Welcome to Pageturners, a book I’m writing in which I share what I’ve learnt – and am still learning – about comic writing, film writing, novel writing and how new writers can sell their stories. I’ll publish a chapter or a section per week, available for free here on Iconoblast. And I welcome your feedback or questions, so do leave a comment below!
Missed the Pageturners intro? Read it here.
Pageturners 2: The Writer’s Landscape
Exposition
One of the earliest challenges in writing is handling exposition. How do you get your story across without a great chunk of potentially boring explanation? There are ways, but first, let’s look at the nature of the problem. In comics, talking head scenes are especially frowned upon. What makes it harder to make sense of is how Victorian novels were full of exposition. And many of the other books I read as a kid. Confusingly, I loved them, so I’ve had to ‘unlearn’ that enjoyment, which means I don’t have the tolerance for exposition I once had. For example, I adored She by Rider Haggard as a boy. I tried desperately to get hold of all the sequels from the library. I re-read it recently and found the reams of exposition very off-putting.
Similarly, I used to enjoy the works of pulp fiction writer Dennis Wheatley. He would have British secret agent Gregory Sallust discussing World War Two with Goering over the dining table with Gregory’s mistress, the beautiful Erika Von Epp, looking on admiringly. Wheatley would devote an entire chapter to their table talk with no action.
I loved it! Modern readers might say it’s establishment Tory Wheatley, rambling on with his right wing views. I, on the other hand, felt I was sitting at the table with these VIPs, listening to their words of wisdom, drinking fine wines and enjoying a banquet. Great escapism for a kid from a council estate. His conservative views didn’t bother me, anymore than when I enjoyed Upton Sinclair’s socialist views in his Lanny Budd novels. I seem to have been resistant to both. Sinclair’s views about world events were equally heavy-going, yet I avidly devoured them as a boy. I was getting a history lesson from the left-wing as well as from the right. By comparison, I more recently read his award-winning The Jungle about the Chicago slaughter-houses as research for Flesh and had to skim over ‘the boring bits.’ And there were many of them. That’s how conditioned I now am against exposition! So times really have changed.
Script and story editors will come down hard on you for too much exposition. If you’re unable to avoid this pitfall, take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. The Girl With A Dragon Tattoo has endless chapters of – in my view – dull exposition but that doesn’t prevent it from being a bestseller. Dan Brown’s ‘Wikipedia exposition’ is so notorious I once watched a hilarious stand-up comedian at the King’s Head in Crouch End devote her entire act to taking the piss out of his expositions, using chunks of Wikipedia that he had, allegedly, included in his novels. The audience loved it. But that was North London, of course. Then there’s Donald Sutherland’s massive conspiracy exposition in the film JFK, which I thought was excellent, but definitely breaks the rules. So if Oliver Stone, Dan Brown and Stieg Larsson can get away with it, maybe you can too!
But if you can’t, there are solutions.
For instance, if I was writing that Dennis Wheatley scene myself today, I might have Gregory Sallust playing footsie under the table with the beautiful Erika as Goering drones on and on about the war. You could then have as much exposition as you like and no-one would care. So distraction is one way out. The danger, of course, is you’re so distracted by Sallust hitting on the gorgeous Erika, you’re not actually listening to Goering pontificating, which rather defeats the purpose of the exercise.
Another way is ‘show – don’t tell’. So you have exciting flashbacks to whatever you want to bang on about, rather than deliver a 500-word monologue from your protagonist’s mouth. I’ve noticed movies do it more frequently these days, aware that their audiences have a very short attention span.
But Robert McKee – my particular writing guru – says ‘exposition is ammunition’, so how and where do you use that ammo? Firstly, by analysing what your exposition is about. If I recall correctly, Wheatley (in the guise of Goering) was suggesting that Britain should have aligned with pre-Nazi Germany against the Bolshevik menace. And Gregory Sallust was sort of agreeing with him. Thus there’s no conflict, other than Gregory is an enemy agent. So, rather than distract the reader, which is arguably ducking the problem, or ‘show don’t tell’, which can also be a cop-out, pick characters representing opposing sides of the argument: Goering versus a Bolshevik, for example.
