Self-Promotion and the iPhone

Yes, I got an iPhone for Christmas. Both my wife and I got one. Wow, it's neat. For those of you who've heard how neat it is -- it really is that neat. And of course, it's ideal for freelance illustrators.

You can check and reply to email while away from your office. I really find it a great way to pass the time while waiting in line at the bank or supermarket checkout. (I know, I know -- who waits in lines at the bank anymore? I was opening a new account. Can't do that from an ATM machine -- yet!)

They're also great for surfing the Web while in said lines.

But they're not great for surfing this website, because the artwork sample pages are in Flash, and for some inexplicable reason the iPhone's Web browser can't view Flash. Sigh.

(Mental note to self: when you get the chance, make an iPhone version of your site without Flash. It'll be ready just as they launch the next upgrade to the iPhone system that allows Flash on its browser.)

But I found an even better way to show people my work when I'm networking and talking to people. I put the samples from my website into the photo library.

Jennifer and I visited some artists we know who have a studio near us, and after seeing their work, they were disappointed that we'd forgotten to bring samples of our work as we'd promised. Luckily I remembered my iPhone! The pictures are nice and big and bright, and you can just flip from one to another.

There are only two downsides to using the iPhone this way:

1) People may be more impressed with my iPhone than with my artwork, and

2) Now that the iPhone goes in the back pocket opposite my wallet, there's no room for my business card holder.

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Another Key to Success: Ideas!

Last week I saw an item online about a certain historic theater here in New Mexico celebrating its 80th anniversary. (I'm leaving out the theater's name, because no deals have been signed, but anyone in Albuquerque can probably guess the theater in question.) I immediately thought of the Pueblo Deco, World's-Fair-style tricentennial posters I did for the City of Albuquerque last year, and realized that this theater -- a Pueblo Deco landmark -- needed a poster like them for its own. (Now the rest of you in New Mexico have figured out the theater.)

So I emailed the theater manager and told him that if we worked quickly, we could have Anniversary posters printed up in time for the Holiday shopping season. He wrote back saying they weren't interested in anniversary posters, since they'd become dated quickly, but were interested in putting together a new poster for the theater. We're now in the midst of working out the details.

See how easy that was? This could be a big project for me, and all it took was for me to see an opportunity and make an inquiring email. Email! I didn't even have to send a letter or -- yikes! -- make a phone call!

In a profession like mine, it's easy to get passive, to wait for the work to come to you and then get it done. Even with aggressive self-promotion, the focus is usually that I'm available, that I can do what you need getting done. I sit back and hope for a big break. And big breaks do come -- occasionally. But in order to get further in your career you have to make those breaks. You have to go out and do more than say "I can do whatever you want." You have to say "This is what you want."

The biggest break in my career was probably the Albuquerque Tricentennial posters, but that didn't exactly fall in my lap. I was hired by Rick Johnson & Company to draw up sketches of what the posters would look like, to sell the concept to the Tricentennial Committee. They hadn't picked an artist for the final work yet, but were looking at some guy in Toronto, I think. I told them I could do the job, and they were wary. I hadn't done anything of that scale before. So when I did the sketch, I made it very, very tight, to show them I could do this. That, my enthusiasm, plus the good PR they'd get for hiring a local boy (doesn't hurt!) got me the job.

That's a great story, but the fact is I should have been pitching ideas to companies for years now. I'm very slow at learning this business, but I am learning. I need to do this more often -- go out and look for possibilities. Since that theater anecdote, I've sent similar proposals to two other organizations -- this time by mail, to make things a little more formal. That and I couldn't find an email address for one of them.

Whatever your field, if you're not where you want to be, you need to go out and make it happen. You can't wait for a big break to fall in your lap. If you want to work on more important projects at your job, tell your boss that. If you want your writing hobby to become a business, find someone who could hire you to write and then convince them. You can't afford to be passive, to hope that someone else can see how you could help them in some way. You need to come up with the ideas, and then show them. Sometimes that's all it takes. Even if they don't like the idea you're pitching, they'll see that you do have ideas.

