When I started writing comic scripts, I hunted furiously for a way to format my scripts just as the pros do. What I found was nothing. Unlike movies and tv, comic scripts don’t have a universal standard for what a script looks like. At first, this really bothered me as a new comic writer and I’m sure I’m not alone in that. Though, as I experimented with different formats after writing a few comic scripts, I came to appreciate the lack of a standard. It meant I could use what I like best.
Use a format that works for you and keep the artist in mind too. I wrote pages without panels for artists who wanted to layout a book, scripts with action and no dialogue to be filled in after art, detailed panel descriptions (that no one really likes), all before I found what I truly liked to write and what works for me.
My format for those interested:
This works for me and I enjoy writing in this format. Find what works for you and most importantly just write.
Speaking of which, here is part 3 of The Outside. If you’re interested, please see previous newsletters for parts 1 & 2.
The Outside Part 3 - The News
He woke up to silence in the basement.
Thankful after the rampage upstairs. He sat up, gathered his thoughts, put on his shoes and climbed the basement stairs. The door stood intact and he listened to see if there was any noise coming from the other side of it.
More silence.
He unlocked the door and slowly opened it. It scrapped against the floor, moving the shattered pictures out of its way. He stepped out into a house he no longer recognized.
His whole house was trashed.
Broken grass, bits of light bulbs, shattered pieces of wood that used to be picture frames, decor and furniture. He couldn’t believe the amount of damage done by that lunatic. Thankfully the basement door was heavy and locked.
The living room and kitchen were more of the same. His tv now had a hole where the screen used to be. The ragged edged of the glass screen dripping with blood. He could see the busted tubes behind. Luckily, he had an old black and white set down in the basement.
His eyes wondered through the room and the rest of the house. The phone was ripped out of the wall, his records scattered and a gapping hole let in a nice breeze through the shattered kitchen window. Why would some one do this?
This would be thousands of dollars to fix and replace, not to mention all the time to clean up. How would he even do that with the voice in his head still telling him to not go outside?
He walked to the broken window. Glass crunched underfoot as he approached. Outside, the sun shone warm and bright, with a cool undertone from the wind. All normal, except it wasn’t.
The outside world was not what he typically saw from the window. There were people gathered around a burning car down the street. They were indiscriminately yelling, starting fights among themselves and generally rioting. The house across the street had its front door broken and windows busted out. It was chaos on his normally quiet street.
The voice in his head grew louder. Don’t go outside. It didn’t need to, there was no way he was going to go out right now. He didn’t even feel safe in his own house at the moment.
He quickly made his way back to the phone, picked it up and found the cord broken off and the receiver broken. He wouldn’t be calling the police or anyone else from his house. The thought of retreating to the basement again seemed his best course.
First, he needed to close the gap of the broken window. He wasn’t a handy person and all his tools fit in one small tool box. He did have a hammer and a box of nails though. He went to the remanence of the hall closet and found the tool box.
His dining table, which wasn’t very nice, but useful, now had 2 broken legs. He figured that would serve nicely to board up the window. He knocked the 2 remaining loose legs off of it and put it up on the window.
He didn’t really want to make any noise in case it drew the ire of the rioters. He covered the nail with a hand towel to try to deaden the sound of the hammer. He drove in a few nails, then a few extra. Satisfied that it would hold up and no one was trying to break in, he headed back down to the basement.
He brought his tool box with him and made sure to lock the door before coming down the stairs. The basement felt normal, safe. He’d have to go back up and grab all the food he could, but he just wanted to keep that feeling of safety for a while longer.
He turned on the old tv he had down here. Black and white. Fine for the games he played, but who wanted to watch black and white tv in this day and age? He fussed with it until a picture came in clearly. He hoped something would be on the news about what was happening.
He needn’t worry. The newscasters seemed a bit in shock as they reported on the ongoing riots and worse. It seemed people were taking to the streets and acting violently. Not just here, nor just throughout the country, but all over the world. The strange thing was they weren’t actually protesting anything.
The people rioting didn’t have any purpose besides violence for its own sake. Estimates said there were millions and millions of people out on the streets, breaking into homes, smashing cars and store fronts, lighting fires where they could. No mention of theft or looting.
It seems that newer reports have many dead at the hand of other rioters, while more and more join in. He didn’t understand how people could do something like this and for what? It’s like humanity and decency took the day off.
He emptied a box full of old clothes he meant to donate months ago and climbed the stairs. The plan was to fill it with all the food he could find in the house. He could drink tap water from the basement bathroom sink, but he needed food if this riot lasted very long.
He listened at the basement door for a minute, then went back into the house. Still empty, still a mess. He headed for the kitchen and his pantry.
Some food from the fridge and pantry was ruined and all over the floor. He gathered cans and other food not damage or spoiling outside of the fridge. Once the box was full, he threw in a set of silverware, a plate, bowl and cup. He could always come back up to the kitchen, but he didn’t want to.
A look out the window again let him know the rioters were still there. In fact it seems their numbers swole from before. The few fires that were lit cast orange light down the street as the sun began to set. He took a last look and headed back down into the basement.
Things would only get worse.