The Relativity of Writing

Devin Grayson

by Jennifer Contino

Devin Grayson is one of the hardest working people in comics. She's always working on three or four different projects and spends anywhere from 12-14 hours online per day writing. She's dedicated to providing some of the best stories around and her work in Titans, Black Widow, and Batman, to name a few, always reflects her great efforts and hard work.

Devin is kicking off the New Year with a bang! Her creator owned series, Relative Heroes debuts and the new Batman series, Gotham Knights will also hit the stands. Devin is excited about both projects and fans are anticipating both series. We were pleased to interview her for Sequential Tart.

Sequential Tart: Who are some of your favorite writers (in comics or out) and what qualities attract you to read their works?

Devin Grayson: In comics it's not as easy as just saying "Oh, I like X, Y, and Z," because it's a small industry, and you get to know most of the players over time, so there are added layers when you're looking at someone's work: what you think of them as a person and what you know their reoccurring personal themes to be, and, also, what any given project must have been like to do, and how it might have been influenced by the editor and art team and on and on.

That said, there are a lot of people whose work I admire, which is part of what's exciting about being in this industry. Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and Frank Miller are always at the top of my list - they all have such strong and well-articulated visions, and are masters of the craft part of it. I really enjoy reading the work of my buddies Jay Faerber and Brian Vaughan - Jay, in particular, because he's great with dialog and playing the human angles of serialized drama, and Brian because he is trained to the teeth in story structure and has amazing instincts about characters, especially when it comes to choosing villains - it's like a super power, he's outta control! Terry Moore is remarkable, he so clearly follows his instincts and writes about what he loves. I think Mark Waid must be saluted as the absolute guru of story clarity and structure, and people outside of the industry may not be aware of this, but he deserves special mention too as a sort of freelance editor supreme - he is so unselfishly helpful to so many writers. Chuck Dixon has written many excellent comics and no truly bad ones, which is amazing considering how prolific he is (I also hugely admire his professionalism, he's a joy to deal with). Garth Ennis is energetic and ballsy and has wonderful pacing. Greg Rucka will change the face of the Bat Books with his powerful, unapologetically adult story-telling. Grant Morrison is the most imaginative, perversely playful creator I've had the honor of meeting, Tom Peyer has a love for and delight in his work that completely shines through, Joe Kelly rocks, Evan Dorkin is one of my heroes, Denny O'Neil is a legend in his own time, John Ostrander. There are really so many talented people working today, I'm sure I've forgotten to mention several of my favorites.

Outside of comics the list gets even longer, so I'll reign it in and say Milan Kundera, A.S. Byatt, John Steinbeck, Thomas Pynchon, James Baldwin, and of course, good ol' Shakespeare, who truly is the all-time master of characterization. With both Kundera and Pynchon, I'm attracted to their beautiful use of language, their unflinching commitment to exploring the political in literature (which is hugely difficult to do, and a dimension still missing, I feel, from my own writing), and, especially, their unapologetic and seamless use of magic amid the everyday. Not superhero magic really so much as the quiet, dignified, sometimes startlingly beautiful human magic of limitless potential. I guess I gravitate towards writers who believe in their characters and the world they move through: J.D. Salinger, Toni Morrison, Wallace Stegner - even Anne Rice. A friend handed me Tama Janowitz's first book a few years ago and it was one of the first times I had a really clear sense of why I didn't like something - I just felt like, look, if you hate people that much, why are you writing about them? You can feel it when a writer loves their character, and loves language, and loves the whole act of story-telling and the world that encourages it.

I'm also a huge fan of nonfiction, but that's yet another list.

ST: Your stories are hardly predictable (Case in point the minute I saw that letter from the doctor in Black Widow, I assumed that Natasha was dying! But it was just to remind her of an appointment!) and always entertaining. Have you gone to a lot of creative writing workshops?