Just don't be pushy. People hate that.

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"I'm here to win, not to make friends."

You see it all the time on the reality TV contests -- candidates who snub their fellow contestants, are rude to them, lie to them, get into shouting matches with them, all to supposedly gain some sort of advantage in the show. This makes good TV, of course -- but does it really help? And even if it does, is it worth it?

I'm not talking about the shows like Big Brother, The Amazing Race or Survivor, where the show is just a game. I'm thinking of the career-oriented shows, like The Apprentice, Project Runway, Top Chef -- even America's Next Top Model. Shows where the contestants are trying to show what they can do in their profession, or would-be profession.

Let's leave alone for a moment whether such a strategy actually helps you win. Overall -- with the recent exception of Evil Dick in Big Brother -- the abusive people, the bullies, the "b*tches" rarely make it to the top. But let's assume for a moment that it will help you win. Is it still worth it?

On the career-based contests, I'd say the answer is no. And that winning the game isn't really the most important thing you can do on such a show.

Shows like Project Runway and The Apprentice are wonderful PR opportunities for the contestants. The chance of coming away with the grand prize are slim, but once you're on the show, the chance to demonstrate your professionalism and hard work ethic are is a sure thing. Comport yourself well, be courteous, respectful and no-nonsense, put out your best work with no excuses if you come up short, and you'll just about assure yourself a good career after the program airs, regardless of how far you make it. Your future clients, bosses and coworkers will want you on their team. You'll have cemented a solid reputation, which is the most valuable prize you can take away from such an opportunity.

Be one of the "villains" of reality TV, and you'll assure yourself a future of spots on Best Week Ever and The Surreal Life. But you won't make yourself very attractive to the people you need to work with in your chosen profession. (Unless being a reality TV whore is your chosen profession.)

This lesson is well worth learning even for those of us who somehow don't make our way onto a reality TV show. (Full Disclosure: I was a contestant on The Weakest Link. No, not her, the daily syndicated version with some American guy as host. No, I didn't win, but I made it just shy of the final round, and I only got one question wrong. Yes, it was a Harry Potter question.)

When you're trying to land a job, or get a client, or score a big assignment, don't get so caught up in that short-term goal that you lose sight of your long-term aim -- to build a solid reputation for honesty, reliability and achievement. That other guy you back-stabbed to jump ahead of him may be the one who ends up working for the next company you want to work for. Or your contact at a client that you consider too small to give your best efforts to may get a job with that really big client who's looking for an illustrator and asks her who she recommends.

In the freelance illustration business, as in any business, the winner is the one who does make friends.

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Monday Morning Marty -- 8-20-07

I'm cheating on this one -- twice.

Once because I didn't draw this just for the blog. This is a close-up of an illustration in progress I'm working on for Cisneros Design in Santa Fe, for a fundraiser invitation to benefit an animal rescue organization.

The other cheat is that I didn't ask Fred Cisneros, or the animal rescue organization, if I could use the image. I'm hoping they'll understand.

It was, in part, my Monday Morning Marty series that convinced the client I could draw dogs for this assignment, so what better dog to use for it? (That other dog in the picture is just a model. We've never actually met.)

I always find it harder to draw a specific individual for an illustration, rather than a fictional character, even if the individual in question is a canine one. After all, when I'm making someone up, no one but me will know if I get the likeness exactly the way I envisioned. And I never say. But when I'm drawing someone's portrait, suddenly I have a measurable standard to be judged against. Yikes, that's scary! If I hadn't been drawing the Monday Morning Marties I wouldn't have had the confidence to even try this one.

Oh, and if you didn't catch the moral in all this -- ironic in a post about cheating -- it's this: whenever you put your stuff out there, good things result. My Monday Morning Marty series turned out to be good portfolio samples as well as a weekly exercise and a segue into moralistic lecturing. I've found that whenever I do work for fun, it seems to become a means to paying work. My long-running comics series Jazz Age (originally Jazz Age Chronicles) has been an off-and-on labor of love for twenty years now, and though it's hardly ever made much money, every good-paying comics job I've ever got, I got from samples of Jazz Age. All you freelancers out there, listen up: Get your stuff out there. If it's good, it'll produce results.

