#comics script

I’m Guest Blogging at Oneshi Press about How to Write Comics

The theme for November is writing. Like, a lot. Writing so, so many words. To date, I’ve written nearly 10.5K words of my 50K goal for #NaNoWriMo. (You can follow along with my progress on Twitter if you want, by the way.) And, because that’s apparently not enough writing for me…I’m also guest blogging at Oneshi Press this month!

I’ve been writing, editing, and publishing comics for a while now.…

A surreal five-page comic script I wrote as part of a class on comics writing, with the prompt “Why did the chicken cross the road?” 

Transcript under the “read more”.

Author’s Note:  I was teaching the day two troubled boys, likely mentally ill, shot up Columbine High School.  The middle school I taught at was attached to our town’s high school.  I remember staring at the news report, not wanting to believe it, tears rolling down my face.  The shooters reminded me of kids I knew in our school... and i shuddered.  I watched more news stories like that happen over the following years... as a teacher, I wondered - would I run?  Could I throw myself over a student, shielding her with my own body at the cost of my life?  Could I talk some sense into the shooter who was, after all, just a young person - not much more than a child?

I was teaching the day a mentally ill high school student murdered a classful of kindergarten students two towns over from my school.  At the time, my son was the same age.  I had to keep teaching through the lockdown, telling my fourth grade students that everything was fine, even as announcements over the intercom let them know it wasn’t.  The hard part?  Not going for my phone to call my husband, wanting nothing more than to hug my boy, my heart breaking for the parents waiting to find out if their child was among the dead.  I cried for days.  I still have nightmares where my son is dead in my arms.

I wrote this in the days after the Newtown tragedy.  It was my way of healing.  It’s fragments of a story, not a complete story, and largely in comic script form - not a lot of direction to the artist, as Marvel and I both feel that it’s not necessary.  It’s only now that I feel ready to share it.  It is set in Matt Fraction’s HAWKEYE series.

No. I probably won’t ever finish it... the parts I needed to write are written.  If you feel moved to finish it for me, please do... just give me co-credit writing.

I hope you never need to go through this sort of thing yourself.

____________________________________

Hawkeye:  First Person Shooter

Just another day - another gray midwinter day in New York City.  Cold, raw drizzle, but no snow... Colds that won't go away... That long stretch between the holidays and a point when it's really worth going outside.  Clint is working on refinishing an antique bow when the phone rings.  It's Kate, and she's crying almost too hard to be understood.

KATE

Clint... oh, god... Clint, Clint...

CLINT

Kate?  Katie, what’s wrong?  What’s...

KATE

...the news.  Turn on the t.v.  Oh, god, Clint...

Cut to the tv screen - standard local news.  Grim anchor, cut to grimmer on-site reporter.  Police cars, fire, ambulance, lights flashing.  A low brick building.  A school.  A shot of the entry sign - an elementary school.  More shots - children being hurried across an open space.  A photo of two young men - looks like high school yearbook shot.  Banner across the bottom screams the message - SCHOOL SHOOTING.

REPORTER

... Confirmed that one suspect has been shot dead by police, but that a second shooter is still at large.  Details are...

CLINT

Oh... god.  Not again.  Not @#$ again...

KATE

I’m coming over... I need... I can’t... I just... it's worse than the last time.  They're saying... Oh, god, I'm gonna be sick...

CLINT

I’m here, Katie.  Come over.

Shit.  Shit shit shit.  Not again.  You’d think that there would only be so much hell on earth people could take, some limit to the evil people could do... but who’s he kidding?  He’s seen the worst.  He’s seen the world freakin’ end, for chrissakes.  There is no limit to the evil people can do to one another...

But there IS a limit to how much people can take.

Another call.  Another voice on the line, just as strained, but not in tears.

CAP

Clint, we have a situation.  I’m calling you in.

CLINT

Not a good time, Cap... have you...

CAP

I’ve seen the news.  (beat)  We ALL saw the news.

CLINT

(eyes closed, face infinitely weary)

And the situation?

CAP

Natasha’s gone.

CLINT

(bolt upright now, eyes wide)

WHAT?

CAP

We need you to find her and bring her in.  Before...

He doesn’t need to say anything else.  No need - they both know where Natasha has gone.  She’s gone after the shooter.  Clint slaps the phone shut, buries his face in his hands.  Shit.  

KATE

(coming in the door, body language tentative, off his obvious distress)

Clint?

CLINT

You got your bow?

KATE

My...

CLINT

(up, grabbing his jacket, grabbing his bow and quiver.)

We’re going to Connecticut.

