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Welcome back to another installment of Running Up That Hill, the only column in the known universenamed after a Tori Amos Kate Bush¹ song that the columnist doesn't even like!

The topic of this week's column is, as the title implies, Are You SERIOUS? As in, are you serious about writing?

Notice that I didn't say, “are you serious about being a writer?” Because there's a certain romanticized charm and appeal to the notion of being a writer: the challenge of living up to the hard-drinking, hard-living ideals of your Ernest Hemingways and Charles Bukowskis; the mysterious, brooding persona that only a true artiste can attain; and the money, fame and glamour we see bestowed upon a select group of popular writers like Stephen King and John Grisham.

So, yeah, being a writer sounds like a pretty cool thing to do. But (and here comes the drumroll of the painfully obvious)... before you can be a writer, you've got to write.

And that's where a lot of us come up short.

***

Two years ago, I decided I wanted to be a writer – specifically, a comic book writer. I did a lot of research on the subject, the bulk of which was trying to get a handle on just how a comic book script is put together. After finding a couple of examples (and here's a good time to mention the excellent comic book script archive available right here on Scryptic Studios), I dove right in and started writing my first-ever comic book script.

And I worked on it late at night, after my wife went to bed, and sometimes on Sunday afternoons, if I didn't get caught up in a football game on TV. And even though I wasn't really spending all that much time writing, I thought of myself as wanting to be a writer.

Some time passed. I chipped away at that script, we had a baby (actually, my wife did all the work as far as the actual having of the baby), and for many months afterwards, I barely even thought about writing.

I thought about our beautiful little baby boy, and about how nice it would be to someday get a good night's sleep again. And I thought about how cool it would be to someday be a writer. But rare was the time in which I actually thought about writing, in the sense of, “You know what I'd really like to be doing right now? Writing!”

And yet...

The desire to be a writer never left me. And I grew frustrated at the dissonance between my oft-stated intention of being a writer and the amount of time I actually spent writing.

But the twin fears of rejection and failure were never far from my mind, and the inertia of several months of basically not writing at all made them all the stronger. I'd think about writing in the evenings after the baby was tucked in for the night. But I'd be tired, and I'd be scared of the blank piece of paper staring out at me from the computer screen, and it seemed so much safer to just put it off till tomorrow.

Because as long as I didn't actually try to write, and fail, I could safely still say I was going to be a writer one day. Just not today.

And that's when Elizabeth Genco kicked me in the ass.

***

Elizabeth is a self-described “writer, fiddle player, avid reader, and Tarotist living in Brooklyn, New York.” Time back way back², she wrote a column right here on Scryptic Studios called The Craft. One of her columns in particular was exactly the right message at the right time in my life to get me off my ass and onto... my butt?

Yes, you see, the concept Elizabeth espoused in this temporarily apocryphal column (once all the columns from the old site are migrated over to this new one, I'll add a link to it here so you can read it for yourself) was, quite simply,

BUTT IN CHAIR.

Here's a short excerpt:

"Butt in chair" is pretty self-explanatory. Indeed, you've probably heard the cacophony of voices out there in comics land, harping on "shut up and Do It", which is just "butt in chair" with perhaps a little snorting and chest thumping thrown in. In the end (pardon the pun), applying the seat of one's pants to the seat of one's chair is the only thing that will give you a finished piece of writing.

And another:

For me, "butt in chair" doesn't always mean working on a project. Sometimes my writing is just practice, noodling in the notebook, taking down stuff that I know that nobody will ever see. Trying on images, making shit up about folks on the subway, whatever. Before you dismiss this as a total waste of time, let me remind you that in every other field on the planet, there is practice. Artists have sketchbooks, basketball players dribble the ball around the court, and opera singers spend hours making those "mi mi mi" noises, all in the name of busting their chops.

There's a lot more to the column, including a corollary of “Butt In Chair” called “Butt On The Couch,” which is all about the need for time and space in which to gestate new ideas. But the thing that stood out to me, that seemed as if it was written especially as a motivational tool just for my benefit, was those three simple words:

BUTT IN CHAIR.

It's a concept that's simple to grasp, but not always simple to implement.

And yet...

It actually IS simple to implement. As simple as putting your butt in the chair, and telling yourself you're not going anywhere until you've gotten somewhere with whatever it is you're writing.

It just seems like it's not simple sometimes. Because the demands and desires of Life As We Know It – all the real, true, important people and things that make up our world – often come into conflict with Butt In Chair.

