When I’m at conventions, or approached by other would-be comic creators of the writing persuasion, I am often asked advice on where to find an artist to work with. This is a specific kind of writer. This is the writer who cannot draw. (Or in my case, used to draw but realized that his energy would be better used elsewhere.)

It’s not a big secret. It’s not even very interesting, but it’s the truth. Even though every time I give it, it’s not the answer they want to hear. I think they believe I have some magic catchphrase or spin or awesome pitch that totally sold an artist on my idea, and then that artist agreed to pour their blood, sweat, and tears into my creation. Now, this might be true for some writers, but it wasn’t for me.

So when someone asks me how I got my book done, I lean in closely, look left and right, drop the cone of silence over us, and then . . . and ONLY THEN do I tell them the secret. The secret that is so not a secret, and yet it always seems to surprise people. Are you ready? (And remember that I already told you it was not very interesting.)

It’s money. (See, I told you.)

I saved up some money for a little while, hunted down an artist I thought I could afford and whose style I liked, and placed an order for five pages and a cover. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t start receiving concept sketches, layouts for approval, final pencils, and all sorts of goodness on a very regular basis. It was like . . . magic. I had discovered this incredible world where people would do almost anything for green little pieces of paper. It wasn’t too long before I had a complete proposal package ready to go, and I didn’t have to go through any of the sociological experiments that we commonly call collaboration.

You see, before Starkweather, “collaboration” was a ten-year long nightmare. I don’t I think I ever got anything accomplished by meeting someone over the Internet or at a con and then trying to do a project together. Things might kick off well enough, but eventually it would come apart for various reasons. And here is why: if you actually find an artist willing to collaborate on your book, and that artist is good enough to get your book published, the chances of him not having other commitments is very low. And since he’s drawing for you for free, you fall at the bottom of the scale of importance. So what would normally take a month or so takes six months (if it even gets done at all) and your dream project never sees the light of day. But if you had offered to pay that person, you would have been immediately bumped into the category of things that are important to them. It’s not a complicated problem.

I’ve seen soooo many posts on message boards where there are writers looking for an artist to draw their book and “get in on the ground floor.” There’s never any upfront pay, just a share of the backend when it gets picked up for publication. These books are always cutting edge, revolutionary, or some other such word, because they are trying to convince an artist that it is worth investing their time and hard work in. But I’m going to ask you would-be comic book writers something you might not like, and that you should consider before you make your next request:

If you’re not willing to invest anything in your project, why should anyone else?

And I’m not just talking about an artist, I’m also speaking for the publisher. You expect them to lay out money for printing and marketing, but you don’t want to spend any money on the project yourself? If you think your idea is great enough for other people to put up money for, then it should be great enough for you to save up a couple hundred bucks to put together a proposal package. (And yes it can be done.) I haven’t done the math, but I’m willing to bet that there are at least twenty to thirty writers for every artist looking for a project. And each one of those writers believes that they have the next big thing. If you want to stand out from the crowd, you can start by offering to pay them something. It doesn’t have to be a hundred dollars a page, but anything is a good start.

Now, some of you writers might be saying that you are writing the script and that is your contribution. Writing is just as important as art, and some might argue it’s even more important. I’m not going to get into that argument because we’re not talking about what’s more important, we are discussing an investment proposal. If you went to a group of private investors and tried to convince them to buy into your awesome idea, the first thing they are going to want to know is, “What is your contribution?” If your only answer is sweat equity (meaning you intend to do work for free), and you have no real track record for fulfilling the idea you are presenting (meaning you are an unpublished writer), unless you have an incredible line of B.S., you will be shown the door. You are high risk and cannot even come close to guessing how much the return will be. The same goes for any artist of quality that you would contact. They have lots of people knocking on their doors, and you are not looking like the best bet. Being willing to pay indicates a level of commitment that might increase your chances of getting a decent artist. (But never ever all up front. Write up an agreement. Do a small deposit, and then payments based on delivery. Let’s not be crazy up in here.)

“But Dave,” you may be saying, “I don’t have any money. What can I possibly do to get an artist?” I still maintain that if you are serious about getting your book published, you should be serious about getting that money put aside. But if for some reason you are unable to promise your artist money, then you need to go back to an even older system than money. A little thing we call the barter system. Trade them something. I don’t know what you have to offer, but there are lots of things an artist might jump at besides money. There’s guaranteed publication. (Notice I say guaranteed.) Personal copies printed free. Discounts at Target. Whatever. But offer them something. Because in this world you get what you pay for. And if you are willing to offer nothing, you should expect just that in return.