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Confession: I Draw on Letter-Size Copy Paper!

One of the first things you learn as a working freelance illustrator is when you can cut corners and when you can't. Or more appropriately: What's important.

When I first started out, fresh out of art school, I had learned the importance of using the right equipment, the best paper, the most precise and elaborate methods. We had been indoctrinated from our freshman year in the importance of proper technique. We learned to be precise, thorough and detail-oriented. And, above all, we learned not to cut corners.

Well, those techniques and procedures are fine as a starting point, but over time you learn to develop your own methods and routines, ones that are attuned to the importance you put on things.

In a previous post I talked about the procedure I use to create comic strip artwork. It took me years to develop this technique. For years, concerned with the "proper" way of doing things, I had a much more labor-intensive method; I'd cut down large sheets of Bristol board, used Rapid-o-Graph pens for all the ruled lines and (GASP) the lettering, and everything else was done with a pure sable brush and India ink. Anything else wouldn't be kosher, I told myself; anything else would be a cheat.

Well, thank God I got over that mentality. Now most of the line work I do comes from Micron pens. I still use a brush for most of my more realistic comics illustration, like Jazz Age, but 90% of Annie is done with the pens now. And as I'd gone over before, the lettering is now done in InDesign! The pure Bristol Board has been replaced by 11" x 17" 80-pound matte cover stock and fed through the printer for the lettering and panel boarders.

For most of my other freelance work, I draw on good ol' letter-size copy paper. ( I originally put "typing paper" before realizing that it hasn't been called that in a few decades!) It works as well as any kind of paper for inked line work, it's cheap, easy to find, easy to scan or fax -- the only down side is when the job calls for the original being given to the client, which has happened less than half a dozen times in the twenty years I've been doing this. On those jobs, I break out the thicker card stock. (This, of course, is in the context of the freelance work. For the comics work, I still use the card stock that's very much like Bristol board because there is a market for the original art.)

In short, I figured out what's really important: Do what works. Get the job done as well, as quickly and as reliably as you can.

People are paying me for the digital file of an image. They don't care what paper it was drawn on, or even if it was drawn on paper at all. It doesn't matter to them that I drew it with India ink, or if it was on 100% rag content paper. They want their image, and whatever is the best, easiest way to make it is the proper way.

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Responsibility: Drawing a Legend

Last Sunday, August 5, was the 83rd anniversary of the very first Little Orphan Annie strip, created by Harold Gray back in 1924. Last Monday, on August 6, I received a very nice card in the mail. It was a birthday card, addressed to "Annie Warbucks," in care of my address, and it was sent to me by a nine-year-old girl. Her father had bought some Annie original art last year, and so he knew where she could send her card.

Annie is known the world over. Little girls everywhere can sing the songs from the movie and the musical -- which came to Philly twice in the two years I lived there, and is coming here to Albuquerque in a few months. People know the archetypes of Annie and Daddy Warbucks (Sandy too!), and the strip is as ingrained in American culture as Superman or Snoopy.

And I draw that comic strip.

Wow.

Now, let's be frank -- the strip ain't what it used to be. It's running in a smattering of papers across the country, mostly smaller ones -- though it's still running in the New York Daily/Sunday News, where it's been since August 5, 1924 -- and most people I talk to don't realize it's still going.

But people are reading the strip -- if not in papers, online -- and they compare our work (Jay Maeder of New York has been writing the strip since 2000) with Harold Gray and every other artist and writer who've worked on it. Last week, when Drawn.ca posted a link to my post on creating the Annie strip, one reader commented that the strip "...is so far removed from Harold Gray’s Annie it isn't even funny."

We have a responsibility to stay true to the roots of the comic strip. When you take over an established property like Annie, you take on that responsibility. If I completely reinvented the strip, throwing out all that made it what it was, then what I'd really be doing is marketing my own, new strip under an established brand name. If I want to do my own, wholly original work, I should go ahead (and I did) but not within the old strip. People expect, and deserve, continuity.