And there's where it all comes back to the topic of this week's column:

Are you SERIOUS?

I learned two things when I started applying the new gospel of Butt In Chair to my life. One, I wasn't really serious about writing before, because I let too many things get in the way of writing: playing computer games with friends online, watching TV, checking email, surfing the Internet. And two, I actually was serious now.

***

Time and time again, I come back to Butt In Chair as a personal mantra, when I'm struggling to carve out the time I feel I need in which to write, or when I have the time but not the inspiration.

Just last week, I got up early Sunday morning (5:30am) with my son so my wife could have a rare opportunity to sleep in a little. So I was hanging with him the first part of the day while she took care of some errands and some work for her job.

Around lunchtime, she took over son duty, freeing me up to write. I'd been looking forward to this chunk of several hours of uninterrupted writing time for most of the preceding week. And now that it was upon me, I was tired from getting up so early and uninspired from being so tired.

So I put Butt In Chair, and sat there. And thought about what I needed to be writing (a new transitional scene for an upcoming miniseries submission). And thought about how tired I was. And how the Cowboys game was probably on TV. And how maybe what I should really be doing is going to Vino's Brewpub and Pizzeria to take some photo reference for the very scene I needed to write.

And a dozen times, I started to get up and... go downstairs to say hi to my son and see what they were doing, or go to Vino's to take those photos, or go just check on the game for a little bit.

But I kept Butt In Chair, and kept forcing my focus back to the scene I'd been struggling to nail down the preceding several days. And the longer I sat, the more focused I got, and after a couple of hours of pretty much just sitting there thinking, perhaps jotting down the occasional note, it finally started coming together in my mind. And I started writing. And kept on, and kept on, and kept on until I was done.

And the scene's good. It works. It accomplishes exactly what it needs to to transition between what comes before and what comes after.

And that's how I know I'm serious about writing. And why, two years after deciding I wanted to be a writer, I now feel comfortable in saying that I am one.

So now that we've established the fact that I'm serious about writing comic books, the question remains:

Are YOU serious?

Footnotes & Bibliography

¹Last week, for several hours, this column's opening line did, indeed, lay the blame for the Kate Bush song, “Running Up That Hill,” squarely on the entirely innocent shoulders of Tori Amos. Sorry 'bout that, Tori!

²If you don't recognize “time back way back” as an expression from Russell Hoban's post-apocalyptic masterpiece, Riddley Walker, please go buy it from Amazon.com right this minute. It's quite possibly the most brilliant piece of post-apocalyptic fiction you've never read.

Welcome back to another installment of Running Up That Hill, the only column in the WWWorld¹named after a Kate Bush song that the columnist doesn't even like!

Last week, I told the story of my first-ever comic submission, which was a pitch to a romance anthology. Like many first romance comic submissions, it wasn't meant to be. And it wasn't one of those soft, “it's not you, it's me” kind of endings, either. For whatever reason, my pitch was just not what the publisher was looking for. In other words,

I was

REJECTED

for the first time in my new life as an aspiring comic book writer. And it felt pretty yucky, to tell you the truth.

Dictionary.com gives eight definitions for “reject.” The way I felt after having my submission rejected was a tie between definition #4 (“to discard as useless or unsatisfactory”) and #5 (“to cast out or eject; vomit”).

But luckily, I already had a plan B in place. If the romance book wouldn't have me, surely I had a good shot at the Postcards anthology Jason Rodriguez was putting together. There was an open call for submissions for one of the 16 stories. The hook for Postcards (which is a doozy!) is that all the stories are inspired by actual postcards sent in the early 1900s. So on the call for submissions page, there was this postcard:

The thing that struck me about this postcard was that the message written on the back had nothing at all to do with the “Birthday Greetings” sentiment expressed on the front. That just seemed downright peculiar. So, naturally, that's where my mind started wandering. The pitch requirements were both simple and strict: 40 words that captured the essence of the story you wanted to tell based on that postcard. So here's what I submitted:

He finally sent it – “Happy Birthday” – their signal, long-arranged.

It’s too late. She's married now.

She serves her husband dinner, thinking of the card.

Thinking of him . Longing for him.

Five years ago, it was a dream. Today, it's real.

With those 40 words, I cleared the first hurdle and was invited to submit a one-page pitch. The winner would be chosen from among those single-page pitches, so I had only one final hurdle standing between me and my first-ever comic book publication! And much like my experience with the romance submission, I got some encouraging positive feedback on the Postcards front (albeit in this case anonymously).

