Talent.

Cartooning is a forgiving medium. Your strip/panel can show a confident line (like Zits), or it can suggest a certain I-Can’t-Believe-He's-Getting-Away-With-It quality (like Spot the Frog.)

If readers like what you write, they’ll bend over backwards to rationalize the drawing. I don’t know if Spot the Frog would be a better strip if the frogs were more realistic, or if I used a different line. But I’m fairly certain that those who like the strip have grown accustomed to my style. They might even believe that it’s perfect for the strip.

Cartoonists are writers first, artists second.

Strips are words first, art second. (Even wordless strips like Lio have words, when the drawing is read. Every strip is an idea. And every idea can be described.)

Persistence.

It took me thirteen years to get syndicated.

Luck.

Among other twists and turns, someone at United Media had a fondness for frogs.

Deadlines

When you plot to become syndicated, you know there will be deadlines. But so what? Six dailies and one sunday a week. How hard could that be? You could draw all seven with one arm tied behind your back. But consider: what if you’re sick for one day — a stomach bug, a broken arm — you’re one day behind; a week or more if you broke your drawing arm. If the furnace expires or the basement floods, you’re one day behind. If a storm knocks out the electricity, or your computer sounds a death rattle, you’re a day or more behind.

I was never a master of math, and you’re free to double-check my calculations, but those days add up.

There are two problems with missing or getting too close to a deadline. The first is fines. You have a business arrangement with the syndicate and the company that prints your strip. Penalties add up. The second is the scourge of C-material. If you have time, you can polish your work to a fine gloss (A-material) or a pleasing finish (B-material). If you don’t, you’re forced to send in work with dents and other imperfections, sentences that read poorly, punchlines that almost make sense.

It’s not a good feeling, for you or the reader.

Deadlines II

Even if life outside of your office is tame and minding its own business, there’s another aspect to deadlines you’ll have to confront: B-material.

Your initial submission to the syndicate contained A-material. You reworked every strip until the punchlines fired without a knock or a stutter. But when you’re on a weekly deadline, you may discover that your A-material requires another week in the garage. Or just a day. A few hours. Doesn’t matter. You don’t have the time. Your work is due.

In the beginning, you’ll hate driving that B-material to work.

But B-material isn’t bad. Pick a favorite novel, movie, tv show. Or even better, pick a favorite novelist, screenwriter, director. You love their work. But do you love all of it? Some bits are better than others. Was every Far Side panel A-material? Calvin & Hobbess? Not at all. But were Larson and Watterson A-material? Absolutely.

[see The 3 L’s for another important aspect to B-material.]

No one expects an artist to be at his peak all the time. When you’re the artist, that’s hard to believe. Anything less than a knee-slapper, or a poignant moment, or a philosophical observation that captures the human condition, may feel like a failure. (keeping in mind, as always, that I’m speaking for myself — I may be the only cartoonist who feels this way.) But as long as the strip is true to its style, its nature, you’ll have fans.

You may need to arrange an Out of Body Experience to see yourself as you see other artists.

If OBE’s aren’t handy, browse through one of the Fantagraphic Peanuts collections. I’ll let you decide if some punchlines are B-material, and if your enjoyment of the strip is any less.

Deadlines III

Be prepared to work on holidays.

The 3 L’s

I came up with the 3 L’s while making a syndicate presentation. I’m not sure I impressed anyone at the table, but the insight struck me as brilliant. Of course I was doped on Lorazepam at the time (which, I suppose, would make it 4 L’s, not 3.)

Laugh.

Like

Location.

Make new readers laugh. Let them like your characters. Give the strip a sense of place.

All three are important, but there’s a domino effect that leads from the first to the last. The strip needs to be funny because it hooks the readers. The jokes reel them back until the characters become friends (or beloved idiots.)

When the day comes that a deadline is nipping your heels and panting to overtake you, you’ll run with your B-material to stay ahead. A reader who likes Lumpy, however, will forgive the so-so joke, as long as he remains in character. (if the key to a successful joke were hammering Lumpy into every strip, I’d be years ahead of my deadline. But Lumpy only fits certain jokes. See The Importance of Characters With Character.) If other readers like Spot, he could read the phone book or a grocery list (a year or so ago Spot did read a grocery list — he thought it was a ransom note — and I have a feeling he’ll be perusing the phone book before long.) And finally, underneath it all, is the location, where the background becomes a character (even if you draw it sparingly as I do.) The strip becomes a place, a destination.

The Importance of Characters With Character

forthcoming...