DG: First of all, thank you, I'm glad you feel that way. That letter in Black Widow was one of those risks you take where you're setting something up that probably won't ever come to dramatic fruition for a good portion of the audience because it's too subtle. Absolutely you were supposed to fear that she was terminally ill (or pregnant, or something life-altering like that), and then, thematically, hopefully, you would be able to see later that the letter wasn't just an appointment reminder, it was also the only "birthday message" Natasha received that year, and she was holding on to it as a sort of representational reminder of what being a spy is all about - how nobody really knows you, or would miss you if you didn't come home, or even knows when your birthday is, let alone remembers to send you good tidings. It's a theme Greg and I are really running with in the follow-up miniseries.

But as for writing workshops - um, yes, I have, actually, but that has absolutely nothing to do with any unpredictability you may find in my story telling (unpredictability usually stemming from throwing out, rather than adhering to, the rules - which are pretty much all you can learn in a workshop).

Creative writing workshops are tricky. I was actually taking post-graduate creative writing courses at U.C. Berkeley before I left California to become a full-time New York freelancer, and that was on top of zillions of creative writing courses in college, so I've definitely been to my share, and I've been very lucky in that I've had some great teachers. I do recommend them for a grounding in the basic skill set: story structure, in particular, needs to be studied, and there are a few basic tools you can learn that help with issues like pacing and foreshadowing and basic characterization. Workshops also force you to practice, a lot, and that's essential if you want to make a living as a writer, so if the structure of a class helps you keep at it, then that's very much worth it.

But here's the danger of workshopping: mostly, when you try to learn to write, what you are really doing is searching for your "voice." And not only will most workshops not help you with that, they'll discourage you. You can teach someone how to write clearly and even skillfully (provided that you're a good teacher, which is another issue - most creative writing instructors are writers themselves, maybe even hugely talented ones, who maybe can, but probably can't actually teach, which is a whole separate skill set) but you cannot teach someone to write honestly and passionately, they have to come to that themselves.

There is also a danger of getting too seeped in the "culture," for lack of a better word, of workshops or even 'zines. You feel like, since you're writing on a regular basis for an audience, you're doing something really pro-active for your intended writing career. But the only way to get work as a writer is to submit work to people who can pay you for it, and I've seen a lot of really talented people sort of fetter all of their energy off on classes or workshops or APAs or 'zines, and then wonder resentfully why they're not "making it."

I love fan-fic, for example - I've written some myself and I've read a lot of amazing stories by "non professionals" - but, especially where comics are concerned, fan fiction has absolutely nothing to do with the reality of professional writing. Take the best fan fiction story you've ever written or read and try to turn it into a twenty-two page script with no more than six panels per page, proper pacing, plenty of action, and editorially viable use of all charactersoh, yeah, and you have absolutely no more than one week to do it. You can demonstrate a solid knowledge of continuity in fan fiction, and also insight about the characters, but you can't demonstrate what editors are really looking for: proper form, speed, and the ability to create stories over and over again, flexibly, every month. It's a reality that, honestly, I wasn't initially prepared for, and I think it's equally lost on many of the "wannabe" fans.

ST: What are your plans for Batman and family post No Man's Land? Will you have a few 'lighter' type stories or still keep things dark and grim?

DG: Well, I suppose "lighter" and "darker" are all in the eyes of the beholder, but I think by instinct, I'm a pretty dark writer - my obsessions gravitate towards turbulent relationships and hard personal realities. But I do have the whole Bat-team to work with, and there's some levity in that - nearly every time Dick and Tim (Nightwing and Robin) are in a scene together, for instance, there's at least an undercurrent of light fraternity and affection. Or, you know, even in their darkest moment, you have Alfred sort of mothering the whole Bat-team, which is lovely and warm and "light."

I guess, in thinking about your question further, I don't think "dark" and "grim" have to go together. My stories are dark, but I don't think they're grim. Gotham is a dark, ugly, hard, vicious place, and these characters have exhausting, tense, strained lives. But they do what they're doing out of this undying sense of honor and, finally, hope - hope that things can be better. That's hard, and even dark, but it isn't "grim."