The danger with that solution is that the dialogue could be too on the nose. McKee says that if the conversation is what it claims to be about, it’s probably suspect. Coded conversation, or subtext, is much more compelling. If you can’t find a way to codify, then it’s very likely that you don’t know your characters very well. And you need to go away and have a further think about them.
A good example of a brilliant talking heads scene, where exposition is ammunition, is Episode Three of the final Peaky Blinders series. It features a clash between fascist Diana (Mitford) Mosley and left-wing Peaky Blinder Ada Shelby. As Den of Geek says in its review, ‘The women of Peaky Blinders – Ada, Esme and Lizzie – stunned throughout this episode. Talk about gold.’ I watched, riveted, at this verbal duel between Diana Mosley and Ada Shelby.
Every line was a gem and what was very clear was that writer Steven Knight must have researched Mosley heavily, and that’s why the dialogue wasn’t ‘on the nose’. I enjoyed it so much I’ve watched it several times since so I can savour every line. It’s a verbal masterpiece and I’m in awe!
Another way of getting information across, especially relevant for comics, is through the protagonist’s thoughts as they carry out action. If you know your character well, it will have its own unique spin. Frank Miller’s Dark Knight is a good example of how this can be done.
HOW TO WORK WITH AN EDITOR
I’m not aware of any ‘How To’ writing guides covering this subject, or at least with any truth, so I really must.
Because new creators are often horrified when an editor takes their work apart, suggests they change the title, the plot, the location, etc. I’ve noticed they resist it, see it as an invasion or attack on their personal creativity, not to mention a serious affront to their ego. I do sympathise. This goes for artists, too – big time. But that’s the nature of working in mainstream popular culture (as opposed to literature, cult books, arthouse, small press, or fan comics). My ego certainly took a serious kicking numerous times – first of all, working as a sub-editor at D.C. Thomson, where the editor would constantly make me rewrite stories and articles and come up with lists of new story titles as part of my training. And later, endlessly rewriting Doctor Who scripts in the 1980s over some four years/four seasons. I nearly went bankrupt and took out a bank loan to fund the rewrites, before the editor finally accepted my story, signed off on it, and I went home to celebrate. Then, after a three-month delay, he decided it wasn’t right after all, and binned it. It took me a while to get over that one! Today it’s been adapted into a full-cast audio Doctor Who from Big Finish: Song of Megaptera, which is some consolation.
Punishing as such experiences are, if the editor is right, say, seven times out of ten – as the Doctor Who editor still was on that occasion – it’s well worth it. Even though the three times out of ten where he was wrong were very wrong, to the point where it was a factor in Doctor Who being cancelled soon afterwards.
But if the editor is right only five times out of ten or less, or they’ve got some twisted or confused agenda, or they just enjoy screwing you around because they’re on some weird power trip (which can happen), then it’s not worth the pain unless you’re absolutely desperate for money and recognition.
Walk away.
I cover some examples of questionable editors in Be Pure! Be Vigilant! Behave! 2000AD & Judge Dredd: The Secret History. Even so, I’d still recommend new writers or artists go through a similar rite of passage – maybe via a weekend workshop or online course – just to develop a necessary thick skin. So they don’t end up being too precious about their work.
Ideally, you’ll form some kind of emotional relationship with your editor, as I did with Gerry Finley-Day, who was my editor on Tammy. That can make a huge difference. Archie Goodwin, Marvel Epic editor on my Marshal Law is another example. He was very constructive and supportive. Nick Landau, now publisher of Titan Books and owner of the Forbidden Planet retail chain, was an excellent editor.