But it's also important to allow the strip to evolve, to change, and as the author of the work I have another responsibility -- to be true to my own artistic sensibilities, and to my own style and strengths. The artist picked to take over a strip should already have a similar, or at least compatible style, from that which came before, and I think that was the case this time.

But if I were to just ape Harold Gray's style -- which I have done once in a while, when it was appropriate, such as in the art sample above, when modern-day Annie went back in time to visit the Annie of the 1930s -- then I'd be cheating the readers. There's no way I can draw like Harold Gray better than Harold Gray did, so my work would be inescapably inferior. When an actor takes on a role that another had played before, should she simply try to imitate the previous actor? Or do we want to see a new interpretation of the essences of that character?

That's what I try to do with my work on Annie -- take the essential characteristics of the characters, both in terms of their personality and in terms of how Harold Gray drew them -- and build from that, using my style, my strengths and my perspective. I feel what I've come up with works, but I'm constantly refining and redirecting the work I do, checking to see that I'm still on course, still remaining as true to Mr. Gray's ideas as possible while also being true to my own. It's a difficult task, it's a huge responsibility, but it's also very, very rewarding.

Annie got the little girl's card on Monday, and she'll be sending a thank-you card by the end of the week.

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Specialization: How Much is Too Much?

One of the questions freelance illustrators, like freelance writers and a lot of other professionals, have to face is this: how much should you specialize? How much to narrow one's focus?

On the one extreme is the complete generalist, who will draw, paint, digitally create or sculpt any and all subjects, styles, and viewpoints. Obviously, an illustrator who spreads himself so thin probably wouldn't be very good at any one style: "Jack of all trades, master of none."

But the biggest problem for such an illustrator isn't one of talent or ability, but of marketing. For without a specialty, without a niche, an artist has a hard time being remembered, and a hard time finding a place to shine.

There are plenty of illustrators out there, and they're all reasonably good for most applications. Why go with one over the other? For most clients, the answer lies not in ability, but in specialty; if you need an illustration of a car, you hire the one who's drawn cars. If you need a portrait in Byzantine style, find someone whose portfolio shows Byzantine portraits.

You need to stand out from the competition, and being very good isn't enough. You need to show potential clients you have experience at what they want.

Many of the most successful illustrators out there today specialize pretty narrowly. They have readily-identifiable styles, and many of them specialize in subject matter as well. There are medical illustrators, editorial illustrators, children's illustrators, comics artists...

So some degree of specialization is necessary. But how much?

The other extreme is the overly-specialized. Narrow your field too much, and you may never be called. If all you do are pointillistic children's illustrations of people in diners, there may not be a need for your services too often. But if you specialize in a pointillistic children's illustration style, that might be a good style that is specific to stand out, while also being applicable to many projects.

Those of you who've looked through this web site have noticed that I haven't narrowed my specialization too much. I have a fairly wide variety of work, though there's a consistent style and sensibility throughout. Instead of trying to be a guy who does one thing well, I like to do many things well -- or, perhaps, do one thing well in many way. One reason is that I want to offer lots of choices to my clients; If they need an illustrator, I can approach the project with a great deal of flexibility, and deliver the solution that would work best for them. With the highly specialized illustrator, you have to know exactly what you want ahead of time; with me, you can come with your ideas and we can brainstorm together on them.

The other reason I don't narrow my work more is simply because I like to do a wide variety of things. I get bored with doing the same thing every time, and part of the fun I get from my work is applying a technique in a new way, or finding a new solution to a problem.

Whatever strategy you take, realize that there will be a downside to your decision. Narrowing your specialization means clients will need your talents less often, so you'll need to reach a greater number of clients. And it means you'll have to turn away work that falls outside your range. But it will also eventually brand you as an expert in the narrow field you've chosen. A less narrow field may mean more work from your existing clients, but may prevent you from being marketed as the expert in that one thing that only you do as well as you do. It's a decision that should be weighed carefully, and pursued aggressively.

