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.