FLASHBACK - December.  Just before Christmas.  Avengers Tower.  A Friday night... and it should have been a Christmas party.  Only nobody feels much like celebrating.  Not with that news on the big screen.  Various Avengers are clustered around the set, faces showing varied reactions - grief, disbelief, horror, tears.  Clint has been consoling Jessica, who is visibly shaken and crying... but he’s also the one who notices Natasha, alone, on the periphery.  Visibly NOT watching the screen.  Not watching... but all too aware of exactly what’s happened.  Clint leaves Jessica with a tissue and a mug of something warm, makes his way out of the light and company to Natasha, in the shadows by the windows.

NATASHA

I’m fine.

CLINT

I didn’t ask. (beat)  And you’re not, by the way.  None of us are.

NATASHA

Then I’ll BE fine.  It’s not as if...  (close on her eyes, haunted)  Not as if I haven’t seen this sort of thing before.

CLINT

I know.  And that’s why I know you’re NOT fine.  If you really were fine... that wouldn’t be fine.  That would be just... wrong.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, and after a moment she covers it with her own, but still doesn’t look at him.

NATASHA

I hate it when you do that.

CLINT

Do what?

NATASHA

Know.  Know... things.

CLINT

You’re my best friend.  It’s my job to know things.  To be there.

NATASHA

Even when I don’t want you to be?

CLINT

Especially when you don’t want me to be.  (A beat, and he looks into her haunted eyes.)  You’re thinking about the orphanage.  Don’t.  Don’t do that to yourself, Nat.

NATASHA

They were so young... (She’s tearing up now.)  It shouldn’t have happened.  Not then... not now.  I should have been stronger.  I should have...

CLINT

Natasha.

NATASHA

Death is too good for him!  (Whirls on him, because he’s the only one there, angry now.)  Death... shooting him... it was too easy.  Too quick.  He should have LIVED, Clint... should have had to face... should have had to know...

CLINT

Nat.

NATASHA

But I’d have slit his throat myself, if I’d been there!  (The tears spill, and she breaks away.)  Or his gut.  A bullet in his gut.  As slow, bleeding death... looking at their faces... looking at all those little faces...

CLINT

Sometimes, we don’t get a say.  It’s done.  You weren't there.  None of us were.

NATASHA

But if...

CLINT

But, if... Nothing.  It's awful.  It happened.  But... It's done.  All that's left is the grieving.  And the healing.  

......................

Natasha has the shooter pinned against a tree.  One knife to his throat... One to his abdomen.  He's a kid... Maybe sixteen.  Wide eyes under a black ski mask, pushed up his forehead.  He doesn't seem to understand what's going on.  He's sweating, muttering, hands picking at his jeans, his guns on the grass.

Both Hawkeyes have drawn and sighted.  Clint steps out, letting himself be seen.

CLINT

Nat... You don't want to do this.

NATASHA

Neither do you.  He deserves to suffer, Clint.  To know how it feels to be powerless in the face of evil.

CLINT

You aren't evil, Nat.  You're not that person anymore.

NATASHA

I'll always be that person, Clint!  Always.  When you've done what he's done... What I've done... It's always there.  Inside you.  Always.  Those faces...

(She’s losing it... close to hysteria, caught up in her own memories, her own pain.)

He needs to see the faces.  He needs to see, and hurt, and ... And...

CLINT

(Softly, gently)

And it won't change the past. It won't bring them back... Any of them.  If you do this, it's just one more ghost following you around.  (beat)   Let it go, Nat.  

(He lowers the bow, holding out a hand to her.).

Come on home.  

For a long moment, she doesn't move.  Then her head droops, her shoulders sag, and she flings the knives away.  She stumbles into Clint, who folds her into a protective embrace, steering her further away from the still-muttering kid.  He doesn't see the kid's eyes flash, falling on the guns... But then, he doesn't need to.

KATE

(Staying under cover, watching, her own eyes glinting with tears.)

Give me a reason.  Go ahead.  Give me a reason to call it self defense.

(She lets him kneel, fumbling for the weapon, lets him almost get it loaded... Almost.).

Awww... Hell.

With an expression that says plainly that she's probably going to regret this, she lets an arrow fly.  It hits the gun, pinning it to the ground through its trigger.  The shooter looks up, startled, as Kate breaks cover and uses the bow as a pole arm, whacking him hard across the face.  He sprawls, out cold..

KATE

Now I gotta clean my bow.  Lovely.

A few weeks ago, a Facebook group I belong to broke out into a bit of an argument about the quality of one member’s work, which led to a challenge between him and another member of the group.