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How I Make A Comic Strip

Welcome to my summary of putting together a comic strip. Or at least, my way of putting together a comic strip. This isn't going to be "how to draw" (I'm sure I'll cover something along those lines before too long) so much as it is "how to set up to draw."

Everyone needs a system for putting together a comic strip. Drawing comics is as much a job as it is a calling -- and on days when you don't really hear that calling, it's still a job. And for most cartoonists, it's not a very good paying job. So it's essential that you have a system in place, a streamlined and standardized way of going about the task. I draw seven strips for Annie a week -- six dailies plus the color Sunday strip -- and I need to get that work done quickly and get it out the door by deadline, and still leave time for other freelance work, my webcomic Jazz Age (I'm on hiatus right now, but it's usually a full-color strip written and drawn every week) and, if I'm lucky, my family. I don't want to waste any time here. I need to get the boring stuff out of the way, to give me the most time actually drawing, and get it all done fast.

The system I show won't work for everyone. It may not even work for anyone, except that it works for me. Other comics artists use other systems -- maybe some of them will comment here on theirs -- but this is the one that has evolved for me. Even if none of this is applicable to you, young apprentice, I hope you at least come away with an appreciation for the need for a system.

The process begins with the script, which is written by Jay Maeder and gets to me from my editor, Tracy Clark. the script tells me who's doing what, who says what and what is being shown in each panel. Since we've worked together for some time now -- just over three years -- Jay and I have a pretty good understanding of what each other wants and expects, so his scripts are not very detailed. He trusts me to know the right angles to show things in, and to make the new characters interesting and appropriate.

After reading through the script, I go to my layout worksheet. This is a worksheet I made up that gives me little boxes, scaled-down versions of the individual strips, and lets me sketch out the six dailies on one page. These layouts are loose and sketchy -- since I'm the only one who needs to refer to them and since I'll be drawing the final art in a day or so, I don't need to go into much detail -- I'll remember what I had in mind. The most important aspect of the layouts is to show roughly where all the important elements are.

The next step surprises some people. I do the final lettering. Years ago I made the best investment of a couple hundred hours I could ever have made -- I created a digital version of my own hand lettering, in Fontographer. And I made alternative versions of most of the letters, which you can access by hitting OPTION with the letter, so double letters don't look quite so obvious. I also made up a library of word balloons in Quark -- which I've since transferred to InDesign -- that I can put the lettering into, and which are resizable and adaptable to any need. Using the layouts as a guide, and an InDesign template that has the strip dimensions preformatted, I create the panel sizes and add the lettering balloons, copying and pasting the dialogue directly from the script emailed to me by Tracy.

Why do I do the lettering first? After years of frustration with trying to make lettering balloons fit a tight space because I underestimated it when I drew the panel, or having to cover up some really nice background art I drew with a balloon, I realized that the artwork was more adaptable than the lettering. It's easier, in other words, to make a figure, or a face, a little bigger or smaller in the panel to fit the space after the balloons are put in than to make the balloon bigger or smaller to fit the space after the artwork is put in. A figure, or a face, can be partially cut off and still work -- words are rarely that flexible.

Once the lettering and layouts are completed, I print them out on good card stock. I used to pay a small fortune to buy Bristol board pads, cut them down to size and throw away the extras -- they never did learn to make those pads 11 x 17" -- and then start doing the lettering by hand. Now, I can buy 11 x 17" card stock and print out the lettering, all ready to go, for a lot less! Even before I got my large printer, and had to email the InDesign files to a printer to output onto the card stock, it was still cheaper than buying the Bristol board. And it works just as well for drawing on. Nearly. It's not quite as thick, so it can warp if you lean and sweat on it too much. Oh well -- everything's a trade-off.

So now, with the lettering and panel borders printed on the card stock -- I put two dailies on one 11 x 17" sheet, or half of a Sunday strip -- I'm ready to get down and draw. Which, as I mentioned, I'll have to cover another time.