But what happens if the editor’s an emotionless robot, or self-serving to the detriment of your story, or oozing passive aggression? I’ve been on the receiving end of all three. Put up with it if you can by keeping as much distance as possible and focusing on your story rather than them. Have as little to do with them as possible. Live in your own creative world rather than theirs. Be as pragmatic and tolerant as you possibly can, especially if you need the money. If editors don’t know what they’re doing, check with an authoritative source like McKee’s Story so you, at least, know what you’re doing, but do keep McKee’s advice to yourself, and let their questionable opinions wash over you, knowing your mentor is right and they are wrong. But also encourage and thank the editor when he is right. Few of us ever get it completely right or wrong and your positive response will help make the relationship tolerable.
Finally, if all those strategies fail, and you’ve had enough, have an exit strategy and walk away.
New writers, who are just encountering a spectrum of such characters, good, bad and indifferent, look horrified and wounded when an editor does a major dissection of their work, even though it’s actually quite normal. And so many editors do know what they’re doing. If it’s a house character, then it’s what the editor is paid to do. If it’s your own character that you own, it’s a little different. But a good editor will still point to flaws: a poor title, gaps in logic, alternative endings, which are worth taking on board if you respect who they are.
I can still recall when I was editing Action, calling in new writers for evening script sessions and seeing the looks of shock, suppressed anger and resentment on their faces when I turned their stories inside out and upside down to suit the very precise criteria of what I wanted Action to be. No one had done anything like Action before, so it was inevitable many of them would get it wrong. I got as fed up with the process as they did, and their irritated expressions, so I decided on 2000AD it was easier to just write everything myself. The same on Spacewarp – see later.
So that sense of shock – when an editor ‘mauls’ your masterpiece, putting it through the mincer, is something a new creator really needs to be prepared for.
There’s also the important issue of ‘information overload’ – your mind will reel from so many new and contradictory ideas being thrown at you during an hour of intense critical conversation, particularly in a face to face meeting. I know just how that feels. Every professional’s been there. It’s like going back to school, yet somehow far worse!
I’ve found so many new creators can’t handle criticism and get angry, sullen, or depressed, which is a pity because ultimately, they lose out. A true professional still feels all those negative emotions, even after years in the business, but we keep it to ourselves. We wait till we get home, ponder over a glass of wine, and then – if we still feel the same way – make an effigy of the editor and throws darts at it.
ROLE MODELS
Until you’ve found your own voice, your own style, it’s useful to have three or more writers for tramlines to keep you on the straight and narrow. They can act as your role models and get you in touch with what you really want to write. Screenwriters and comic writers are a vast and sometimes confusing resource to get into. So I adore Troy Kennedy’s Martin’s work on Reilly, Ace of Spies (I’ve watched the series at least six times) but many of his other screenplays, like Kelly’s Heroes, leave me cold. So I’ll just focus on a few novels as examples. Obviously there are many more that I’ve referred to, but these are the ones that come immediately to mind.
For science fiction, my role model was Harry Harrison. Straight forward action combined with ingenious ideas, strong action heroes and an anti-establishment flavour. I believe Harrison was once a comic writer, so maybe that’s why I was attracted to his work. I wouldn’t recommend Arthur C. Clarke, as he’s great on ideas, but heavy on exposition and weak on character. Although I admire Philip K. Dick’s work, I personally find him hard going.
For humour, it was originally Stephen Leacock and P. G. Wodehouse for me, because both took the piss out of establishment characters. Later, Giovannino Guareschi, who wrote Don Camillo. This featured an Italian Communist mayor endlessly in conflict with the Catholic priest Camillo. Naturally my sympathies were with the Communist mayor.
For fantasy, Jonathan Swift’s Gullivers Travels and Samuel Butler’s Erewhon, suggesting wild alternative worlds.
For narrative style, Wilkie Collins. I used the multi-person story account in his Moonstone as my role model for the first Marshal Law story. His characterisations are also superb.