In need of a neutral script, I volunteered Page One of my “Metrognome” 4-pager from the upcoming Steampunk anthology from GrayHaven Comics. The script follows.

I encourage people to comment on which of these two versions they prefer, as the moderators of the aforementioned group put the kibosh on the showdown.

METROGNOME by Matt Krotzer

PAGE ONE

PANEL ONE - ⅓ page

CAP: Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Exterior shot of coffee bar. Victorian style building w/ large ornate ironwork signage “Jumping Beans”. Building is very classic but the streets are clearly modern day - lots of pedestrians, young and stylish, chatting on phones, buskers on the sidewalks, etc. NYC taxi cabs among the cars.

PANEL TWO - ⅔ page width, ⅓ page height

Interior - primarily focused on lengthy line of patrons waiting to get coffee. Young twentysomethings in modern styles. Hipsters, some talking to one another, some using smartphones, etc. At the counter can be seen an ornate pipework contraption, almost Dr. Seuss-like in its absurdity of pipes, gears, dials and widgets. Glass tubes/hoppers w/ coffee beans descend from the ceiling. A menu board is above the counter. Several small bistro tables are occupied to one side of the panel. Various depictions of, or actual compasses decorate the walls of the cafe. (Gnomes like compasses.)

Snippets of conversations pepper the scene. Leave some breathing room for these to be inserted. (I know, I know… all that detail, and the guy wants space...)

PANEL THREE - ⅓ page width, ⅓ page height

Two-shot of proprietor, cash register and customer. (See reference for proprietor description.) Customer is a young woman with Bettie Page hair and a vintage dress. (Google Kelly Sue DeConnick for visual inspiration, but without glasses.) She looks a bit awestruck.

Customer: Wow! This place is really--

Proprietor: --Jumping? Aye, we get that a lot. What can I getcha?

PANEL FOUR - ⅓ page

Customer holds out her smartphone like a microphone, looking hopeful and curious.

A blog I posted yesterday about my comics-scripting efforts and how they're going, including links to various online sources of both inspiration and practical help.

  Panel 1. Title and credits space. Could be incorporated into a panel.

  TITLE AND CREDITS:

Owl and Pussycat

script by J. L. Bell

art by YOUR NAME HERE

  Panel 2. Interior of a helicopter in flight over a great American city. Two masked crime-fighters, PUSSYCAT (a female in a somewhat feline costume) and OWL (a male with some sort of wings and big sunglasses), have knocked out three armed guards. They appear to have cornered the evil genius DR. MEGALO, who’s backed up against his robot pilot. There is an open doorway on the side of the helicopter.

  OWL:

Give it up, Dr. Megalo! You’ve lost again!

  Panel 3. Close up of DR. MEGALO grinning and holding up a small spherical object.

  DR. MEGALO:

No, my furry and feathered foes! It is you who have lost!

  Panel 4. DR. MEGALO tosses the small sphere out the open port of the helicopter as OWL and PUSSYCAT watch in dismay.

  DR. MEGALO:

When my mini-X-bomb hits the ground, it will level half your precious city!

  *

  PAGE TWO (five panels)

  Panel 1. DR. MEGALO’s evil cackle is interrupted by the sight of PUSSYCAT jumping out of the helicopter after the bomb.

  DR. MEGALO (in helicopter):

Ha ha ha ha ha--wha’?!

  Panel 2. Plummeting through the air, PUSSYCAT reaches out for the bomb.

  Panel 3. PUSSYCAT grabs the bomb.

  Panel 4. Expertly defusing the bomb with her claws, PUSSYCAT twists around and starts to yowl upward.

  PUSSYCAT:

Yowwwwwl!

  Panel 5. PUSSYCAT continues to fall, still yowling.

  PUSSYCAT:

Yowwwwwwwlll!!

  *

  PAGE THREE (three panels)

  Panel 1. OWL swoops down, wings extended, and catches PUSSYCAT in midair.

  PUSSYCAT:

Yoww—

  OWL:

What the heck were you doing?! You can’t fly!

  Panel 2. OWL levels off in flight, cradling PUSSYCAT in his arms. She is smiling.

  PUSSYCAT:

But I have a husband who can fly. He just can’t see well enough in daylight to spot this little bomb and catch it.

  PUSSYCAT:

So what took you so long?

  Panel 3. Long shot of OWL and PUSSYCAT flying after the helicopter over the city.

  OWL:

I had to plant a tracer in Dr. Megalo’s helicopter, didn’t I?

  PUSSYCAT:

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