All right, I’ve dropped a lot of tough love on you guys, and it may seem a little mean, but I am trying to help. And to prove it, here’s a light at the end of the tunnel. It isn’t always like this, and it doesn’t always have to cost money. The catch is, you need to get something published first. Once you have something published, you have a little something I like to call “cred.” You’ve already gone through the hurdles of getting the book out and you can speak from experience, quote sales figures, and if you had a good relationship with your publisher, you might even be able to guarantee publication. You have something tangible to prove you are serious about what you are talking about and to use as a sort of résumé. These are all sorts of things that an artist likes to hear. And here’s something even better. There might be an artist out there who liked your book . . . and he or she will come to you.

Believe it.

And if an artist has come to you to collaborate or to write a book for them, you are in that position you were hoping for when this column started. But the difference is that the likelihood of it actually getting done has just skyrocketed, because you are now working on something that is meaningful to that artist. Something that means more to them than money, and that is the realization of THEIR dreams. But if an artist has nothing to judge you on except your idea, you will find it difficult to get them to trust you with their dreams. Your goal then is to try and make yourself someone trustworthy. You have to show them that you are a person that has made dreams come true and that you started with your very own.

As in all things, there are exceptions to what I have said. There might be this artist out there that will work his ass off for you for no more than a promise that something might happen. It has happened (as I’m sure many people will be kind enough to remind me). Yes, it could happen. There is also a mathematical chance that if a car hits a wall it will actually pass through it because molecules are always in motion. (Seriously.) But the chance is better that the car will actually collide with the wall and turn you into a fine red mist. In this business, you need to be stacking as many things as possible in your favor and not betting that you’ll be the one that passes through the wall on a subatomic level.

And the first step to doing that . . . is to believe enough in your work, to invest more than just sweat.

I was out visiting friends in Chicago not too long ago and at some point the conversation made its way over to video games. Obviously they all know what I do for a living and since they are big gamers themselves, they are always interested to hear the inner workings of the industry. The problem is that they eventually make their way to telling me all about the awesome game they would make if “they” were the ones making the games. This is usually how it goes for most of my conversations with game fans and even interviews with new designers. Most people who are entering the industry that I’ve spoken to manage to get their conversations around to a very similar topic. That point is ‘how they would make the game that would change the world.’ Depending on my mood, I try not to ruin their dreams. However, sometimes they get a little snotty about it and I have to bitch-smack them with a sock full of reality and attempt to make them understand how the world actually works. (Sorry Matt)

It’s like these people think that all bad games are the result of the people who make them not knowing or caring about what they are doing. While this is surely the case in some instances, it isn’t always how it goes down. I’ve been involved with or have watched other games that were on a track to possibly be a good game, slowly get churned into a giant steaming piece of crap through no fault of the people directly working on it. Developers, for the most part, all want to make a great game and will work themselves to death to get it done. But sometimes no matter how hard you work, someone more powerful than you is going to come in and stick their d!^* in your peanut butter.

This isn’t an easy thing to deal with. The people who work in games are creative by nature, and having that creativity directed, shaped, and abused by people you perceive as non-creative can be a very painful experience if you’re not prepared to withstand it. Some developers feel that in a fair world, the best idea should win out and what is obviously good should naturally go into the game. While in a fair and just world that might be true, reality is a harsh mistress.

I’ve sat through meeting after meeting with people screaming themselves hoarse trying to hammer their perfectly reasonable idea through the head of the suit sitting across from them and being deflected with practiced ease. After working on a particularly emotionally and mentally draining product of this nature for a year I thought I was going to go bat-shit. I went from loving going to work every morning to having anxiety problems, insomnia, stomach cramps, and general hatred of all things around me. I hated the game I was working on. I hated the people I was making the game for and I hated them for taking the “magic” out of my job. I didn’t feel like I was being “heard” creatively. It was a dangerous place to be in and my career could have been over right there. But then, like a bolt from the blue, it hit me.

I’m not an artist.

Sure I work in a creative field. Sure many of the things I do are creative and I get to imagine things and attempt to put them into reality. But an artist gets to do what they want, how they want, when they want. That’s not what I do. Someone comes to my company with a contract. They give us money to make something. I make it. They take it and sell it. I don’t work in art.

I work…in customer service.

And fortunately or unfortunately, the customer is always right. That means that no matter how bad I think an idea is. That means no matter how unreasonable the request or how STUPID the last thing they said was, in the end they write the check, so they get to decide. I can voice my opinion. I can tell them what I think because that’s what they are paying me for, but ultimately, if they decide that something must be in the game…then you can bet your sweet ass it’s gonna be in the game.