With the line art all done, I scan the artwork. Until I invest in an 11 x 17" scanner, I have to make two scans of each page and splice them together. Then I clean up the scans, and send the strips to the editor for approval. Ta-daah!

For the Sunday strips, after I scan the artwork, I create a color guide for the print house, which they use to put together the final color files for the newspapers. That'll also be another post.

So there you have it. My system. My regular process for breaking down a very large job into bite-size pieces and taking care of them in order. Like I said, it may not work for others, but it works for me. Every week. Now I feel tired.

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On Being a Comics Reporter

Last week Alan Gardner, the guy who runs the excellent Daily Cartoonist blog, put out a call for cartoonists and people in the comics world to help fill in for him during his vacation, which began yesterday. I wrote in saying I'd be happy to! It'll be good exposure for me, I figure, and it should be fun, too. He says great, thanks me, gives me the login info and all, and off he goes on vacation.

And then it hits me -- I'm supposed to find NEWS STORIES for this blog!

The Daily Cartoonist, for those of you unaware, is a great news source, with all the latest about who's doing what, what comic strip collection just came out, who got fired, who got picked up -- and I'm supposed to contribute to this? Daily Cartoonist is where I find out all this stuff!

Luckily there are two other volunteers who are also filling in for the vacationing Mr. Gardner -- Charles Brubaker and The Comics Reporter's Tom Spurgeon -- both of whom seem more than capable of filling in single-handedly. I've been supplying a few stories so far, and I'm actually enjoying tracking them down, but it's clear I'm not needed for my journalistic sleuthing. I can't compete with these guys there.

But one thing I can do, that neither of them can lay claim to -- I can talk about what it's like to draw Little Orphan Annie!

I'm going to put together a series of posts on the creation of a comic strip, and link those posts to Daily Cartoonist. I know, it's shameless self-promotion -- except that I am, just a little, ashamed -- but that's what I was asked to do, dammit. Daily Cartoonist is a site for fans of, well, cartoons. And cartoonists. And cartooning. Even if you prefer the term "comics illustration." (I know I do.)

So look for those posts to begin some time soon. Maybe in mere moments, depending on who calls me in the next few minutes with work.

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It's a Wrap -- I think...!

The storyboard job is finished now. At least I think it is. I sent in my batch of "final" panels this afternoon and haven't heard back. That's not uncommon -- they're incredibly busy, of course, and have better things to do than tell me that they don't need anything from me. Since my scheduled time with them is up, I'll just assume it all went well unless I hear otherwise from them.

One of the hardest aspects of self-employment is the need for objective thinking about your work. I go to every new client with a little trepidation, a little nervousness. Even though I know my work is good, there's no guarantee that someone else will think so, and if their expectations are different from mine, there could be trouble. And when I'm being paid for my time, as opposed to charging for the project, I'm sensitive to the possibility that a mistake of mine will cost my client a good deal of money.

Luckily, they seemed to like my work. I liked it. And hopefully they liked it enough to recommend me to the next movie that comes to town. I'm ready!

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Clients: Illustrators Help with Summer Vacancies

It's that time of year again, folks -- summer vacations. I've seen several business-related sites talking about coping with the vacancies in offices that these vacations cause. Wells Fargo's Business Roundup has one such article. One resource those articles don't mention, but which you should consider, is... well, me.

A good conceptual illustrator can help take the burden off your hands. I'll go into the difference between a conceptual illustrator and the other kind in a future post, but for now let's just say that a conceptual illustrator is more than a pair of hands. He or she has a variety of styles and applications, and works at finding the right solution to the problem, instead of needing everything laid out in front of them to just follow skillfully.

As a conceptual illustrator, I can work with an art director to come up with a piece that's the right fit for the project. I can be given some rough ideas and can run with them, freeing up the art director or designer to get on with other things.

If you've got a project that could use some illustration to give it some pop, some project where you can't even think of how to approach it, what visual to give it or what style might work with it, I can not only provide you with some great illustrations but can help shape the direction of the piece. Give me a call, drop me an email and let's see what we can come up with.

