jdeguzman

Originally published at Possible Impossibilities. You can comment here or there.

I get a few people emailing me every year to ask me how to become a comics editor. They seem to think that it’s a line of work that is “fun” or “rewarding” or “cool,” and they want in on the glorious words-and-pictures life. They also seem to think that there’s some secret to getting a comics job that is different from getting any other kind of job. But there’s not. If you want to be a comics editor you:

• Have skills that apply to that line of work, like experience reading comics, good instincts for storytelling, a good grasp on spelling and grammar, experience with graphics software, and the ability not to equate your self-worth with your salary.
• Send your resume to comics publishers.

That’s it.

You definitely don’t write to comics editors and ask for advice, get some, and then never even bother to say “thank you.” Because that shit’s just rude. This also applies if you ask for advice about an MFA program.

For the record, here’s my advice for getting into an MFA program:

• Write well. You get an MFA to write work on writing better.
• Submit an application to an MFA program. Don’t tell the professors on the acceptance committee, “I’ve always wanted to be a writer and this will teach me how” in your statement of purpose. Show them what kind of writer you are and why you will be an asset to the program, not just how the program will help you.

That’s it. I have no further words of wisdom.

jdeguzman

Originally published at Possible Impossibilities. You can comment here or there.

I’ve been going through my grad school notes, deciding what to keep and what to dispose of. On many of my notes are little sketches of scenes in class that I would write when something struck me as interesting, absurd, or annoying. Here’s one I just found, written in November 2004 in my 18th-Century British Literature seminar:

So the man in my class, a middle-aged man with thinning hair who wears striped chambray shirts, jeans and brown shoes, says he is quitting the program because a company has made him an offer to take them public — an offer “too good to refuse,” he says, using those words. Others in the class are alarmed, trying to get him to consider continuing while he takes the company public, or putting off the IPO until the semester’s over.

“Obviously,” he says, the pomposity just before the surface, “none of you have taken a company public.” HE goes on — it is a task that consumes one’s life, he says. “You eat, sleep, and shit it,” he says.

And, my god, I try to shift my mind around to try to fathom this. What would make me quit the program? What is that important to me? Money? Surely not.

That last line makes me laugh. If money is important to you, you really don’t have much business getting an MFA in creative writing! It’s not a degree that you earn back in money. It’s one that gives you returns in experience and community — and that is only going to be valuable to you if other things are not more valuable.

I wonder what happened to that man. I don’t remember him very much at all now.

jdeguzman

Originally published at Possible Impossibilities. You can comment here or there.

I’m fascinated by the old “countries separated by a common language” aspect of British and American culture, the way we regard each other’s accents and usage. I admit I am fairly appalled every time I see or hear the British usage “different to.” That preposition doesn’t make any sense!

One activity I find fun (and this just goes to illustrate the roller coaster that is my life) is spotting the slip-ups when British authors write dialogue for American characters. These are a few very common ones (just as I am sure there are common slip-ups when Americans write dialogue for British characters, and I would love to hear about them) — when an American characters says:

• “meant to” instead of “supposed to”
• “garden” instead of “yard”
• “holiday” instead of “vacation”
• “clever” instead of “smart” in a context where the word is being used to mean “intelligent” (in the intellectual sense), not “quick-witted” or even “sneaky”
• “toilet” instead of “bathroom” or “rest room”

Most authors get that Americans don’t say “lift” for “elevator” or “boot” for “trunk,” that sort of thing, but I’ve seen these more than once and raised an eyebrow.