For thrillers, originally Dennis Wheatley and Ian Fleming. Wheatley seems dated now, but Ian Fleming holds up well. Also, Graham Greene and John Buchan. Greene and Buchan’s styles seem to be as popular now as they were back in the day when they first appeared. There are so many more modern writers to consider, too, like Tom Clancy, Lee Child and James Patterson and – whilst you have to taken into account modern trends – classic authors are worth studying because they are the originals – they’re the guys whose shoulders modern authors are standing on.
For history, Conan Doyle’s Brigadier Gerard and George MacDonald Fraser’s Flashman were my choices. As opposed to Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe, which I like, but isn’t hard hitting enough for me. It feels too safe. Flashman was a huge leap forward. For the first time, a novel had as its protagonist an upper-class evil bastard, straight out of Boris Johnson’s Bullingdon Boys. It had a huge impact on everyone in comics. Thus in Victor comic there was the Cadman series, drawn by Mike Dorey. In particular Cadman the Flying Coward. Previously, we were meant to look up to the ruling class, so this was – and still is – a big deal that inspired many subsequent comic stories. It’s relevant when you consider how many of our fictional heroes are still from the upper class today. See for instance Sky’s SAS – Rise of the Black Swan by Andy McNab with an upper-class SAS hero living in his huge stately home with his loyal butler, but able to be ‘one of the lads’. Apparently.
Thanks to my English teacher and others of his ilk, I was endlessly looking for different stories; challenging stories; counter-culture stories, from a very early age. Although there were slim pickings. I wanted stories that questioned, criticised and lampooned the questionable values he and his kind stood for. You can see it in some of my choices above. So – as a kid – to my delight I discovered Conan Doyle’s The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard, a precursor to Flashman. Gerard was a pompous, French upper-class prat and I enjoyed every piss-taking moment. He might be French, but he was still part of the establishment and he was being mocked and that’s what mattered to me. Just as working-class Jeeves mocked upper-class Bertie Wooster, so much so that – when I first read P. G. Wodehouse in the library – I actually burst out laughing. I was ten years old.
Where fantasy is concerned, Lord Dunsany’s excellent and engrossing style has inspired everyone from Tolkien to H. P. Lovecraft to Michael Moorcock. I didn’t know about him when I created Sláine – and I’m glad I didn’t. He was a pompous aristocrat who fought against Irish freedom fighters in the Easter Rising, so I would find him hard to read, even though we’re quite rightly meant to separate creators from their creations. It’s difficult, though. The fantasy path I took instead was to find the style for Sláine from the original saga sources. That’s where phrases like ‘He didn’t think it too many’, ‘Am I not a candidate for fame,’ and ‘Kiss My Axe’ come from. As a result, I believe Sláine doesn’t feel like any other fantasy saga. But it’s a time-consuming way to go about writing. Being inspired by Lord Dunsany is probably quicker and his books are free online. It worked for so many other writers, so why shouldn’t it work for you? Don’t let my personal obsessions deter you.
With your trusty role models by your side, the kind of novel you feel drawn to, you will have some idea of where you’re going, story-wise. As you next evaluate and select your personal choice of heroes, villains and characters it will become yet clearer. And it will be time to consider what’s driving you. Who’s driving you. What is it you really want to say? What is your Muse? As you discover the answers, they will take you into realms as yet unknown.
It will prove to be a journey of discovery and a deep dive.
Great advice for up and coming writers and interesting insights into the industry, nicer one Pat
Thanks, Troy. As a boy, the only fantasy I recall reading was T. H. White (Arthur) which I didn't like for some reason. When it came to creating Slaine, I had a blank slate. so I read a range of sword and sorcery - including Howard - to understand the genre, and its tropes but none left any satisfying impact on me. Hence why I looked outside the genre for inspiration- with Minder and Steptoe and co. Original legendary narratives were different, however, I read them time and again like The Tain. Like you I'd never heard of Dunsany, but his impact on most fantasy writers - including Lovecraft - was incredible. Interesting character, too.