Surely this would be my golden opportunity, my crowning achievement, my moment in the sun. Heck, the phrase “creative genius” had been bandied about in reference to an idea of my creation – and not just by my beautiful and wonderfully supportive wife!

So, after all this buildup, after all my high hopes and expectations of success, what did I hear about my Postcards submission on the same day (Saturday, June 3^rd, 2006, if you must know) I got the rejection email on the romance thing, a meager handful of hours later?

I was

REJECTED

for the second time in my new life as an aspiring comic book writer. And much like the first rejection, it felt pretty yucky, to tell you the truth.

I spent the rest of the weekend feeling sorry for myself and... feeling sorry for myself some more.

And then the strangest thing happened.

I quit feeling sorry for myself, and instead, started feeling proud. Proud of myself for getting this far: actually diving into the deep end and submitting things to publishers. Because it affirmed something for me, going through the process – both the creative process and the emotional vulnerability – of sending a submission in so that someone I don't even know can say “Yay” or “Nay” to it.

It affirmed for me that this is what I want to do. I want to write comic books.

And if it takes rejection upon rejection to get there, then that's just how it has to be and I'll deal with it. Because nothing's going to stop me from being a comic book writer.

So having weathered the storm of my first two rejections coming on the same day, I started looking for the next opportunity for rejection. And it wasn't long before I found it:

Yes, it was another open call for submissions, this time for a new anthology titled Sequential Suicide. Having come what felt like so close to success with the romance and postcards submissions, I was Determined x 10² to give this new submission opportunity my very best shot.

So I wrote what I thought was a good story, then I wrote what I thought was an even better story, and then I hired Kristen Simon to edit the “better” story for me. Kristen is the editor for Shadowline Productions, Jim Valentino's imprint at Image Comics. She also freelances and edits numerous independent titles.

Kristen Simon, aka Editor Girl

So, I emailed the script to Kristen, after explaining to her that I thought this script was probably brilliant, although there was a 15% chance it actually sucked, and if the latter were true, I had written another script I could send her in its place.

Here's what she sent me back:

Ok, I read through this and I see some problems. First of all, reading through what you are supposed to be submitting, it seems like you are pushing it. They call for stories aimed at a general audience, including kids. But this 8 page story not only has rampant drug use, but swearing and nudity as well....

Further, when I read this story, you gave me NO reason to care about these characters. Why do I care that he's being shipped off, and why do I care that this woman cheated on him? ...

Not to mention that every page except one has 5 panels on it, which makes for a very boring layout visually. You can use 8 pages to tell a MUCH better story, I think.

Maybe you should send me the other one!

Given that she's an editor, I was a little surprised that she didn't just cut to the chase and tell me that

This story sucks, and therefore, you are

REJECTED

Well, to make a long column a little bit longer, I sent her the other story, she liked it and provided some valuable editorial guidance, and I hired a wonderful artist by the name of Juan Romera to illustrate it. Here's the first page (click the image for a full-size readable version):

I lettered it (many thanks to Jason Arthur for his expert tutelage) and sent it in. As with my two previous submissions, from the moment I sent it in, I felt really good about my chances. But unlike my two previous submissions, this time, rather than more rejection, I finally found

SUCCESS!

I'm pleased as punch for my story “Fall of the Triumvirate” to have been one of seven selected for publication in the 2007 edition of Sequential Suicide.

Now, what does all this have to do with you, Mr. and/or Ms. Aspiring Comic Book Writer? There are actually a handful of important lessons to be gleaned from my experience in getting to this point (i.e., finally bridging the deep, dark chasm of “unpublished”). And I'll be sharing those in upcoming columns.

But for now, the one thing I want to leave you with, because I think it's important, is simply this:

Don't give up.

If you want to write, write. Keep after it. Devote your “free” time and as much of your non-free time to your writing as possible. Treat it like a second job.

Don't let rejection get you down.

Use it to motivate yourself. Every submission that you create and submit, even if it gets rejected, is still a work of comic book art that you created. Maybe it's not what that particular publisher was looking for. Or maybe it's just really bad.

But even if it is really bad, that's okay. The more you create, the better you'll get -- if you're serious about working on and improving your craft. And since that's really the whole point of Scryptic Studios in the first place, I think it's fairly safe to assume that you are.

So, to sum up:

• Rejection = good.
• Success = better.
• Don't give up = words to live by + another Kate Bush song, for those keeping count!

Footnotes & Bibliography

¹ What some people refer to as, “The Internet.”

