Confessions of a One-Man Band

I started out this morning intending to write a moderately serious follow-up to yesterday's Rumination, in the form of a column discussing techniques for faking having the ability to draw, but ended up thinking about Les Paul instead.

This is not quite the cerebral short-circuit it might seem. Les Paul is variously credited as the inventor, popularizer, or godfather of multi-track recording and overdubbing, and on further reflection writing, drawing, and self-publishing your own comic book is almost exactly like using a multi-track recording studio to make your own music and become a one-man (or woman) band.

It's an occupational hazard, I suppose. It takes no small amount of egotism to believe you're creating something that other people will want to read, watch, or listen to in the first place, and no small amount of effort to develop your primary talent. But having developed that primary talent to the point where it's actually becoming interesting to others, it takes only a tiny surplusage of conceit to begin to think, "Well, if I've done this much, I can also do that."

And pretty soon, having set out to become a writer, you find yourself studying bookbinding and learning how to saddle-stitch. Or browsing through your local Dick Blick store and stocking-up on Bristol board and pedigreed pencils. Or thinking, "Heck, all drumming is is hitting things with sticks. I can do that!"

There are genuine polymaths and prodigies out there, of course; people with strong talents in multiple areas. Once in a great while it does work, and the results can be amazing to behold. But for every Buddy Holley singing that gorgeous overdubbed close harmony with himself on "Words of Love," there are also a thousand would-be Pete Townshends, Paul McCartneys, and Todd Rundgrens working long hours into the night to give new meaning to the term, "self-indulgent crap."

"Oh?" you protest, "Then what about [insert name here]? He writes and draws great comic books!"

Well, perhaps. But I believe that on closer inspection and more thoughtful reflection, you'd find that he draws great comic books, and the story absent the artwork is no great shakes. That's one of the deceptive things about writing: good or bad, it's so easily masked by so many other things. Film directors especially rely on visual energy and snappy editing to overwhelm bad writing. Just think of all the movies you've watched that were terrifically exciting while you were watching them in the theater, but the moment you emerged blinking into the afternoon daylight left you saying, "Huh? What the Hell was that all about?"

As I said, occupational hazard. Drummers want to play guitar. Guitarists want to sing. Singers want to act. Actors want to write. Writers want to direct. Directors want to produce. Producers want to rule the world, but they can't afford the pay cut.

That is what you are when you choose to write and draw. You're the writer, but you're also the producer, the director, the camera man, the set designer, the dialog coach, the lighting technician, the costumer, the hairstylist, the Foley artist, the stunt double, and the gaffer's best boy. Any one of these is a primary talent that can take an entire career to develop.

I'm not saying don't try. Go ahead. Aim high. You can always lower your point-of-aim later. But remember that you are tackling two different and fairly demanding disciplines, and also remember that exercising a creative talent—such as, say, drawing—always looks a whole lot easier when you're watching someone else do it. Finally, remember that any time devoted to developing Talent #2 is time taken away from using Talent #1.

Your thoughts, comments, or observations?