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Deadbeat Clients -- err, Client Misunderstandings

I'm in the middle of some difficult negotiations with a client who hasn't paid me yet for work I did, and invoiced, months ago. (Don't worry, guys, I won't name names!) Dealing with clients who won't pay up is one of the hardest things a freelancer must deal with.

The title for today's post is intentionally provocative -- not all clients who don't pay on time are "deadbeats." Sometimes an invoice gets lost between departments. Many times the art director I'm working for will ask me to email or mail the invoice to them, and they'll pass it on to accounting. And that's often where it falls through the cracks. Sometimes the person who needs to cut the checks goes on vacation, or maternity leave, or resigns, and there's another opportunity for an invoice to get lost.

My invoices ask for payment within 30 days. Sometimes the agency has a policy not to pay for 45 days. Some agencies say that I won't get paid until they get paid by their clients. Obviously, I'm not a fan of that mindset. Do these agencies tell the utility companies that they'll pay their bills when they get paid? Can I tell my landlord or mortgage broker that? I was hired by the agency, not their client, and if I can meet the deadline for my work, they should be able to meet the deadline of payment.

But, even though my invoice says that a late fee of 10% per month will be added after 30 days, I never do that. At 30 days I'll send an email asking if the agency in question has the invoice, and where it is and when I can expect to see payment. It's usually not until 60 days, if it goes that far, that I'll start getting a little pushy. I've only issued a second notice invoice with the late fee added once or twice in my career, and even then, if the agency just paid the initial amount I wouldn't press the matter of the late fee.

The problem of the late fee, of course, is enforcing it. I know I have the legal right to impose such a fee, but if my client disputed it, do I want to go to court or through legal proceedings over it? Of course not; I'd rather just get paid.

The other problem with these negotiations is trying to keep relations with the agency on good terms. On one hand, you don't want to burn bridges, and pushing for late fees and bothering people is a good way to do that. On the other hand, if the agency really is bad at paying on time, or at all, and if this isn't the first time you've had this problem with them, do you really care if you work for them ever again?

I've had couple of clients in the past who would never pay on time. Both of them were habitually late -- sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. I did my best to keep talks with them completely civil, to gently but firmly demand my money. And I made it rather obvious to them that I would not be interested in working with them again. Neither of them called again.

The reason you don't want to be rude or disrespectful in these cases -- the reason you should never be rude or disrespectful ever, in any case -- is that, even if you decide you'll never work for such a firm again, those individuals you're talking to may move on to other agencies. You want them to remember you well, even if you have major disagreements, when they start working for a company that does pay on time. They may be as frustrated and angry at their company's inability to pay on time as you are, but if you take it out on them, instead of getting their empathy at your frustration, you'll become the target of their anger. And you'll burn a bridge.

It's never easy working your way through this kind of situation, but if you keep half your attention on the short-term goal -- getting your payment -- and half on the long-term goal -- making sure your reputation for fair, respectful behavior remains unmarred -- you'll find the right balance, and do what's best for your business.

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Making Use of the Time You've Got

So the storyboard job is well underway; I wrote about it in a previous post. I'm drawing storyboards for a few sequences in the new Kevin Costner comedy Swing Vote. The work is going very well, indeed -- so well that I find myself with plenty of down time.

Don't get me wrong, I love down time -- especially when I have other projects to work on, like the Annie comic strip which needs a week's worth of strips, six dailies and a color Sunday, done every week. By starting early, over the weekend, and putting in evenings, I got the week's worth done today, just in time for the July 4 holiday -- I'll be able to relax tomorrow.

But the reason this down time is significant is that the film company's paying me by the day. I'm getting a day rate, for five days total, and to be honest, they're not working me very hard so far.

Of course, if it doesn't bother them it shouldn't bother me. We're not behind schedule, in the least -- on the contrary, they might love the latest revisions I sent them this afternoon and not want me to go back and tighten them up, and I'll be done two days early.

But when I agreed to work five days, I committed myself to them for those days. The other work I've done was never at the expense of their work -- it was only done while I was waiting to hear back from them, after finishing the work so far and sending it in for review. But to part of me it still feels like I'm cheating, like I'm getting away with something.