[I'm borrowing a page from my good buddy Caleb Monroe and posting reruns of my former Scryptic Studios column, Running Up That Hill. This is the first column I ever wrote, originally airing on November 30, 2006. For each column, I'll do a Then and Now thing: Then being the column as it originally appeared, and Now being my reaction to the column today. Should be fun... and quite possibly embarrassing, too!]

THEN - 11/30/06

March 2006. We're in Atlanta visiting my wife's dad. As we're getting ready to head out to dinner, my cell phone tells me I've got a voice mail. It's Barbara Kesel, the editor of Platinum Studios' romance comic anthology (to which I've submitted a pitch not two weeks ago).

“By The Southern Grace of God is a lovely and wonderful story...” she begins. My head is spinning. She likes my pitch and wants me to send her a plot synopsis!

I call her the next day from the Georgia Aquarium. The synopsis looks good; it's just what she needed to be able to recommend my story on up the line to the higher-ups. I'm on cloud 17. My first-ever pitch to a comic book publisher looks like it's got a seriously good chance of being accepted.

Back home in Little Rock a few days later, I get an email from Barbara. The powers that be at Platinum have requested bios from all potential contributors. Holy moly! Here I am, a never-published aspiring comic book writer, being asked to write a bio that will be included with my first published comic book story, in the event it is actually published – which is seeming more and more likely at this point.

Here's what I came up with:

When, at the age of eight, Elton Pruitt authorized his mom to sell all of his comics at a garage sale, he thought he had outgrown them. Sadly, these included numerous issues of Neal Adams’ now-legendary run on  Batman and Detective Comics.

Years later, Elton regained his senses and rediscovered his love of comic books. Around this time he also discovered a passionate dislike for Southern rock – Lynyrd Skynyrd, 38 Special, you name it – and proudly attested to its worthlessness throughout the halls of his high school in Searcy, Arkansas.

So it seems only fitting that his first published comic book story would revolve around a Lynyrd Skynyrd song.

Prior to his work in comic books, Elton worked as a copywriter for a small ad agency in Little Rock, where his pitch to Roller Funeral Homes of Arkansas (“We put the fun in funeral”) never quite caught on. His work for Five Miles Out writing the screenplay for their Immercenary video game was better received and led him into the fabled land of The Internet, where he has spent the last ten years programming custom web applications for Aristotle Inc.

Today – at the exact moment you are reading this, in all likelihood – Elton is hard at work on his next comic book project, a little something he likes to call Descartes the Zombie . Watch for it – and check out EltonPruitt.com for more information on Elton and his ongoing quest to become the 22^nd century’s second greatest living comic book writer (after Drew Melbourne, of cours e) .

I look back at that bio today, 7.5 months later, and don't know whether to laugh, cry, or have another beer. So, because I'm committed to writing this column tonight – and because Diamond Bear's new Presidential IPA is a truly fine example of the India Pale Ale that is the pinnacle of beer-drinking pleasure – I'll have another beer and continue.

I've come a long way since writing that bio in March. And to borrow a phrase from the Grateful Dead, “what a long, strange trip it's been.”

I'm still not published. That's the albatross around my neck that I work every day to rid myself of. More (much more) on that in future columns.

What happened to my romance anthology submission that seemed so promising last spring? I have no idea, honestly. On June 3rd, I got an email from Barbara informing me that my pitch for "By the Southern Grace of God" was rejected. I know she liked it, so I can only assume the higher-ups did not.

Drew Melbourne was my idol at that time. I'd only recently discovered his Think Like Tomorrow columns on this very site, and they gave me a huge dose of inspiration and education at just the right time to convince me to embrace my dreams and flip off my fears and take a serious shot at becoming a comic book writer. (In a future column, I'll share with you the first-ever email I sent Drew, in which I did a fairly good job of aping his uniquely comedic style.)

Today, Drew and I are Archenemies, in a friendly sort of way, and I have him to thank for inviting me to write this column. Descartes the Zombie is struggling to be born (much, much more on that in future columns). And in the very near future, I'll be working with the perfect artist to bring “By the Southern Grace of God” to comic book life, as a self-published story.

I hope you'll tune in to future installments of Running Up That Hill, in which I'll divulge important tidbits such as “why I'm glad my sister-in-law is a shrink” and “what I've learned from Luke and Laura in the last quarter-century.”

NOW - 10/18/08

I think this actually worked pretty well as a "pleased to meet me" sort of column.

This actually seems more like 5 years ago than a mere 2!