We’ll use a little story here to try and convey how this works. Imagine for a moment that you are an architect and I hired you to design a house for me. I come to you with some general ideas and you fleshed them out to create a full home design that you feel might be your best work to date. I tell you it’s great and to get started. So you go out with my money and hire some people to start building my house.

But the month finally comes when I call you in and tell you I’ve been going over the plans and I’ve decided that I want no right angles in my home. It’s some Feng Shui thing that will calm my very wealthy mind. Now you have already spent time and money on getting the work started on the plans you’ve already drawn, you’ve poured a foundation that has right angles all over the place and there is no room in the schedule for you to take out all of the damn right angles. Rightfully so, you attempt to talk me out of it.

“You know Mr. Rodriguez, if there aren’t any right angles in your home you might find it difficult to hang pictures.”

“I see where you’re coming from Mr. Architect. It’s a valid point. So make sure when you take out all the right angles you invent something that allows me to hang pictures.”

“But…I….”

“And I have Better Homes and Gardens scheduled to come out and photograph this house in 2 weeks. So you need to have something showable by then.”

“Two weeks! But if you want me to take out the right angles and re-pour the foundation…there’s no way…”

“Mr. Architect, it’s very important these pictures get taken. I’m not asking you to add things, I’m removing things. I’m saving you time by taking out these walls. Let’s pull together and get this done. There is no “I” in team. But there is an “m” and an “e”. And “me” is holding all of the money. If you want to get paid, get it done.”

As you leave the meeting you are maybe a little flustered and trying to work out what just happened. How could any reasonable person on the planet want to live in a giant round house? How could any reasonable person expect to have a showable home in two weeks at the same time as they request things be radically changed? How the hell are you going to invent something to hang flat pictures on curved walls?

At this point you are most likely considering quitting the job. But as you do you are thinking about the number of people working for you that are counting on you to pay their salaries. Sure if you’re a big time company you can just say “My way or the highway.” But if you don’t have that kind of clout you are spending your time driving home and trying desperately to come up with a way to meet these unreasonable demands. Because in the end, no matter how bad his ideas, it’s still his house. It’s his money; and as Eddie Murphy put it, “If they want to live in a donut, let ‘em live in a donut.” You grit your teeth and get back to work as you prepare for the next unreasonable request. It’s a pretty safe bet that more unreasonable requests are going to show up again and again until you hand over the keys. You know why? Because they’re the customer and as anyone in customer service knows, customers can be some of the worst goddamned people that ever walked the face of the earth.

Not everything that goes into games is the intention or even vision of the people directly making it. Many developers work for publishers who fund the production of the game and so they have a limited influence on how the final game is going to turn out. Sometimes you luck out and get great producers who let your team do what they do best. They offer suggestions and some feedback but they don’t attempt to live in your asshole during the fourteen months of development. Sometimes you don’t work on a game that has seven levels of approval (Yes seven. There is publisher, licensor, licensor reps, directors, and some other people I can’t remember. I just remember seven levels). Each of these seven people having different opinions and ideas as to what should go into this game, and each one of them having more direct control than the people making it.

You see this everywhere of course; video games aren’t the only victims. From movies to comic books to music, the overproduced “Poochies” of the world are anywhere there is money to be made and a place where people want to make sure they make their mark on a product.

Once I realized that this was how the world worked, I immediately became a happier person. The project from hell ended and I landed on a project that interested me and was about shooting people in the face. I attacked my work with new passion and enthusiasm and I made sure that I made the game the best I could with the constraints I had been given by publisher and licensor(s). When I started working on 50 Cent: Bulletproof-G-Unit Edition I didn’t know that it would turn out as well as it has. But I can honestly say that I am very proud of the current state of the game and how it’s being received so far (For the record this is the PSP one and not the Xbox/PS2 one that was released last year). Sure I had a few run-ins that ruffled my feathers but I kept in mind that I was hired by these people to make their game and that even if I disagreed with them I was committed to finishing it.

No matter how many times they shot me down, requested changes or asked for something that just made my eyes go wide and my bowels loosen I kept saying to myself ‘It’s nothing personal, I just serve the fries.’ It’s not even necessarily that my ideas were bad. It’s just not what they wanted. And that’s okay. Everyone has preferences and they are attempting to guess what people are going to like just like I am. So next time you’re playing a game that makes you wish the developer would go to hell, just remember it’s not always their fault…