This is such an exciting thing to be doing, too (I mean, say it with me now, BATMAN - doesn't that just give you chills? ::wild grin:: ) that I wouldn't be surprised if, despite my best intentions to be really, you know, serious and grave, some of my unchecked ebullience about doing this book will kinda find a way in. So you'll be in the middle of this really dark, morbid story and you'll go, "hm, is it just me, or can you almost hear the writer back there jumping up and down and shouting "isn't this the COOLEST!? Batman ROCKS!"" :-)

ST: Is Gotham Knights intended to be single self contained stories or will there be multi-part story lines?

DG: We'll do both. Right now issues one and two are one shots, three and four are a small arc, five and six are both one shots again, and seven starts a long arc that will probably go through issue twelve and close out the first year.

ST: Where did you get the idea for Relative Heroes? What sparked your interest in this type of story?

DG: Editor Jordan Gorfinkel approached me one afternoon and said that DC would like me to come up with a creator-owned super-teen team series, so it wasn't even my own impetus that got the ball rolling. I was terrified and intrigued by the idea, and loved the thought of working on a project with Jordan (affectionately known as Gorf in the halls of DC), so I set to work, albeit initially with great trepidation. About a week later I was so in love with the new characters that had graciously heeded my summons, I couldn't wait to get started, and Gorf matched my enthusiasm at every turn, as did the art team we finally found to work with the cheerful nonconformity of the book. I am THRILLED with Yvel Guichet and Aaron Sowd's work, we've got Bill Oakley pouring his heart into the lettering, and we just recently snagged Rob Schwager for the color - I couldn't be any more pleased with this team!

In terms of the "type" of story it is: I'm not as interested in talking about evil super villains as I am in talking about evil people - the real human nastiness we see everyday. I wanted a team that could understand, validate, and address that kind of evil. Which is not to say that there are no super villains in Relative Heroes, because there certainly are, but rather that my approach to choosing their superpowers didn't start from "how do we make a really powerful team?" as much as "how do we make an interesting allegory?"

I actually talk about this more in an essay that's slotted to run in the second issue (in lieu of a letter column), but I finally realized that since the team's powers were my problem, their powers might as well be their problems, too. I remember feeling almost immortal in my adolescence, but also nearly crippled by social homogenization and existential angst. Teenagers face such a demoralizing array of problems - they're fighting the demands of their bodies, their hormones, their parents, and their peers, all while being simultaneously prodded towards independence and discouraged from truly meaningful engagement in society. It's a terrifically difficult time. You have so much energy, and nowhere to focus it - you're ready for a quest of epic proportions and what you're asked to do is sit still in a small desk all day. I decided that the Weinbergs could be heroes that the world would have to save, instead of the other way around. And that gave me an allegory I liked.

It's a very personal piece of fiction, and these kids have managed to utilize a lot of my humor and a lot of my pain. The Weinys have powers the way we all have powers - these weird things we can do that we're not always comfortable with, like manipulating people (Damara), or bullying them (Aviva). Instead of having to learn to be better superheroes, these kids really need to learn to be better people. Fighting super villains may be the easiest part of their day.

ST: My first thought when I heard about Relative Heroes (being that I have a job that works with children) is that social services should be all over these kids after their parents died. Are they or any other type of organization that deals with children's welfare going to be involved in this comic? Perhaps a few steps behind or something?

DG: Yep, absolutely. The Weinys are on the run from social services (specifically, Child Protective Service), the D.E.O. (Department of Extranormal Operations), Star Labs, the police, and a handful of supervillains. And that's just in issue one!

ST: What about school? I keep remembering Changeling and Terra scaring off their tutors in New Teen Titans. How will these kids continue their education?

DG: I can't answer that without giving away the end of the arc, but for now, suffice to say that their adventure begins during summer vacation.

ST: Relative Heroes is about a group of siblings who've lost their folks in an accident. The kids then pile into the family car and head off to become superheroes--is this shock on their part or denial? Did their folks always want them to be heroes? Is this some sort of tribute?