I remind myself that as long as I make myself available to them -- and I haven't made any other appointments or commitments for these days so that I would be available to them -- then it's okay if, while I'm waiting to hear from them, I take care of other work. It's actually a great arrangement for me, obviously. The director seems happy with the work so far, as does the director of photography. So it's all good, right?

In fact, as a freelancer whose time is valuable I have a duty to make the most of the down time, to take full advantage of the gaps in my storyboarding workload to get other work out of the way. To not do so might make me feel more loyal to the film company -- for reasons that don't even make any sense as I'm writing this -- but they'd be at the expense of my business. I can't afford that kind of luxury.

Just as a good freelancer needs to accept without shame when things aren't going well, a good freelancer also has to accept, without guilt, when things are.

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New Job Decisions

It didn't take long. We'd been back in New Mexico for three days when I got a lead on a possible storyboard job for a movie being made here, the new Kevin Costner comedy "Swing Vote". I got the job, and start today. The job should last through next week, with the day off for the Fourth, of course.

I've done loads of presentation storyboards for commercials, and a few production boards for films, but no matter how many I do, starting a new one is always a little scary. Everyone has a different approach to storyboarding -- some directors want you on site, reporting to them often, and some prefer you work at your own office, emailing or faxing the work as you do it. Some don't really care.

I prefer working in my office at home. Maybe because I'm such a homebody, and maybe because I like the freedom of not having someone looking over my shoulder. I've never had a problem with a director not liking my work -- I may have to make revisions or redraw some panels, but not often, and I've never had a director or client think my work isn't good -- but I still get anxious that someone will look over my should and tell me I'm doing it all wrong. I'd rather get that kind of news over the phone, or better yet, by email.

But maybe I'd enjoy being in the film production offices for this job. I don't know yet what they're going to want me to do, but if they want me to stay on-site and work, I'll give it a try. Maybe I'll split my time between the two, based on the availability of the director, or director of photography or whomever I'm going to be reporting to. It might be fun working in the offices with the film's art department, and would certainly give more networking opportunities than if I stayed hidden away at home.

The other consideration when I get a job, especially a storyboarding job like this one, where I'm hired for the day and am supposed to devote my time exclusively to it, is dealing with the other work that I have. Even times such as now, when I don't have any other freelance gigs going on, I still have Annie to work on every week. (Luckily, Jazz Age is on a hiatus right now, so there isn't that to worry about.) Fortunately, there will be plenty of time this weekend and next week in the evenings to keep up with the little orphan child.

I always remind myself, even if I have a week to get a job done -- like Annie -- and even if there are no other jobs looming, to get the work done as quickly as possible, while still pacing myself and not stressing out about it. You never know when another job will pop up, and if your other work is done, or at least well underway, it'll be a lot easier to take on the new stuff.

I won't be posting any images from the storyboard job here, until after the movie comes out. But I will post updates on how the work is going, and what it's like there. Wish me luck!

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Why "Storyteller's Workshop?"

A couple times a year, it seems, I get a call, or an email, from someone who wants to hire me for a children's party, or some Native American event. They think from my business name that I'm a storyteller -- that I sit around and tell people stories.

Well, I'll admit it may not be the best name for a freelance illustration business, but there's a reason why I chose Storyteller's Workshop.

The name was originally for a self-publishing business I had in mind. I was going to publish my own comics, the way so many others at the time were doing -- this was the mid-90s. But as I became more serious with my freelance illustration business, I realized it would be a perfect name for it.

You see, illustrators are, above and beyond all else, storytellers. It's our job to tell the story. The story of the client's business. The story of the magazine article. The story of the comic strip. It's great if the artwork looks good -- in fact, it's very important. But if the illustration doesn't convey what it needs to convey -- in other words, if it doesn't tell the story -- it's a failure.

The dictionary defines illustrate as "explain or make something clear by using examples, charts, pictures, etc." That's the job of the illustrator. To get the point across. To present a viewpoint. to be a storyteller.

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