the first issue with a fight or some other climactic event that gives you some room to offer some resolution (which satisfies readers) while setting up a greater conflict that will leave the readers wanting more.