DG: First of all, it's a Winnebago, not a car. ::smiles:: Secondly, they're not all strictly siblings, but they are a family. The kids are in both shock and denial - those reactions are far from mutually exclusive. Their parents, Deborah and Oren Weinberg, had no interest in the kids becoming heroes (and, for that matter, neither do most of the kids), but Joel, the eldest, and also the only one without superpowers, has always idealized superheroes, and sees the death of his parents as a natural "origin." The rest of the kids are initially just dragged along for the ride.

ST: A lot of different ages are represented with these 'heroes,' what made you chose the particular age of each character?

DG: It's not really that wide a range - one eleven-year-old, two fifteen-year-olds, and two sixteen-year-olds. And that's just how old they are. There's no special formula.

ST: The babysitter ends up along for the ride also, right? Doesn't her family wonder or worry about her and what she's doing?

DG: Damara is being raised by her single mother (her father long since out of the picture), and she does ask her mom permission to go, essentially with the excuse that she wants to look out for the youngest one - her baby-sitting charge - Aviva. Knowing what Aviva's just been through in terms of losing her parents, Dami's mom aggress that it would be nice for Damara to go along and keep an eye on Aviva. She has no idea about the superhero part if it, and is, frankly, pretty self-involved and inattentive to her daughter overall anyway, which is part of what makes Dami willing to leave in the first place.

ST: Most fans don't understand how far ahead that individual comics issues are written. When Relative Heroes issue one hits the stands in January, what issue number will you be working on?

DG: Five or six, and I'm late. In general, we work six or seven months ahead, minimum. It's only logical if you think about the process - when I'm done with a script, it then has to go to the penciler, then to the inker, then to the letterer, then to the colorist, and then to production, and then to printing, with stop-overs at the editor's desk after every phase.

ST: Have you ever been three or four issues ahead on a comic and had to rewrite the whole thing because one of the characters in the story had gone through some change in his/her own title? Do you talk a lot with the writers of Flash, Nightwing, and Aquaman so that problems of that fashion don't occur?

DG: I've had major outlines blown to hell by things like that fairly regularly, but have only had to actually rewrite finished scripts once (but, yeah, two or three scripts were effected in that instance, and I was NOT happy). In general, the other reason you want to be as far ahead as possible is because the first script in wins! For instance, we had that little bit in The Titans about Starfire staying at Dick's place in Blüdhaven, and we asked Chuck Dixon if he could reflect that in Nightwing, which he was more than happy to do, except that he was also - curse him! - a solid four or five months past the point where the continuity would have merged. So we just let it go.

The writers don't talk much; we're under too much deadline pressure to chat regularly. It's up to the editors to keep track of the continuity, and it's not an easy job. It's not like every writer hits their June issue script at about the same time - we're all over the place; someone's in August already, someone else is still struggling to finish April, and yet another writer SKIPPED June because of some fill-in artist scheduling, and will circle back in a month or two. On top of that confusion, giant cross-over events are almost invariably scheduled so late that they effect scripts being written right at the very moment that they're announced. Everyone gets used to it, eventually, but it can be a real hassle.

And to be honest, I think the general feeling these days is that it's not a great idea to tie the books together super-literally - we try to reflect and echo themes, but obviously you don't get a writer's best work when you force them to work with someone else's idea of a great subplot. And in terms of hyper-strict continuity, why would you kill a really great story about Green Lantern on the moon, for example, just because in the JLA he was in an alternate dimension that month? Let both stories be - they're stories, not literal moment by moment accounts of Kyle Rayner's life. Fans really like continuity to be as tight as possible, which I understand and respect, but the bottom line is that these characters are being written by several different people - always have been and always will be - and you may not like so-and-so's version of your favorite character as much as so-and-so's. So isn't it better that both versions be available? Read what you enjoy and ignore the rest. If a story is good enough to last, trust me, no one will even WONDER about the context of the other books that came out that same month when they go to reread it years later.

ST: You work on three to four regular titles a month, plus you're doing some independent projects. How do you divide your writing time up each day? Do you work on one script till it's complete or do you write about each series a little each day?

DG: Actually, I only have two ongoing titles currently: The Titans and Batman: Gotham Knights. Relative Heroes is, currently, a limited series, as is USER (six-part maxi with one supporting cross-over, and three part prestige, respectively). I have a bunch of other projects going, like the second Black Widow mini for Marvel Knights, but they're also all limited. But technicalities aside, yeah, that still means at least three scripts are due each month, and usually more like five.

Whenever possible, I write one script all the way through until it's complete. I wish I could write complete arcs, but I almost always have to write part one of something, part three of something else, part six of yet something else, and then finally get back to part two of the first project. The few times I have been able to write arcs straight through have been very satisfying, I'm definitely more comfortable focusing on one project at a time, but it isn't usually possible.

There's also a lot of work to be done that isn't strictly writing. We get black and white issues of our comics before they're sent to production, for example, and that's our last chance to proof them for clarity and typos. We have proposals to turn in occasionally, or, more frequently, series outlines. We help, sometimes, with balloon placement or solicitation copy for Previews. We have references to find for artists, scripts to read over for friends who feel stuck on something - things like that. So usually in any given day, I'll work on a least three projects, but I'll only be writing one. Today, for instance, I'm doing this interview, proofing some early pencils for Relative Heroes, sending in solicitation copy for Gotham Knights, and then, hopefully, finishing a Titans script.

ST: Are there any other 'old' characters (like Nemesis) that you've recently discovered and would like to incorporate into a story or write a one-shot about?

DG: I've used two "old" villains lately - one in Titans and one in Gotham Knights. In general, though, I'm more interested in creating new characters, or working with the pre-existing ones I already absolutely love. I'm pretty monogamous when it comes to characters; I sort of have my stable, and it's hard to get me really excited about anyone else. I'm not a traditional fan in the sense that I haven't been reading comics my whole life, collecting favorite stories and what not. If you grew up, for example, reading the Silver Age material, every time you see one of those characters, it would be accompanied by this rush of nostalgia, you tap into how cool you thought they were the first time you saw them. For me, I don't have anything to hearken back to, so there's no resonance.

ST: Could you see yourself ten years from now still writing comics?

DG: Very hard to say. Probably not as my main source of income or creative work, but it would be great to sort of always dabble in it, to have something else going but be able to sit down every now and again and write up a cool Batman miniseries or some such - I mean, how could you ever get tired of writing BATMAN?

On the other hand, I have learned so much from comics, and I still get such a huge kick out of so much of what I'm doing, but increasingly, as well, I'm finding that the sort of stories I want to tell are hindered rather than helped by the medium (or, at least, by the genre of "superhero" comics). In some ways, the Vertigo project, USER, and also Relative Heroes, are good answers to that problem - what John Bolton and Sean Phillips have done with the visuals in USER has helped the story so much, and I didn't have to compromise any of the subject mater or shading in the process of shaping it. And with Relative Heroes, Yvel Guichet has been phenomenal, and the reverent, self-referential humor in it about comics has to be IN a comic - both of those particular stories are, I feel, absolutely best told as comics, and that's a great feeling. But there are other projects where I'm trying to say something, and the subtext is really getting lost or I haven't figured out a way to balance the structure with the theme, and I could continue to work really hard to find a way to do all of that, or I could just tell some of these other stories in another medium, which is my inclination.

I think in general the people who are going to be content "careerists" in comics are the people who are working on creator-owned material more or less for and by themselves. To spend your entire career writing characters someone else has invented - as thrilling as that can be - or not having control over the visual representation of your work (as thrilling as that can be, too!), would, I think, be unnecessarily limited and frustrating.

But who the hell knows? If you'd asked me ten year ago if I could imagine myself writing comics today, I would have said, "What? You mean like Garfield?" My favorite aspect of my own life is that I never have a clue.

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